Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Indeed.”
I drag my hands through my hair. I’m such a mess. On the one hand, I’m still upset with Alex, and on the other, I’m anxious that he hasn’t called. Maybe Joanne is right. Maybe I overreacted.
Giving me a pointed look, she says, “You don’t have to wait for him to call. You can make the first move. He’ll probably appreciate it. Come to think of it, maybe he’s not calling you because he feels bad for upsetting you. Maybe it’s hard for him to look you in the eyes now.”
I scoff. “I doubt that. And there’s no way I’m calling him first.”
She takes a sip of her water and points a finger at me. “That’s your pride talking. Are you going to let your pride keep you from more great sex and breakfasts in bed?”
“If it means saving my dignity.”
She studies me from under her lashes. “So you’d rather be alone in bed with your dignity than give Mr. Hot and Handsome another chance?”
When she says it like that, it sounds rather childish, but it’s not only about my dignity. It’s also about protecting my heart, but I don’t feel like laying that vulnerability on the table. It’s bad enough that I feel insulted. I don’t want to admit that I liked him, really liked him, before shit hit the fan. What does that say about my people judgement skills? Besides, I wasn’t interested in a relationship when I went out with him, and it only took one date to make me a lot more interested than I should be.
Joanne finishes her last bite and dabs her mouth with a napkin. “You know what I think?” Her smile is compassionate. “You’re scared of rejection.”
“Of course I am.”
She sighs. “What do you have to lose? A bit of dignity? At least you won’t have to wonder about the what-ifs.”
She’s right, but I’m not ready to admit that.
“I don’t even have his number,” I say. “He never gave it to me.”
The screen of her phone, which is sitting on the table next to her, lights up. Shooting a glance at it, she says, “You didn’t exactly give him a chance. How difficult can it be to get his number? He runs that huge oil company and a bunch of other businesses, doesn’t he? They must have websites with contact information.”
“And go through a whole army of underlings to try to reach him? No, thanks. If he doesn’t want to speak to me, I’d rather not have some assistant of an assistant relay that message.”
She pushes to her feet. “Sorry, Kate. I have to go.” She gives me an apologetic smile. “Work.”
“Thanks for listening,” I say as she scoots out of the booth.
“Anytime, Katie girl.” She makes big eyes. “Call him.”
When she opens her handbag, I wave her away. “Lunch is on me.”
“Thanks. I’ll get the next one.” She makes her way to the door and exits with a wave.
I sigh, watching her depart. What if I do call first? If he doesn’t want to talk to me, he’ll tell me so. I won’t sleep easy again until I have closure. I left his house in a rush, hurt and angry, but he said he wanted to see me again. If that’s still the case, trust is an issue we’ll have to address. If not, I need to know for certain, so I can close this chapter of my life. Either way, I have to find out where I stand. I have to know why that farewell on his face when he watched me go seemed so sad.
I’ll wait a full week, and then I’ll gather the courage to face him. I’m certain his private number won’t be listed anywhere, not with how obsessed he is about security, and I’m not going to call his work and fight my way through a million gatekeepers to speak to him. Instead, I’ll go to his house to return his plastic container. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.
My mind made up, I get the bill. I feel a lot lighter when I step outside and head for the subway. As I walk, I send Joanne a text to thank her again.
This is the best I’ve felt in days.
* * *
My next break isn’t until the following week, and the days fly by with no more free time. By the time I catch my breath, it’s been six days since I ran out of Alex’s house, and my stomach is tight with nerves because tomorrow is my deadline. If I don’t hear from him by then—and I doubt I will—I’ll face him as I’ve promised myself.
Every day, I receive a text message and a photo from my mom, showing her face glowing with a healthy tan. Today, she’s sent a picture of her snorkeling in turquoise water with colorful fish. Martin took the picture with an underwater camera. She says her mobility is easier in the water, and that all the vitamin D from the sun is doing her good. I send her three emoji kisses from the locker room when my shift ends, assure her the plants are doing well, and tell her to enjoy every minute. She deserves it. My chest swells with happiness for her and gratitude toward Martin.