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 knew he had feelings for me. I knew not all of what we’d shared had been a lie. I knew, if he begged me right now to stay here in this town and take a chance on him, I’d say yes.
But he didn’t.
He was holding the door open for me to leave, and there was nothing left for me to do but walk through it.
Nineteen
Griffin
She walked out.
Like I had known she would since the night I met her. Like she was supposed to. Like I wanted her to. So why the sight of her leaving made my chest feel like it was caving in, I had no idea.
I’m not sure how long I’d been standing there wanting to put my fist through all the walls we’d just painted together when Lanette snuck back into the room.
“Wow,” she said, her eyes wide. “That was intense. Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Which meant the news of our farewell fight would be all over town by dinnertime.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
I stormed back into the garage and stared under the hood of some vehicle without even registering what it was or what I was supposed to be doing. Five minutes after I’d been frozen there like a statue, Handme said, “Hey. Isn’t that Blair going by? She’s carrying a suitcase. Is she leaving now?”
“Yes,” I said, refusing to look out the open bay doors. She’d been wearing that short yellow dress with the flowers that she’d had on the very first day she worked the desk. I loved her in that dress. I loved her in anything. I couldn’t believe I would never see her again. Touch her again. Kiss her again.
“Well, should we go say goodbye?”
“Handme, don’t you fucking dare.”
I tried to work, but my head was a mess. I was exhausted, miserable, angry, resentful, and suffocating with guilt. I had hurt her. I had wrecked something good. I was supposed to feel better now that she was gone, more in control, but I didn’t. I felt like I was completely losing my shit.
I took it out on the people around me, of course. I lost my temper with Handme for not folding the towels the way I wanted them. I screamed at McIntyre for an invoicing mistake I’d made a hundred times. I hung up on my mother after she called me demanding to know why she’d heard from at least two people that Blair had suddenly quit working for me and left town. And I was grumpy with Lanette when she came into the garage with a file folder in her hands.
“Hey, have you seen all this?” she asked. “It’s really impressive. Blair did a ton of work.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” I snapped. “But I’m too busy to take it over. Give it to my mom or Cheyenne.”
“Everything is pretty much organized. Someone just needs to be on site coordinating. I can handle that.”
“Fine.”
“Although I can’t bake like she does. So we’ll have to either scratch the sweets table or see if Louise from the diner can do it.”
I frowned. No one liked Louise’s baking. “Scratch the sweets table.”
“Too bad Betty Frankel never had any daughters. I wonder if—”
“Just scratch the damn sweets table, Lanette! Betty and Blair are both gone, and neither of them are coming back!”
Surprised by my outburst, my cousin backed off. “Okay, okay. I’m just trying to help.”
I turned back to the engine I was working on, muttering about the constant interruptions, wishing Blair Beaufort had never crashed into my life, and refusing to let my mind wander to her on the road . . . was she okay? Was she halfway there yet? Was she still crying? Had she believed me when I told her that she hadn’t imagined I cared?
Because I did. And for the rest of my days, I’d probably remember the two weeks I spent with her as the most fun, the most happy, the most alive I’d ever felt.
After leaving the shop later than usual—I wasn’t looking forward to going home alone—I locked the door behind me and trudged slowly up the stairs to my apartment, thinking about all the times I’d followed her up the steps.
Inside, I stopped and looked around. It was big and empty and silent. Even Bisou was nowhere to be seen. I inhaled, but there was no lingering scent of something baking in the oven, no hint of Blair’s perfume or shampoo.
I walked back to my bedroom and saw that her suitcase was gone, the bed was made, and her dress no longer hung on the back of my closet door. A pang of regret stabbed me in the side.
I’d made a mistake.
I’d been wrong to send her away. Wrong and mean and stupid, and now I was going to spend all my nights alone in this bed where she’d made me feel so good.