I looked to Chuck and Phaedra. “I don’t even understand life right now. What is going on?”

I ran around the counter and scrambled for the sack before tearing the phone from beneath the layers of tissue paper. I was fairly certain the three bare asses on the wallpaper belonged to Taylor, Dalton, and Zeke even though all three men’s faces were obscured as they were slightly bent while they mooned the camera.

I choked back tears and covered my mouth.

“Who does that?” I asked to no one in particular. I looked to Phaedra, who had tears in her eyes, too. “I’m going. Next weekend, I’ll be in Eakins.”

“I’m happy for you, honey,” Phaedra said, holding out her arms as she walked toward me. Squeezing me tight, she patted my back. “But if he follows through on his promise, there won’t be enough of him left for Chuck to slice after I’m through with him.”

She let go of me, and the phone in my hand buzzed. The name on the screen read, TAYLORBEAST. I swiped the screen over and read the text.

Stop missing me. It’s embarrassing.

I shook my head and slid the phone into my apron. I would return it the moment we were back from Eakins, but his kindness was overwhelming.

For the rest of my shift, it was impossible not to be distracted by images of rolling into town and realizing my own atonement—from a respectable distance—without anyone being the wiser. I’d dreamed about it for so long, and knowing it was just a week away was almost unbearable.

Closing up might take twice as long without Kirby there to help, but we were so slow that I started well before Phaedra flipped the sign and locked the door.

I counted my tips and separated them out for Kirby, locking her portion in the cash register, and then I headed upstairs, waving to Pete and Hector as I passed.

Falling onto my couch, I pulled my new phone from my apron and held it in front of me with both hands. Taylor had sent more texts.

Well crap. Now I miss you. Thanks for being a bad influence.

What time do you get off?

Just text me when you’re off.

Waiting sucks.

With my thumbs, I typed on the touch screen.

I hope you weren’t driving.

Immediately, three dots appeared, having their own little dance party on the screen.

What the heck does that mean?

Then a message popped up.

Nah, I let Dalton drive.

Oh. It means he’s typing.

I typed again, wondering if he could tell that I was replying.

Everyone home safe and sound then?

Yep.

I wasn’t sure what to say after that. It had been a long time since I communicated with someone via a phone screen. I was out of practice.