Page 74 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“They didn’t. They just sent me home.”

“Hmmm,” Nora says.

“So I’m going to go home for a few days and cry about it.” I sniffle. Then wipe my hand across my face.

“OK,” Nora says, sitting down on my bed and hugging me. “That’s a good idea. A few days away will do you good.”

“Yeah.” I get up and open my little carry-on. It’s filled with business clothes and right on top is the revealing black bathing suit that someone who is not me put inside my suitcase.

I realize it must’ve been Nolan and want to cry all over again.

Suck it up, Ivy.

I do. I suck it up. I throw my interview clothes into my closet and pack some shorts and tanks, and then slam it shut and fish through my purse for my keys.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. A few days, maybe?”

“OK,” Nora says. “OK, if that’s what you need.”

I nod. “I need to be with my family. I’ll call you later, OK?”

Nora pouts her lip and hugs me again. “Drive safe,” she says. “And if you need to have another cry, just pull over and get it all out.”

“OK,” I say. “I will. Don’t worry about me. Really. I’m OK.”

“Oh, and I didn’t want to tell you, but I have an interview in New York on Wednesday. A huge PR firm. I’m leaving tomorrow night so I can miss traffic and then go shopping for a new outfit before. So I’ll be gone anyway. It’s good you’re going home. I don’t want you here alone.”

I feel like a complete loser. “I’m so jealous.”

“Oh, Ivy,” she says, sad again. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

But I wave her off and force myself to smile. “Congratulations, Nora. You deserve a good job. Really. I’m so happy for you.”

She squeezes my arm and says, “You too, sweetie. The right one will come along, don’t worry.”

That was the right job, I think as I walk out of the house and over to my car. I beep the lock open and then throw my carry-on into the back seat and get in. My ideas were so great. And Nolan never even got to hear them.

I pull away from the curb and start making my way back home to Bishop, Massachusetts.

But the only thing I see in my head is that yellow dress he promised me. And the date. The date and the fantasy. And his smell makes it all worse.

But by the time I drive the hour and a half to my parents’ house, nestled at the end of a winding road in the middle of the Bishop School for Girls campus, I’m all cried out and just need to sleep.

I greet my parents like nothing is wrong, but then make a hasty excuse to escape to my old bedroom for a shower and a nap, and stillness.

That damn dress. That dangerous offer. And that dark man.

Those are the only things I think about.

I even dream about him. And to my horror, when I wake up, there’s a pool of wetness between my legs.

I came just from the memory of what Mr. Romantic was promising.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Nolan

“Yeah?”