It Ends with Us
Page 13

Allysa shakes her head. “None of them,” she whispers.
“Exactly. None of them.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and then I can’t take it another second. I’m bursting with excitement and I just start laughing like a giddy child. Allysa starts laughing, too, and she jumps up and hugs me. “Lily, it’s so twisted, it’s brilliant!”
“I know!” I’m full of renewed energy. “I need a desk so I can sit down and make a business plan! But my future office is full of old vegetable crates!”
She walks toward the back of the store. “Well, let’s get them out of there and go buy you a desk!”
We squeeze into the office and begin moving crates out one by one and into a back room. I stand on the chair to make the piles taller so we’ll have more room to move around.
“These are perfect for the window displays I have in mind.” She hands me two more crates and walks away, and as I’m reaching on my tiptoes to stack them at the very top, the pile begins to tumble. I try to find something to grab hold of for balance, but the crates knock me off the chair. When I land on the floor, I can feel my foot bend in the wrong direction. It’s followed by a rush of pain straight up my leg and down to my toes.
Allysa comes rushing back into the room and has to move two of the crates from on top of me. “Lily!” she says. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
I pull myself up to a sitting position, but don’t even try to put weight on my ankle. I shake my head. “My ankle.”
She immediately removes my shoe and then pulls her phone out of her pocket. She begins dialing a number and then looks up at me. “I know this is a stupid question, but do you happen to have a refrigerator here with ice in it?”
I shake my head.
“I figured,” she says. She puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the floor as she begins to roll up my pant leg. I wince, but not so much from the pain. I just can’t believe I did something so stupid. If I broke it, I’m screwed. I just spent my entire inheritance on a building that I won’t even be able to renovate for months.
“Heeey, Issa,” a voice croons through her phone. “Where you at? The game’s over.”
Allysa picks up her phone and brings it closer to her mouth. “At work. Listen, I need . . .”
The guy cuts her off and says, “At work? Babe, you don’t even have a job.”
Allysa shakes her head and says, “Marshall, listen. It’s an emergency. I think my boss broke her ankle. I need you to bring some ice to . . .”
He cuts her off with a laugh. “Your boss? Babe, you don’t even have a job,” he repeats.
Allysa rolls her eyes. “Marshall, are you drunk?”
“It’s onesie day,” he slurs into the phone. “You knew that when you dropped us off, Issa. Free beer until . . .”
She groans. “Put my brother on the phone.”
“Fine, fine,” Marshall mumbles. There’s a rustling sound that comes from the phone, and then, “Yeah?”
Allysa spits out our location into the phone. “Get here right now. Please. And bring a bag of ice.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says. The brother sounds like he may be a little drunk, too. There’s laughter, and then one of the guys says, “She’s in a bad mood,” and then the line goes dead.
Allysa puts her phone back in her pocket. “I’ll go wait outside for them, they’re just down the street. Will you be okay here?”
I nod and reach for the chair. “Maybe I should just try to walk on it.”
Allysa pushes my shoulders back until I’m leaning against the wall again. “No, don’t move. Wait until they get here, okay?”
I have no idea what two drunken guys are going to be able to do for me, but I nod. My new employee feels more like my boss right now and I’m kind of scared of her at the moment.
I wait in the back for about ten minutes when I finally hear the front door to the building open. “What in the world?” a man’s voice says. “Why are you all alone in this creepy building?”
I hear Allysa say, “She’s back here.” She walks in, followed by a guy wearing a onesie. He’s tall, a little bit on the thin side, but boyishly handsome with big, honest eyes and a head full of dark, messy, way-past-due-for-a-haircut hair. He’s holding a bag of ice.
Did I mention he was wearing a onesie?
I’m talking a legit, full-grown man in a SpongeBob onesie.
“This is your husband?” I ask her, cocking an eyebrow.
Allysa rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately,” she says, glancing back at him. Another guy (also in a onesie) walks in behind them, but my attention is on Allysa as she explains why they’re wearing pajamas on a random Wednesday afternoon. “There’s a bar down the street that gives out free beer to anyone who shows up in a onesie during a Bruins game.” She makes her way over to me and motions for the guys to follow her. “She fell off the chair and hurt her ankle,” she says to the other guy. He steps around Marshall and the first thing I notice are his arms.
Holy shit. I know those arms.
Those are the arms of a neurosurgeon.
Allysa is his sister? The sister that owns the entire top floor, with the husband who works in pajamas and brings in seven figures a year?
As soon as my eyes lock with Ryle’s, his whole face morphs into a smile. I haven’t seen him in—God, how long ago was that—six months? I can’t say I haven’t thought about him during the past six months, because I’ve thought about him quite a few times. But I never actually thought I’d see him again.