Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Maybe he’s gone to the store again or out for food. Maybe he’s gone out for fresh air, or . . . I sit up, hoping his bag is still here. If that’s here, he’ll return. If it’s gone, he is.
I find the spot on the floor as empty as the space next to me. Still looking for a sign, a clue, a note, a number, anything that would show tangible proof he was here other than a bottle of medicine. Did I have that in the cabinet? Did I retrieve it in my hazy feverish hours in the middle of the night?
Getting out of bed, I rummage through the few papers on my desk. I check the hook for a scarf left behind, the floor for a forgotten glove, and even the dryer for something discarded. I need to find something to prove to my runaway heart that Cooper isn’t a figment of my imagination.
But I’m left empty-handed.
I fall back on the bed, arms wide, and close my eyes, trying to process my feelings. They feel bigger to manage than they should over one night with him.
“Tell me I dreamed him, that I made him up in my imagination.” That would make sense to me, like the heat between our hands, the feel of his fingers entwined with mine, the kisses he placed across my neck, and why I felt comfortable with a man who is basically a stranger being in my bed.
Our conversations were light, but he had me opening little by little until I exposed my personal secrets. I don’t talk about my mom with anyone, except I did with him.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhale, wondering why I let him in—into my life, my apartment, and even my Wi-Fi—when I know better.
But more so, why’d he leave without a trace when I thought we had such a great connection?
8
Story
Crackers and cheese.
Strawberry yogurt.
Applesauce.
Two bananas.
Totino’s pizza and ice cream in the fridge.
Three bottles of water and a six-pack of Gatorade.
Despite the rest of my apartment, my fridge and freezer have all kinds of surprises left behind, courtesy of Cooper. I just don’t understand why he bought all this stuff when he didn’t intend to stay and enjoy it with me.
Grabbing a yogurt and a spoon, I retreat to my desk. I get the occasional waft of Cooper’s cologne, a stark reminder of his absence. I would have preferred smelling it on him than in the air.
From the café to this apartment, no one has filled a space as quickly as he did. I still find it odd how natural it felt with him here. How I grappled to find any excuse to ask him to stay. Sure, it was raining outside, but did I ask for his sake or mine?
Letting my guard down was my first mistake. Allowing him to invade my sanctuary was my second. Why am I still allowing him to consume my thoughts like I have nothing better to do?
Loneliness won’t win.
I refuse to let it.
Changing my habits and the lessons I learned growing up will serve me better. Don’t cling to someone else’s life. It’s okay to be alone. I’m basically a pro. I’ve been doing it for years now.
Positive self-talk may not help me out of this mess with Cooper. I open my journal and grab a pen, ready to confess my weakness—green eyes, six-two give or take a mini Reese’s Cup, and a nurturing side that has me swooning like a ridiculous schoolgirl. That’s the problem right there. I’m just not used to being treated like a princess.
The worst part . . . I liked it.
I don’t even wear pink, so none of this makes sense.
Shoving a large spoonful of yogurt into my mouth, I hope to fight this foolishness and recalibrate my thoughts. Last night is in the past. It’s time for me to return to reality.
A text flashes onto my screen. Leaning over, I see the message is from my manager, Lila: We need to talk asap. Can you come to the shop?
She’s never short with me, but that text feels like a first time.
Not good.
Rubbing my temple, I remember few people paid before they bailed during the storm. I’ve not had time to figure out how to recoup the money other than hoping most will return to square up with me. If not, I may take the fall, and I can’t even blame them. There were a few regulars, but other than that, I didn’t even get their names.
I don’t want to lose my job. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it covers my bills and has great hours. I can study during the slow times and eat for free. That’s not something I can do at most places.
With my fingers hovering over the screen, I try to form some coherent response, a justification to not fire me, or any reason that will allow me to keep my job. Already bracing myself for her response, I type: I’ll be there shortly.