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Out of the refrigerator, I pulled out a bottle of Vitamin water and gulped it down as sweat dripped down my face and chest. Seven miles and it was hot as blazes today. The cell rang and Miller’s gorgeous face appeared.
“When are you guys coming out?” I asked as soon as I hit the accept button,
“First week in August…but that’s not why I’m calling.” I didn’t like the sound of his voice. He sounded guilty.
“Why am I getting a funny feeling in my gut?”
“No biggie. Just a little heads-up that your ex may be coming your way, and he may or may not be a little pissed.”
“You mean the man who’s not yet my ex because he refuses to sign the damn divorce papers? What did you do?”
“It’s all on him, Syd. He asked for it. He kept calling, wanting to know how to get a hold of you, and when I didn’t call him back he showed up at my apartment.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him you were in Singapore…and I may have made and canceled a reso at the Ritz in your name. Then I told him you were in Dubai. And I may or may not have made another reso under your name––”
“And he believed you?” I snorted.
“I was very convincing.” Pride in his voice.
“I’m sure you were…and?” I prodded, biting the inside of my cheek lest I encourage this behavior by laughing.
“And he just spent the last week traveling the globe like Anthony Bourdain without the food in search of you and when he called to threaten my existence, my husband’s existence, and my future children’s existence I felt compelled to tell him the truth.”
“Wise choice…how much time do I have.”
“If he flew private? A few hours at best.”
“Mama, I want cotton candy,” little Pete said to Laurel. With a face full of freckles, a tiny upturned nose, and spiky blond hair, little Pete was the carbon male copy of his mother.
“Finish your burger first.”
After Miller’s phone call, I jumped in the shower and got ready for my night out. Laurel and I had planned to attend the open-air Concert on the Commons. Ben Sparaco and the New Effects were playing, and nothing was going to stop me from enjoying the music. Not even the knowledge that I was going to come face-to-face with the man who had ripped out my heart and ate it with a side of fava beans and a nice Chianti.
On the plane ride over here––during which I spent intermittently crying my eyes out––I came to a difficult decision. Hope and Love does not reality make. So even though my love stood strong, my heart couldn’t stand to be knocked around anymore. I had to let Scott go.
“Is he here? Do you see him?” Laurel scanned the crowd in the commons. Jackson Hole, it turns out, is jam-packed with fun stuff to do in the summer.
“I’m not looking, Laurel,” I told her, keeping my eyes on the stage and losing myself in the music. “I’m not interested in his comings and goings. This town is big enough for us to avoid each other.”
Close to the stage, I spotted Ryan making eyes at a woman he was talking to. He caught me watching him and made a face, and in return I winked and gave him a thumbs-up. I’d seen a lot of him and the rest of the Lazy S crowd since I’d moved back. I’d made friends here, ones I wanted to keep. I’d been looking all my life for someplace to belong and I’d finally found it. I wasn’t about to give it up because my husband decided to make an appearance now and then.
“Not likely, sweetie. I think he just found you,” Laurel said, breaking into my happy thoughts.
My head whipped around, and my eyes crashed right into Scott’s. On the other side of the crowd, standing on a picnic table, he was staring at me with a harried expression. His hair disheveled, his white t-shirt wrinkled, jeans too. He looked like he hadn’t shaved or slept in days. He was a hot mess. And still so fucking beautiful it was physically painful to look at him.
“Oh, oh, here he comes,” Laurel muttered. “Baby, you want that cotton candy now?” she said to Pete.
“Yeah,” little Pete chirped.
“Yes, ma’am,” his mother corrected.
“Yes, Mama,” Pete teased.
“No, Laurel!” I hissed. “You can’t leave me––”
“Yes, I can. Look at that face.” We watched Scott jump down from the picnic table and elbow his way through the crowd. “That boy ain’t right in the head, and I’m not getting killed in friendly fire.”
Not long after Laurel dumped me like an unwanted pet, Scott walked up. “I’m not doing this with you,” I told him and took off at a brisk walk, heading away from the concert.
