Page 9 of To Her

Geri

B y the time I finished my shift at the day spa, my shoulders were knotted with tension and my fake customer-service smile had been plastered on for so long my cheeks hurt.

Six back-to-back appointments with Seabreeze Haven's wealthiest women had left me mentally drained and physically exhausted.

All I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for about twelve hours straight.

Instead, I had a dinner shift at the Harborview to get through.

At least I had an hour break before I needed to be on the floor. Small mercies.

I trudged through the restaurant's back entrance, waving half-heartedly at Marco, the head chef, who was in the middle of what looked like an intense argument with one of the line cooks about the proper way to reduce a sauce.

James spotted me from across the kitchen and immediately abandoned whatever he was doing to intercept me before I could collapse at the small break table in the corner.

"You look like you've been through war," he said, steering me toward a stool. "Sit. I'm feeding you."

"I'm not hungry," I lied, just as my stomach betrayed me with an audible growl.

James raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. When's the last time you ate?"

I tried to remember. The cereal this morning? Had I actually finished it, or just pushed it around the bowl while checking my phone for messages that weren't there?

"That's what I thought," James said, interpreting my silence correctly. "Give me five minutes."

True to his word, he returned shortly with a plate that made my mouth water instantly.

Baby octopus salad—my absolute favourite, and something that wasn't even on the menu.

James had created it specifically for me after I'd mentioned once, in passing, how much I loved the dish at a restaurant in Sydney.

"You're too good to me," I said, already digging in.

"I know." He pulled up a stool across from me, watching with satisfaction as I devoured the food. "Someone has to make sure you don't waste away."

Between bites, I noticed he was scrolling through my phone. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Checking your social media presence," he said casually. "Which is, by the way, pathetically outdated. I was scrolling on my lunch break and noticed how sad your Facebook looked."

I rolled my eyes. "Some of us have actual jobs and don't have time to curate our online personas."

"Excuses, excuses." He turned the phone toward me. "Your bio still says you have a boyfriend, which you don't, and your location is still set to Sydney. Let's update this, baby, shall we? Let's reel in some men who decide to stalk you."

I laughed despite myself. "Update to what?"

"Well, for starters, let's delete this bio." He was already tapping away. "What should we put instead?"

"I don't know. 'Single woman seeks peace and quiet'?"

"Boring." He made a dismissive noise. "How about 'I like long walks on the beach'?"

"Generic."

"Fine. 'I like long walks on the beach and hiding in caves with big scary brown bears.'"

I nearly choked on a piece of octopus. "What?"

"Too much?" He grinned. "How about we add 'I hate the colour yellow and love to dance while wearing a tutu'?"

We went back and forth, suggesting increasingly ridiculous bio lines, each one more absurd than the last. By the time we settled on a final version, I was laughing so hard my sides hurt.

"There," James said triumphantly, showing me the result. "Perfect."

The bio now read: "Professional mermaid by day, ninja by night. I collect vintage spoons and can communicate with squirrels. If you can't handle me at my weirdest, you don't deserve me at my slightly less weird."

"I look insane," I protested, though I was still grinning.

"You are insane. This is truth in advertising." He saved the changes before I could object further. "Now, on to phase two of Operation Get Geri a Life."

"I have a life!"

"You have jobs, plural. That's not the same thing." He opened the app store on my phone. "Time to join the twenty-first century dating scene."

I watched in horror as he downloaded Tinder. "Oh no. Absolutely not."

"Oh yes, absolutely yes." He was already setting up my profile, using one of the few decent photos of me from Haley's Instagram. "Trust me, this is for your own good."

"How is having strange men send me dick pics for my own good?"

"You need to chase new men," he said, ignoring my question. "Right now, you like boys. You need ones who will treat you like a lady."

I snorted. "So I need a sixty-year-old man who'll still open the door for me?"

"Exactly!" He nodded enthusiastically. "That's exactly what you need."

"Oh, maybe a rich one," I played along. "With a mansion of his own."

"Now you're getting it."

Before I could stop him, he started swiping right on profiles, moving so quickly I could barely see the men he was selecting.

