Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Could I have done something differently? Something that would have made her stay?”
Mom shakes her head. “Knowing you, you did everything just right. I get the feeling that Lu leaving has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with Lu. I spoke to her mother at the wedding—”
“You did?”
“Of course I did! I adore Katherine Wade. But she told me about the whole situation with Lu’s fiancé, which sounds awful. It happened so recently too. Which brings me back to my point. You’ve always known you wanted Lu. I think Lu’s always wanted you too, but after she was forced to give you up how many years ago, she had to start over. And she did a great job of it from what I understand. She built a big, beautiful life on her own, which is how it should’ve been.”
“It never should have been that way at all.” I feel a flash of rage. “No one should have to suffer the way we’ve suffered.”
Mom frowns. “Of course not. But you have to trust Lu to make the right choice. And you have to trust the universe that you’ll be okay no matter what that choice ends up being.” She pats my hand. “This isn’t the first time you’ve come up against a major obstacle, Riley. Trust yourself to come through on the other side. You always have.”
That’s the thing, though. I’ve come through, but not unscathed. Losing Lu the first time fucked me up so bad I almost lost my life. Making my way in the business world, a place I definitely didn’t belong, taught me a lot but also took a lot out of me too. I lost years to my laptop and phone. Lost sleep. A little sanity too at times.
From the outside looking in, I’ve won. I have plenty of money. I get to report to the office in flip-flops. I have every toy.
But now I’m realizing my own big, beautiful life isn’t so beautiful without the people I love in it.
twenty-nine
Lu
Hot Mess Express
It’s been four days since I left Bald Head, and I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I can’t eat. I hardly sleep. Exhausted doesn’t begin to describe my state of being. Every night, I promise myself I won’t FaceTime Riley and get all hot and bothered.
I promise myself I’ll take the space and time I told him I needed to figure out what I want.
But then flowers arrive on my doorstep Monday. Then Tuesday. Each one with a note containing the lyrics to some of our favorite songs, each with a decidedly Riley Dixon twist. Dive bar on the east side of the sea/Let’s make it a date, just you and me.
It’s cheesy and adorable and I love it so, so much.
I text him to say thanks, and then he’s texting me back, and then we end up texting all day. That means I’m thinking about him all day. All night too, so much so that I can’t fall asleep. Luckily Patrick moved out of our house while I was gone, so at least I lie awake all night in my own bed. Doesn’t help that I’m back in the house I shared with my partner of six years. Seeing the remnants of the life I lived up until mere weeks ago just adds to how mixed-up I feel.
Wednesday morning, two enormous boxes appear on my doorstep beside the flowers (an extravagant bouquet of zinnias in a gorgeous glazed white pot). Turns out Riley shipped every single cookbook he bought me—all fifty of them—right to my house.
You can be my leather/take from me, these books (so you can stay inspired), his note said.
I am so touched by the gesture—so overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness—I can’t sleep that night either.
By the time Thursday rolls around, I am dead on my feet. My vibrator is dead too. I literally killed the thing—death by overuse.
I want to go back to Bald Head this weekend and see Riley. But I feel like I haven’t come any closer to answering anyone’s questions—his or mine. And because I’m still in limbo, and because Riley clearly isn’t, I don’t know if it’s fair of me to show up at his door. Dock. Whatever.
Yes, I’m obsessed with him.
Yes, I want to write a cookbook, and I want to do it in the gorgeous kitchen of his gorgeous restaurant.
No, I do not miss Patrick. At all. He had the balls to call me on Monday. I sent it straight to voicemail, where he asked how I was doing and if I had fun at the wedding. I will not be returning his call.
But him reaching out brought a fresh anxiety to the forefront: can I really trust myself to choose the right path and the right guy? The man I was about to marry cheated on me for years, and I had no idea. Was Patrick that good of a liar? Or was I that much of a sucker?