Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Thirty-One

The next three days are filled with even more of my spaghetti. And at least three socks have disappeared from my room along with my keys and phone. Every time I mention this to Enrique, he just disappears down a hallway and returns with whatever I've lost, citing the elusive, invisible Charles the cat as the culprit.

I have no idea where to go with that, and Enrique's getting irritated with my questions, so I've taken the easy way out and avoided talking to him about basically anything before he's home and wearing pyjamas.

I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that my life has become even more mundane than before. Isn't a husband supposed to be exciting or whatever? A week ago it was exciting.

But Enrique said it himself, everything changes when you're back to normal life. Things are less exciting.

We haven't talked about the upcoming reunion once and between that and Charles I'm starting to wonder what's going on. I stopped by Mrs. Gallagher's house twice to help weed her garden and see if she'd give me any gossip but she's holding out on me.

All I want by Friday afternoon is to finish my work and take a nice long bubble back with my book, but I'm not going to lie. It's getting a little lonely in this big house all by myself.

I'm staring at the spreadsheet on my screen when the front door crashes open. My legs are burning and my ponytail is tipped to the side when I reach the front door to find an equally dishevelled Enrique.

Honestly, if Mrs. Maeve Gallagher walks in here right now she's going to think something very different is going on.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, once I finally have my bearings. Enrique home before six probably means the school exploded or something.

"Of course, why?"

Because the last time you were home before supper was... never? "You're home so early I thought maybe something went wrong."

My computer pings from the den, alerting me to a work email.

His whole body sags and he reaches for a glass of water, resting his elbows on the counter. "Fridays are early dismissal so I get home a little earlier even after grading and cleaning and all that boring stuff you don't want to hear about."

I do, though. I do want to hear about it. I have no idea why I want to hear about it, but I want to know everything he has to say. Why does my mouth refuse to tell him what I want?

He puts the glass down on the counter and stirs me out of my thoughts. "I'm wondering, though. Do you want to get out of here?"

My clothes are a mess and I can practically feel my hair forming a knot on top of my head. Suddenly self conscious, I ask, "Get out of here and go where?"

Please be somewhere that doesn't make me eat my own spaghetti.

"A hike maybe? I think we still have time before sunset."

A hike? I hate hiking almost more than I hate liars and disorganized lists. But I can't bear to be cramped up in this house anymore. So instead of asking to do something I'd actually enjoy, I just say, "Sure, a hike sounds nice."

Well, I am wildly unprepared for a hike. Or outdoor activity of any kind. But I do know I need to find comfortable clothes and shoes that would look very out of place on a runway.

Somehow that dang cat has taken my favourite pair of socks, but I don't have enough time to do anything but race around my room searching for my one suitable pair of runners. I haven't worn them in over a month, so I'm hoping my memory serves me correctly and there will be no blisters.