It Ends with Us

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.
“Ryle, this is Lily. Lily, my brother, Ryle,” she says, motioning toward
him. “And that’s my husband, Marshall.”
Ryle walks over to me and kneels down. “Lily,” he says, regarding me
with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

---

It’s obvious he remembers me—I can see it in his knowing smile. But
like me, he’s pretending this is the first time we’ve met. I’m not sure I’m in
the mood to explain how we already know each other.
Ryle touches my ankle and inspects it. “Can you move it?”
I try to move it, but a sharp pain shoots all the way up my leg. I suck in
air through my teeth and shake my head. “Not yet. It hurts.”
Ryle motions to Marshall. “Find something to put the ice in.”
Allysa follows Marshall out of the room. When they’re both gone, Ryle
looks at me and his mouth turns up into a grin. “I won’t charge you for
this, but only because I’m slightly inebriated,” he says with a wink.
I tilt my head. “The first time I met you, you were high. Now you’re
drunk. I’m beginning to worry you aren’t going to make a very qualified
neurosurgeon.”
He laughs. “It would appear that way,” he says. “But I promise you, I
rarely ever get high and this is my first day off in over a month, so I really
needed a beer. Or five.”
Marshall comes back with an old rag wrapped around some ice. He
hands it to Ryle, who presses it against my ankle. “I’ll need that first aid kit
out of your trunk,” Ryle says to Allysa. She nods and grabs Marshall’s hand,
pulling him out of the room again.
Ryle presses his palm against the bottom of my foot. “Push against my
hand,” he says.
I push down with my ankle. It hurts, but I’m able to move his hand. “Is
it broken?”
He moves my foot from side to side, and then says, “I don’t think so.
Let’s give it a couple of minutes and I’ll see if you can put any weight on
it.”
I nod and watch as he adjusts himself across from me. He sits cross-
legged and pulls my foot onto his lap. He looks around the room and then
directs his attention back at me. “So what is this place?”
I smile a little too big. “Lily Bloom’s. It’ll be a floral shop in about two
months’ time.”
I swear, his whole face lights up with pride. “No way,” he says. “You did
it? You’re actually opening up your own business?”
I nod. “Yep. I figured I might as well try it while I’m still young enough
to bounce back from failure.”

---

One of his hands is holding the ice against my ankle, but the other one
is wrapped around my bare foot. He’s brushing his thumb back and forth,
like it’s no big deal that he’s touching me. But his hand on my foot is way
more noticeable than the pain in my ankle.
“I look ridiculous, huh?” he asks, staring down at his solid red onesie.
I shrug. “At least you went with a non-character choice. It gives it a bit
more maturity than the SpongeBob option.”
He laughs, and then his smile disappears as he leans his head into the
door beside him. He stares at me appreciatively. “You’re even prettier in
the daytime.”
Moments like these are why I absolutely hate having red hair and fair
skin. The embarrassment doesn’t only show up in my cheeks—my whole
face, arms, and neck grow flushed.
I rest my head against the wall behind me and stare at him just like he’s
staring at me. “You want to hear a naked truth?”
He nods.
“I’ve wanted to go back to your roof on more than one occasion since
that night. But I was too scared you’d be there. You make me kind of
nervous.”
His fingers pause their strokes against my foot. “My turn?”
I nod.
His eyes narrow as his hand moves to the underneath of my foot. He
slowly traces his fingers from the tops of my toes, down to my heel. “I still
very much want to fuck you.”
Someone gasps, and it isn’t me.
Ryle and I both look at the doorway and Allysa is standing there, wide-
eyed. Her mouth is open as she points down at Ryle. “Did you just . . .” She
looks at me and says, “I am