Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I wanted her back.
Panicked, I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and was about to call her when a text came in from Cole, asking if I wanted to take a run with him. It reminded me of the last run we’d taken, when he’d prodded me about dating Blair long-distance, and I’d insisted that wasn’t going to happen, because I didn’t want my life to change.
I looked at my bed. At the closet door. At the phone.
If I made this call, it would change everything. I’d have to admit I’d been wrong—to everyone, not just Blair. To my mother, my sister, my friends, my co-workers, this town.
I’d have to acknowledge I’d been weak. That I wasn’t as strong as I’d bragged about being. That there was someone who had such a powerful hold over me after only two weeks that I was willing to take back all the things I’d said and upend my life to be with her.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
This was temporary, and it would pass. I’d gotten through hard times before, right? I’d lost people who’d mattered to me, people I loved. I’d hit rock bottom. I’d clawed my way out. I’d made my peace with the kind of life I’d have.
Ignoring the text for now, I took a shower and crashed into bed. It was impossible not to feel surrounded by the memory of her—I could still smell her shampoo on the pillow. Bisou wandered in and nosed around the room like she was looking for something—or someone—and then jumped up on the bed, tucking herself in along my side, sort of the way Blair used to. She meowed a few times, and I stroked her soft black and white fur.
“Sorry, Bisou. She’s gone, and you’re stuck with me.”
The cat continued to make sad little noises, but I shut my eyes and fell asleep.
Twenty
Blair
After leaving Griffin in the lobby, I’d gone directly upstairs and texted Frannie that I wouldn’t need a ride after all because my car was ready. She’d texted back right away.
Oh, that’s good news! her message read. Drive carefully and call me when you get to town.
Next I’d said goodbye to Bisou, hugging her close to me as I choked back tears. “Tu vas me manquer, ma chatounette.”
Then, with my heart in pieces, I grabbed my suitcase, folded my white dress over one arm, left Griffin’s spare key on the table, and walked out.
Sunglasses back in place, I didn’t even look in the windows of the lobby when I passed by, and I kept my head straight and my chin up as I passed the open service bays. Was he watching?
In the lot, I found my car, and opened the trunk. Inside it were jumper cables, which made my throat catch and my nose tingle. Pushing them aside, I loaded my suitcase in the trunk and carefully laid my dress on top of it. For a moment, I stood there looking at the gown, remembering how I’d thought it would bring me good luck. Hope. Opportunity. But now every time I looked at it, I’d think of Griffin, and he was now the opposite of all those things.
On impulse, I grabbed the dress from the trunk and marched over to the dumpster.
But I couldn’t bring myself to actually open the lid and toss it in.
Instead, I draped it over the top before hurrying back to my car and sliding behind the wheel. Through tears, I grabbed the keys off the passenger seat and started the engine.
I pulled out of the lot and turned right onto Main Street, although I had no idea where I was going. I drove aimlessly for several blocks, realizing I was going to have to pull over and use the GPS on my phone to get to Cloverleigh Farms.
But when I came to the stop sign at Center Avenue, I remembered that I’d never visited Mr. Frankel for tea. I had no idea whether he’d be home or not, and I didn’t have that pie I’d promised him, but I figured I’d at least try to honor my word to stop in. He’d seemed so happy when I said I would.
I turned onto the pretty, tree-lined street, admiring the colorfully painted Victorians on either side. I remembered Mr. Frankel had said his address was 910, and found it on the second block. Turning around in the driveway, I pulled up at the curb in front of his house, a beautiful Queen Anne right out of a storybook, complete with wraparound porch, bay windows, stained glass, and even a turret fit for a princess. Its roof shingles were dark red, and it was painted a deep shade of moss green with amber trim.
I took a moment to blow my nose and mop up my eyes, but in the end there wasn’t much I could do to make it less obvious I’d been crying. Hopefully, Mr. Frankel’s eyes weren’t as sharp as Lanette’s.