Page 7 of Property of Riptide
“He’s catching a case of the feelings and he’s not sure what to do about it,” I remark.
“Do any of us?” he asks, patting the jamb.
“Fuck no,” I snort. “It’s why I’m still a one man show.”
“I hear that, brother. Catch you in the morning,” he tells me, sending me a salute as he turns around and walks down the hallway.
“Later,” I call back, picking up the phone and dialing Rio’s number so I can give him our itinerary. Then, I have to pack my own bags and make sure things around here are settled since we’ll be gone for a couple of weeks. At least, that’s the plan.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Van
I’m not a fan of the fact that I’m bringing Gage’s son into this meeting I scheduled with Rio last night, but I don’t have any other alternatives. After our stroll down Market Square, I worked up enough courage to call their main landline and asked to see him. It took some persuasion on my part to get them to see me, but once I mentioned Gage’s name and my relation to him, they wanted to see me posthaste.
I snicker when I recall the pause in conversation when I brought him into it, I’m sure it’s because they weren’t expecting his ex to show up in town and all but demand a sit down with the man in charge. But I wasn’t willing to take no for an answer—not then, and not now. There are too many blank holes in the story that I want filled. With determination, I square my shoulders and leap out of the car before I lose what little confidence I have. With the backpack tossed over my shoulder, I grab my boy and head into the coffee house they told me to come to for this chit-chat.
When I walk in and the bell chimes over my head, I falter. There’s only two occupants in here and once the man sitting at the bistro table nods his head at the man behind the counter, he walks around me and heads to the door, locking it. My internal freak out must show on my face because he holds his hands up in the air and says, “You’re safe with us. We just don’t want any interruptions.”
The woman’s eyes stay laser focused onto Gage’s car seat, but when I take a step forward, they raise and meet mine. “Hi. I’m Isla.”
“Hello,” I say back, waving my free hand at her. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“We’re happy to,” she replies, her eyes moving back down to my arm where his carrier is still latched to it. “Who’s that you have there?”
As if Gagey knows he’s caught her attention, he begins cooing. “This is my son. I had to bring him with me because I didn’t have anyone to watch him for me. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine,” the man, Rio, says. “Come have a seat and tell us what you wanted to talk to us about.”
The man who locked the door, I’m not sure who he is—at least not yet because I haven’t taken the time to scan his vest to get it, scurries to the back and brings back one of those contraptions that you set car seats in, the one that looks like a luggage rack in motel rooms. “Thank you,” I say with appreciation as I lift Gage up and place his seat in it. “He likes looking at me.”
The man grunts, which I’m taking as his way of saying, “you’re welcome”, and takes a step back, heading behind Rio where he holds up the wall by leaning on it, crisscrossing his ankles inan intimidating fashion, and gives me a contemplative look. My eyes scan up and I memorize his name so I can attach it to his face and use it if we ever cross paths in the future. BamBam, it suits him.
Isla keeps her eyes trained on Gage as Rio kicks off the discussion. “You mentioned you and Gage dated. How long has it been since you last saw him?”
“Sixteen months, three weeks, and two days ago,” I answer.
“That’s pretty specific,” he mentions. “Keeping a calendar?”
“Be nice,” Isla scolds him, smacking him in the solar plexus with the back of her hand.
“I am being nice,” he rumbles. “But it is pretty damn specific and it’s weird that she has it down to weeks and days, Issy.”
“It’s not weird,” she says in defense of me. “If the roles were reversed, I’d have it down to the hours, minutes, and seconds.”
“Sixteen, twelve, and thirty-six,” I joke, trying to sway them from using my life as a bantering tool. “But who’s counting?”
“Apparently you,” BamBam inserts, taking a jab at me.
I don’t let him get to me though, I have bigger fish to fry than him. “I have questions about Gage and what happened.”
“First, I think you need to tell us about you before we say anything,” Rio insists.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“Every damn thing,” he rebuts, drawing his words out. “The list would be shorter with things Idon’twant to know than what I do. Start by telling us about you and Gage.”
