Fly With Me | ✓

43

Maverick had left for Windsor at the end of November—waited two weeks before jetting off. Everleigh hadn't seen him, or spoken to him, in 12 days. 288 hours and counting. Almost two weeks. She wished she wasn't so fucking good at math—needed Jun to tell her statistics were disgusting so she stopped trying to crunch the numbers of whether or not her and Maverick were going to make it through January and any month in Vegas that followed.

Roman and Florence had done their best to fill the gaps Maverick had left. Whether it was trips to Tesco or one of them sleeping on her couch purely to hear breathing in the flat. Everleigh tried to tell them that she would be fine, but they wouldn't listen. It was nice having someone to talk to while she walked Dewey, though. Roman brought Navi in her stroller and Everleigh walked the dog and he usually showed up with an oat latte for himself and raspberry lemonade for her and somehow that felt entirely normal even though Everleigh had never gone for a walk in her damn life.

"I brought chocolate croissants," Roman said.

Sometimes he brought pastries, too.

Everleigh clicked her tongue and Dewey followed her. Maverick had taught him a little too quickly to carry his leash in his mouth. He was mostly a good dog, stayed beside Everleigh's ankles while they walked, didn't stray too far from the sidewalk. It was only when he was in the flat that he got antsy and wanted to be outside.

"Happy birthday," Roman said, tossing a croissant bag at her. Everleigh hoped it wasn't one he'd already bitten into again. "Even though you don't like that kind of shit."

"Thank you." It was nice to be done. Practicum. Exams. Everleigh was terrified of what the world held for her after her graduation in a month, but she never had to open another textbook. That was something. Final grades would be in soon, and she would find out whether or not she was valedictorian sometime around Christmas. She could breathe.

"How are we this morning?"

"Roman, you don't have to ask me that every time."

"I do, though." Roman looked at her, sipped his latte with one hand on the stroller.

"Why?"

Roman rolled his eyes. "It's not a secret you're family."

"By marriage."

"Don't make me say something you're not going to like."

Everleigh stopped beside Dewey. His favourite tree was just off the sidewalk, a good spot to stop the conversation. "I never like what you have to say."

Roman sighed. "I know you got that romper tailored for our wedding. And I know you told Florence you didn't."

"How would you—"

"Because the tailoring was on my credit card," Roman said. "I checked the statements. I paid for everyone's tailoring because I'm nice."

"Nice people don't spend this much time saying they're nice," Everleigh said. "Or cool, for the record."

"Most of our wedding party went the same day," Roman said, "there was one transaction that was done separately that was, you know, clearly one person."

"How do you know it was me?"

"Because everyone else let me know when things were going to be charged to my credit card," Roman said. "You know, so I wouldn't freak out."

"Sorry."

"Everleigh."

"What?"