Page 102 of Phishing for Love
“Who told you this?” Kenzie asks Sofia.
“Mevia picked up on something.”
“Mevia’s always picking up on something,” I say. The woman is in the wrong line of work. She’d make an excellent detective.
Kenzie says, “You know, now that I think about it, Aaron has that look.”
“What look?”
“The look of a man touched by tragedy.”
Curiosity churns inside me. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s the expression he gets sometimes. It’s just sad.”
I know what she means. On the rare occasions Aaron’s stern facade has slipped, I’ve glimpsed what seems to be a terrible weight behind his eyes.
“If you want, I can try to find out more,” Sofia offers, but I shake my head.
Although I have so many burning questions, it feels wrong to snoop around behind his back. It also feels dangerous. For me. Aaron has three months left of his contract. After those three months are up, I have no idea what’s going to happen. He hasn’t volunteered any information and I’ve been too afraid to ask.
Something sharp twists in my chest. I can’t escape the feeling there’s a version of him he’s hiding from everyone. Maybe even from himself.
Aaron is not my business. He can’t be, no matter how attracted I am to him.
All I know is, I’m an idiot woman playing with matches. And when the fire is lit, guess who gets burned? The idiot.
[MESSAGES]
Tess:I figured it out!!!
Aaron:I’m waiting.
Tess:I just read that dolphins are one of the world’s smartest animals. They have HUGE brains. Is that your message to me? That I’m smarter than you?
Aaron:Nice try. Keep reading.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
[MESSAGES]
Tess:I got it! It’s the dolphin dance.
Aaron:I’m sorry, what?
Tess:On TikTok, the dolphin emoji refers to the dolphin dance. You hop up and down with your arms out in front of you like fins.
Aaron:In what world am I on TikTok?
Tess:You said go deeper!
Aaron:Now you’re just burying yourself. I’m disappointed.
Tess:Not as disappointed as I am that I won’t get to see you do the dolphin dance.
“I am going to kill you, Sofia,” I mutter to myself as I rush around my house, straightening cushions, collecting stray mugs, and stacking dirty plates in the dishwasher. “Actually, killing is too merciful. A more appropriate punishment is to make sure you never taste one of my mom’s cookies again.”
It’s six-thirty on a Friday night. I arrived home from work roughly an hour ago and the evening I had planned—horror movie, nachos, popcorn, pistachio ice cream—is out the window because Aaron is coming over.
