When Jimmy walked through the door, that familiar cloud of cologne followed him in. Now that I thought about it, the scent was ridiculously expensive—way beyond what someone supposedly scraping by with odd jobs could afford.
“Nessie…” he said, wrapping his arms around me. My whole body went stiff.
“Why didn’t you come the day of my surgery? Where have you been?” he asked, rubbing his face into my hair like a puppy desperate for comfort.
I forced myself to hold it together. “I was working. Couldn’t get away.”
“Where’s our photo?” He pulled back, scanning the now bare wall.
“I took it down,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “Landlord doesn’t allow stuff on the walls.”
He let it go and fished something out of his pocket, two cruise tickets. “I planned a surprise for your birthday,” he said. “A coworker gave me these. Let’s go together.”
I bit my lip so hard it hurt. My chest ached like it was being crushed. After a long pause, I managed to squeeze out a quiet “okay.”
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I collapsed onto the couch. My hand brushed against something cold—his phone, forgotten on the cushions.
The screen lit up. My heart dropped.
Pinned at the top of his chats: