Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
As the darkness closes in around me, I cling to the hope that somehow, some way, I’ll see her again. I want to tell her how much she means to me, how my love for her burns brighter than anything I’ve ever known.
But for now, all I can do is hold on…
Pray that fate will give us another chance.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maddie
This is so not happening.
I will not cry.
I’m dressed to kill, in a little black number that accentuates my curves. The Colorado winter is mild, so I even forwent wearing pantyhose, and I’ve got some gorgeous patent leather pumps on my feet.
My hair is down, falling around my shoulders in a dark-brown curtain. I even straightened it, so the natural waves are gone.
I wanted to look sleek and classy tonight for my date with Dave.
My makeup is done just so—a natural look but with a bit more eyeshadow than I normally wear.
And if I do say so myself, in this moment, with this anticipation, I look every bit as beautiful as Rory or Callie.
So I won’t cry.
I won’t mess it up.
I’ll make sure someone sees me tonight.
Even though David Simpson is an hour late.
A whole hour.
I’ve texted him several times, but no response.
He called me earlier but didn’t leave a voicemail.
The coward didn’t have the courage to even leave me a message.
He’ll probably give me some excuse. His family needed him for some other crisis. Or he lost track of time doing God knows what in the orchards again.
Maybe I should have told him I loved him back. Maybe this is my fault.
Or maybe he got pissed off that I went out with Grayson. I told him that we were just friends going out for dinner, and that—
No. There’s no excuse.
If he no longer wanted to see me, he could at least have texted me before I spent the whole afternoon dolling myself up.
But no.
Something else stole his attention away from me tonight, away from the date that I’ve been looking forward to all week—that he’s been looking forward to all week, according to the texts and phone calls we’ve shared.
But when the moment of truth came, he ghosted me.
He’s no doubt wishing he hadn’t said those three fateful words so soon.
My appetite is gone, of course. I’m too upset to eat. But I have to do something.
I don’t know the girls on my corridor yet. I just moved in a week ago. The sorority girls are all at the house or already have plans for the evening.
I could go over to the house, see if any of them want to go out.
But I’m not in the mood to be a bubbly sorority girl tonight.
No. I’m in the mood for something else entirely.
If Dave wants to blow me off? Then I can blow him off right back.
Where to go?
I don’t have a lot of money in my purse, but I look the part, and I want to go somewhere classy and elegant.
The Carlton. The bar at the Carlton. I have enough money to buy myself a drink, and after that I can start a tab on my credit card.
My credit card with its tiny limit of five hundred dollars.
My credit card that I never use except for emergencies.
Yeah? Well, tonight is an emergency.
I call an Uber, and because it’s Saturday night in a college town, many drivers are out, so I get a ride quickly.
I drape my black trench coat over myself and walk out of the dorm to meet my driver.
“Going to the Carlton tonight?”
“Yep.”
“You working?”
“No, I don’t work there. Just looking for a night out.”
“Oh.”
By the tone of his voice, I see what he is insinuating.
He thinks I’m a working girl.
Now I feel worse than ever.
I don’t talk to the driver the rest of the way.
And I also don’t give him a tip.
When he drops me off at the Carlton, I murmur a quick thank you and whisk quickly into the hotel, turning toward the bar area.
I’ve stayed at the Carlton once before, back when Dad had his heart attack.
I was entranced then, and I’m entranced now.
Except tonight I’m on my own financially.
I walk into the bar. The lights are dim, and already an aura of elegance and sophistication surrounds me. Rich, dark wood paneling lines the walls, contrasting beautifully with the soft, warm lighting, which casts a welcoming glow over the space. The bar stools are plush leather, and the bar counter is a polished marble masterpiece, gleaming under the soft lighting.
Soft jazz music plays in the background. It’s early yet, only half past seven, so I find a seat at the bar fairly easily.
A handsome bartender—his name tag says Garrett—strides up to me. “What can I get you tonight, beautiful?”
“Sidecar, please.”
Then a low voice next to me rumbles as someone slides into a seat. “You can put that on my tab.”