“I see.” I bite back my smile, liking how she shares too much information. It completely contradicts the way I live my life.
“Besides, I would buy it to wear on New Year’s Eve, but I don’t have anywhere special to go, so I wouldn’t end up wearing it anyway.”
“That seems completely unfair.”
She smiles back at me with perfectly straight white teeth and full lips. “I agree.”
“I can help who’s next.” One of the cashiers at the counter waves his hand out.
“Oh, that’s me.” She steps forward.
The cashier at the other end leans over. “I can help someone down here.”
I nod, stepping past the woman. She glances over her shoulder at me. “Well, it was nice talking to you.”
“Yeah.” My eyebrows lift. “I hope your mom loves the scarf.”
Then I make my way down to the end, handing the cashier the tags that I ripped off the clothes.
“Will this be all for you?”
I peek back at the woman. “Unfortunately, yes.”
FOUR
LACEE
I wishI was the kind of woman who, when a cute guy with Channing Tatum abs flirts with you the entire time while you’re waiting in line, would say, ‘Hey, what are you doing right now? Do you want to grab some pretzel bites at the food court or maybe a Sbarro pizza? The slice is big enough for two.’ But I haven’t been that bold since the wind was knocked out of me three months ago. I’m surprised I was able to muster some decent flirting. I thought that was knocked out of me too. But talking with the cute guy in line, I almost felt like my old, confident self again.Almost.The fact that I’d settle for Pretzelmaker instead of a real date shows the emotional level I’m currently working on. I’ve become the woman who says, ‘Well, it was nice talking to you,’ and ends the conversation. At this rate, I’ll stay single forever. And not even the normal kind of forever, the kind of foreverfromThe Sandlot—FOR-EH-VURE.
Yep, that’s how long I’m going to be single.
Maybe things would’ve been different if I’d finished checking out at the same time as him, and we could’ve walked out together. But of course, he was super fast, and I was super slow. My credit card chose this particular time for the magstripe not to work. All fifteen digits on my card had to be manually inputted…twicesince the kid doing it messed up the first time.
I rush out of the clothing store, looking down the walkways, but the man is gone. My shoulders sink, and I exhale a disappointed breath. I wish he would’ve asked for my number or suggested we go out, but he didn’t. So I guess the writing’s on the wall—I’m eating the entire Sbarro pizza by myself.
I clutch the handles on my shopping bags and march toward the escalator. I think Bath and Body Works is on the lower level of the mall. Lotion is a perfectly fine gift for my mother. Or even a giant bath bomb. I’m not even sure she takes baths, but maybe it can roll around in her shower.
I step onto the escalator, scanning my eyes over the crowd below. That’s when the breath in my lungs hardens into a block of ice.
It’shim. Withher.
They’re walking hand in hand toward the escalators.
My heart flips through anger, hatred, and embarrassment. He evokes it all.
Nicholas Lawrence, the man who damaged my self-confidence, ruined my reputation, and killed my career.
Three months.
It’s been three months since he said I wasn’t good enough for him and fired me. Since then, he got engaged to another woman. That has to be some kind of Guinness World Record. Surely, there’s a complementary record holder certificate hanging in his office next to all the other academic awards he’s received.
I glance down at my sweats and remember how I haven’t washed my hair in four days—that’s what dry shampoo is for (thank you to whatever chemist came up with that brilliant product). I should run and hide as if a pack of eight-year-olds were chasing me with armfuls of snowballs. But I’m Frosty the Snowman, frozen to my spot.
Adults don’t hide. They face difficult situations with maturity. But I don’t feel like being a mature adult today or talking to Nicholas Lawrence. I turn around and climbupthe down escalator, making people scoot over as I go. It’s a thigh workout since this is one of those long two-story escalators, but I’m making good work of it. I get to the top and go to step off, but my foot’s stuck. I look down and see my untied shoelace caught in the apparatus. I yank my leg upward, but the lace doesn’t budge. Now, I’m hopping in place, trying to stay at the top of the escalator as new stairs funnel out.
I glance over my shoulder. Nicholas and Natalia are twenty feet away from the bottom of the escalator. There’s no way I can get out of this situation.
I’m powerless. It’s ironic, really. I’m trapped, running to keep up with the stairs just like I did when I was in a relationship with Nicholas. But no matter what I do, I can’t make up the difference. There’s always an imbalance between me and the moving target.
