He had to jog to catch up with her pace. She was close to stomping holes into the city’s pavement with each angry step. He moved ahead of her to grab the door. “Look, honey, I have no idea why our paths would cross after all of these years, but hell...if you’re still sore about what happened in 2010—”

Antonia’s hands hovered above her keyboard. Bryon’s character appeared before her as an interesting mix of “dick” and “good guy.” Brusque and crass, but endearing and great for a laugh. It felt right to her. It seemed like a mix of the men who were currently in her life. Derek was definitely a dick, smooth and sly, a man who could keep his lies packed away in the dark. Aiden was still a bit of a mystery, but from what she saw, he was endearing. His masculinity frightened her and kept her on her toes, but he seemed great for a laugh.

Now seemed like a good time to take a break and talk to someone else about her concerns. Octavia was the only person she knew who was up this early considering the new time difference. She saved her work and wandered back to the bedroom to find her phone. Along the way, she walked through the kitchen, catching the status of the washing machine. On her afternoon hike, Antonia had tripped and fell into what felt like a bog. She’d spent her long, miserable walk back to the cottage in wet, muddy pants. She peered through the circular glass pane at the wet clothes that still spun in clear water. That’s weird. It was still running after even after her hour-long writing sprint, which seemed well past what her muddy jeans needed.

As she continued to her bedroom, she tried to remember which setting she put the machine on. After she retrieved her phone, she ran back to the kitchen. Did I put it on the wrong setting? Antonia panicked, she didn’t want to break anything in a cottage rental. She didn’t know how much a washing machine cost in euros. What if I broke it?

With her phone in hand, she wondered who she could call. Antonia instinctively dialed her sister. Her sister in another country. When Octavia picked up on the second ring, she yelled, “What do you do about a washing machine that’s been running for over an hour?”

“Good morning to you,” Octavia’s calm voice said.

“Hi, sorry, things are great in Ireland,” Antonia said, staring at the still-spinning machine. It didn’t even look like it was ready for the spin cycle.

A note of concern threaded her sister’s voice. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, apart from my neighbor and this machine, yeah.”

“What’s wrong with your neighbor? Is he a racist?”

She didn’t want to alarm her sister, whose main concern was that she remained safe while visiting another country. “No, no, nothing like that,” she assured. “He’s uh, very friendly actually.”

“Creepy friendly?” Octavia demanded.