CHAPTER 19
Jack’s tourists must be one of those groups who do the full tour experience, as I don’t see him for the next few days.
It doesn’t take long for the warm bubble to burst. The blissfulness of being wrapped up in a blanket, force-fed hot chocolate and then the note that said, phone me anytime—all that loveliness trickles away when I don’t hear from him.
“He might have sent me a text,” I fume—to Katya this time, rather than Mena as I needed an actual response instead of a made-up one. “Seeing as I might have DIED.”
“Stop speaking in capitals,” she says. “And exaggerating.”
I grumble, but I suppose it’s true. Paranoia has set in too. What if, please no, Jack witnessed me snoring, mumbling in my sleep or dribbling? Ryan told me I sometimes do all three when in repose. It’s mortif
