Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Ouch . . .
I nod as I swallow the lump in my throat. “Right.”
Short-term pain for long-term gain.
“Then . . . looks like it’s no date.”
His eyes hold mine.
“I can fuck anybody, Blake. I didn’t need to come all the way to New York to do that.”
“Sweet.”
“Looks like it.”
He downs the rest of his drink. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“I’m at the Hilton, room 706.”
“And you are telling me this . . . because?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No reason.” I shrug. “Just in case you change your mind.”
“Do you fuck on first dates now?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
His eyes hold mine. “How many men have you slept with?”
“None that matter.”
“Very amusing, Rebecca, but stop wasting my time.”
“Okay.”
“Happy divorce. Good luck in the new house.”
“Not the way I wanted to celebrate it . . . but whatever.”
“Not my problem.” He stands. “Go find another first date to fuck.” He walks off back to his friends as I stare after him.
Damn it.
That was not the way that was supposed to go down.
Shit . . .
I lie in the dark and glance at the clock: 2:00 a.m. I roll over and punch my pillow.
He’s not coming.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course he’s not fucking coming.
He was right. Did I actually think I could show up and he would run into my arms with a declaration of love?
Oh god, I’m so cringey.
Why would I give him my hotel room number? What do I think this is, a James Bond movie or something?
Get it together, Rebecca.
If you want Blake back, you need to work smarter, not harder.
And I do . . . god, I do.
I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am now.
I’m ready for love . . . but I only want it with Blake. He’s the only one that matters.
I toss and turn and punch the pillow again.
I sit in the coffee shop and stare out onto the busy street. New York has an energy like no other place on earth. The smells, the sights, the sounds of the sirens in the distance. And where is everybody rushing to all the time?
Is everyone really this late?
I sip my coffee as I sit in the window that faces onto the street, and although things didn’t turn out how I wanted them to this weekend, I do have a sense of achievement.
I got to tell Blake that I divorced John. I got to tell him that I’m selling my house. He didn’t hear it secondhand from anybody; it came from my lips, and you have no idea how hard it was to keep that secret from the girls. The problem is, when your friends are married to their friends, things get out.
I glance at my watch. It’s 5:00 p.m., and my flight is at 8:00.
My bags are with the concierge at the hotel, and I’ve been lingering around all day waiting for my flight tonight.
I specifically took the late flight in case things went well, and . . . let’s just say I was hoping to spend the day with Blake.
I wasn’t that lucky.
I finish the last of my coffee and make my way back to the hotel.
“Hello, I would like to check out and collect my bags, please,” I tell the girl at reception.
“Of course, what was the name?”
“Rebecca Dalton.”
She types into her computer. “Here it is.”
I slide the key across the counter to her.
“Thank you,” she replies as she takes it. “Do you have the second key?”
“No, there was only one key.”
She frowns as she reads something. “It says here that your husband picked up another key at three this morning?”
What?
He came.
“Oh, I . . .”
I’m lost for words. “I see, I’m . . . he’s already left for work this morning. I thought that he had my key. Sorry, just charge me for the extra key, please.”
“Of course.” She smiles.
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. He came and then left without seeing me.
There’s hope.
She rattles on with some kind of conversation, but my mind is far from here.
What do I do?
He wanted to see me, but something stopped him.
“Thank you. Here’s your bag.” She slides my suitcase around the desk.
I stare at it, unsure what my next move is, so excited and panicked that I can’t comprehend what to think. “Thank you.”
I scurry over to the couch in the lobby and take out my phone and call Juliet.
“Hey, babe,” she answers. “How’s your mom’s house?”
“So . . .” I close my eyes, unable to believe what I’m just about to tell her. “Promise me this conversation is going to stay between you and I.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I’m about to tell you . . . you cannot tell Henley, promise me.”
“Of course. What’s wrong?”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I’m in New York. I came to see Blake.”