“You are so stubborn.”
“Runs in the family, I’m afraid.”
A beat, and we’re both thinking about Tracker in that moment, about the arguments he and I used to have, both of us too hard-headed to back down, both of us too similar to ever admit it.
She sighs. “I need to think about it.”
“You do that.”
“Tate?”
“Yeah?”
A pause, soft and careful. “Thank you for trying.”
“I’m not trying, Soph.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m keeping my promise.”
Standing in the front yard long after the call ends with the phone loose in my hand, I feel Memphis press his big head against my hip. My hand finds his back without thinking.
The guest room down the hall from the master has a sliding door that opens directly to the pool deck. Good light in the mornings where it’s quiet and private. I’d never given it much thought before. It’s just a room, like every other room in a house I mostly use for sleeping.
Standing here now, I’m already thinking about what it needs. Maybe some color. A decent lamp. Something to make it feel less like a space and more like somewhere a person could breathe.
I’ll get her some books too. I have no idea what she reads, but I’ll figure it out. Can’t be that hard.
Heading back inside with Memphis at my heels, I make a mental note to call church about the Vegas shop deal, call Quill back, and figure out approximately forty other things before the week is out.
But first, I stand in the hallway outside the guest room for a moment, hand resting on the doorframe, looking at the space like I’m seeing it for the first time.
Temporary, I told her.
Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I pull up Raven’s name. Give her a heads-up. Common courtesy.
My thumb hovers.
And then I think about why I’m doing it.
Raven isn’t my ol’ lady. She’s never going to be my ol’ lady, and I’ve made that clear enough times that she’s got no right to be surprised by it. Who I bring into my house or my clubhouse isn’t her business. It never was.
So I put the phone back.
Nobody gets a vote on that but me.
And I simply walk away.
Chapter Seven
SOPHIA
Here I am standing in my living room staring at the suitcase by the door.
It makes everything feel real.
I’ve gotten Trevor’s approval to work remotely from Vegas. He’s been more than accommodating, on the condition that I check in every week with a full briefing and make a genuine effort to bring in new clients. That part I’m not worried about. Vegas is full of businesses that need advertising, and if anything, Trevor had sounded quietly excited about expanding the agency’s reach.