Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

AINSLEY

P eter and I didn't talk most of the morning, though we were both still glowing from our night together. I didn't want to dissect what had happened, or why it happened, so I chose silence and he didn't press me for conversation. I was sure he was running through millions of questions in his mind too, but for the moment, it seemed best that we both sit with our thoughts and feelings until we knew what to do with them.

I dropped the kids off at school before heading toward the bank, my mind elsewhere. As I was driving, I heard my phone buzz from the cup holder and glanced down at the built-in screen on my dashboard.

2 New Dater Messages , it said, and I stared at the name, Stefan.

So, he hadn't given up yet. It was Friday, and all I wanted to do was make it through the day and to the weekend unscathed. But I knew the next week would bring a new set of challenges. I needed to connect with someone new by Tuesday. I needed to get the point across to Stefan, make him realize I wasn't going to respond, that I couldn't, and apparently that was going to be harder than I'd expected.

All too soon, I was at the bank and waiting on the all-clear signal from one of the bankers that said it was safe for us to go inside. When it arrived, a small slip of pre-agreed upon pink paper taped to the front door, I stepped from my car, grabbed the phone, my purse, and my tea, and headed toward the building.

Once I was inside, I glanced down at the screen, reading his message from within the app.

Checking in again. Can you at least let me know you're getting these?

The next one said, I'm guessing I did something wrong—sorry about that. I told you I was rusty at this dating thing. Anyway, I wanted to apologize for whatever it is. You don't have to respond, but I had a lot of fun with you, and I hope I didn't offend you somehow. Have a great weekend, Ainsley. I hope you find what you're looking for.

I nodded, lowering the phone as guilt and worry washed over me. Poor Stefan. This wasn't what I wanted.

"Good morning," I called to Brenda as she refilled the coffee pot on the far side of the lobby. I heard the clang of the vault door as the tellers opened it, beginning to remove their cash drawers and set up for the day. The building was eerily quiet for the most part, the sounds fresh and stunning in the stark silence. Before our customers arrived, before we opened our doors, it was always quiet. Most days, we were all still trying to wake up and get in our first few cups of coffee before the morning huddles and the craziness set in.

I put my key in the knob of my office door, twisted it, and froze, my body going icy. I grabbed the phone from my pocket again. No.

I reread the message. It wasn't possible.

No. No. No.

There it was. Why hadn't I caught it the first time? Have a great weekend, Ainsley. I sucked in a sharp breath, my arms lined with goose bumps as the question rang out in my head: Why had he used my real name?