"James!" I snatched the phone back. "What are you doing? They're all—" I paused, looking at the most recent match. "Actually, he's kind of cute."

"See? Trust the process." He stood up, checking his watch. "Break time's over. Marco needs me to prep for the dinner rush, and you need to get changed for your shift."

I glanced down at my spa uniform—black pants and a polo shirt with the spa's logo—and sighed. "Thanks for the food. And the... whatever that was."

"Social intervention," he supplied. "You're welcome."

The dinner shift passed in a blur of orders, spilled drinks, and a particularly obnoxious table of businessmen who seemed to think their generous tips entitled them to comment on my appearance. By the time we closed at ten, I was running on fumes and autopilot.

"You good to get home?" James asked as we finished closing duties.

I nodded, stifling a yawn. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

"Text me when you get there," he said, giving me a quick hug. "And check your Tinder. You already had three matches when I last looked."

"Goodnight, James," I said pointedly, but I was smiling as I headed out to my car.

The drive back to Haley's parents' mansion was short, but I still found myself checking my phone at red lights. Not for Tinder matches, but for messages from Matt. Still nothing.

I'd almost managed to push him from my mind during my busy day, but now, in the quiet of my car, the disappointment crept back in.

It was stupid to feel this way about someone I barely knew, someone who was leaving in less than two weeks.

But I couldn't help it. There had been something there, something real—or so I'd thought.

As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed several unfamiliar cars parked outside. Great. Haley and Anna must have people over. All I wanted was a hot shower and my bed, not small talk with strangers.

I slipped in through the side door, hoping to make it to my room unnoticed, but voices from the living room carried down the hall.

"Geri? Is that you?" Haley called.

Busted.

"Yeah, just got off work," I replied, reluctantly changing course toward the living room.

I stepped into the spacious room to find Haley and Anna lounging on the sectional with Jake and his friends. My heart did a stupid little flip when I spotted Matt among them, sitting in an armchair with a beer in hand.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us seemed to know what to say.

"Hey," I finally managed, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to awkward.

"Hey," he replied, his expression unreadable.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, broken only when Anna, bless her, jumped in with, "How was work?"

"Long," I said, grateful for the distraction. "I'm actually going to grab a shower. I smell like work and need to get clean."

"We ordered pizza," Haley offered. "There's still some left in the kitchen if you're hungry."

"Thanks, maybe after." I was already backing toward the door, desperate to escape the weight of Matt's gaze. "Nice to see you all."

I fled to my room, heart pounding inexplicably. The last thing I'd wanted was to see Matt tonight, especially not surrounded by our friends, with no chance to talk about why he'd disappeared on me.

I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day's stress and giving myself a pep talk. So what if he ghosted me? So what if he was sitting in the living room right now, looking unfairly good in a simple t-shirt and jeans? I was a grown woman. I could handle this.

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with my hair dripping down my back, I'd almost convinced myself I was over it.

Until I opened the door to find Matt leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, looking distinctly unhappy.

"What?" I asked, clutching my towel tighter.

"You made a Tinder account," he said, his voice low and accusatory.

I blinked, momentarily thrown. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, that wasn't even on the list. "Um, maybe?"

"I saw it today."

"So?" I was starting to get annoyed now. What right did he have to question me about anything?

"I thought this was something," he said, gesturing between us.

The audacity nearly took my breath away. "You ghosted me," I pointed out.

"No, I was busy. I said that to you."

"You also said you would call," I countered, "and that didn't happen."

Something shifted in his expression then, the anger giving way to confusion, then realization. "Did I?"

"Yes." The word came out sharper than I intended, all my disappointment and hurt condensed into a single syllable.

Matt's shoulders slumped slightly. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was starting to recognize as a sign of his discomfort. "Shit," he muttered, then took a step toward me. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

I stayed where I was, not trusting myself to move closer to him while wearing only a towel and a thin veneer of indignation.

"So this whole time," he continued, moving closer still, "I thought you would call me, and you thought I would call you?"

"That's generally how it works when someone says 'I'll call you tonight,'" I said, but the bite had gone out of my words.