Sloane and I flew to Mallorca in silence. I could tell she was plotting my demise the entire time, but luckily, all sharp objects remained blood-free when we landed.
By then, we were so tired she didn’t argue over sharing a villa with me, and I didn’t protest when she took the primary suite. I was simply happy to fall into bed and pass out.
Despite my exhaustion, it was a fitful sleep plagued by replays of the same dream. I was crossing a bridge with Hershey, my pet chocolate Lab from childhood, but every time I made it halfway, the gaps between the planks widened. No matter how hard I tried to jump the distance or cling to the railing, we fell through the gap. I plunged into quicksand and watched helplessly as the surrounding river swept my beloved dog away.
Hershey died years ago from old age, but that didn’t matter to Dream Me. The crushing anchor of failure weighed me down more than the quicksand.
The fall happened over and over and over until I woke up, heart pounding and body drenched in sweat.
Variations of the dream had haunted me for years.
Sometimes, I was with Hershey. Other times, I was with my mother, an old friend, or an ex-girlfriend. Whoever it was, the result remained the same.
I was stuck watching them die.
“Fuck this.” My harsh voice chased some of the ghosts away as I tossed my covers off.
It was only eight. I usually didn’t get up until past ten, but I couldn’t stay in that bed any longer.
I turned the shower as cold as it would go and washed away the remnants of the night.
It was just a stupid dream. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my trip, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to dig deeper into what it meant. Ignorance was bliss.
I scrubbed harder with the soap.
By the time I toweled off and threw on a shirt and pants, I’d corralled my unease to the back corners of my mind where it belonged.
I headed to the kitchen but stopped halfway when a flash of movement caught my eye.
I came to a dead halt.
Sloane was exercising on the back deck, wearing a tank top and yoga pants. Yoga pants.
It might seem normal to see someone wearing workout clothes to work out, but this was Sloane. I’d known her for three years and I had never, not once, seen her in anything other than an evening dress or business wear. I was convinced she slept in those knife-sharp suits she favored so much.
I walked closer, fascinated by the unnatural sight.
Sloane switched from one impossible-looking yoga pose to another. Sunlight gilded her lithe form and turned her golden hair into a halo. She hadn’t noticed me yet, which meant her expression didn’t hold disdain, frustration, or general annoyance.
It was…nice, but also a little alarming, like seeing a lioness stripped of her claws.
Her phone pinged with a new notification. My mouth twitched when she balanced herself so she could type out a reply with one hand before she resettled into her original position and closed her eyes.
“Impressive.” I couldn’t resist commenting. I leaned against the doorframe and pushed a hand into the pocket of my sweatpants. “But you know the point of yoga is to relax, right?”
Sloane’s eyes popped open again. Her head swiveled so she could glare at me. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.
Ah, there’s that comforting irritation. Let’s see if we can notch it higher, shall we?
“Long enough to see you answer your phone.” I tsked with disappointment. “It’s the first day, and you’re already breaking the rules. I expected more from you.”
My smile inched wider when she unfolded herself, stood, and came to a stop inches from me. This close, I could see flecks of gray in her blue eyes and smell a trace of her perfume. It was clean and light, like fresh linen with a hint of jasmine.
They were things I shouldn’t notice about a woman who tolerated me at best and despised me at worst. But I did, and once I noticed them, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
“They weren’t rules,” Sloane said. “They were mutually agreed conditions. Plus, it wasn’t a work text. It was personal.”
“Let me guess. It was your date from the other night.”
“You’re strangely obsessed with that date.”
So it had been a date. I was unprepared for the little kick in my stomach, which I masked with a shrug. “Nothing strange about it. You’re notorious for turning down men.”
“Lucky me. Maybe they’ll get the hint and leave me alone.”
Sloane abandoned her yoga session and brushed past me into the living room.
I trailed after her. “So, your first vacation in years. What are your plans for the day?”
I’d made a wild guess about the last time she took off work, but she didn’t correct me, which was damn sad. People could scold me for “not living up to my potential,” but at least I wasn’t chained to my inbox and the whims of others.
“I haven’t decided yet. Perhaps I’ll finish my book.” Her eyes flicked around at our luxurious surroundings. The three-bedroom villa boasted an infinity pool, a Jacuzzi, and access to a private beach, but she seemed unimpressed by all of it.
“The book you were reading on the plane?” I asked in disbelief. “25 Principles of Crisis Communications? That book?”
Pink colored her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “It’s the latest edition.”
