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The first one had arrived when she was on her way to Chloe’s.
So, Wildflower, how’d your interview go?
She’d texted back almost immediately.Think it went great.
A flurry of exchanges followed.
When will you find out if you got the job?
Don’t know. Have another meeting next week.
Sounds promising. What exactly does a director of strategic planningdo?
Too complicated to get into in a text.
And then nothing.
She’d waited for his reply, and when none came, concluded he’d assumed she was suggesting they talk in person, and he clearly wasn’t ready to go that route again yet.
The next text had arrived two hours later. Chloe was upstairs getting the kids ready for bed, and Paige was sitting in the living room, staring at the two dozen pink and white roses Matt had sent his wife that afternoon, along with a note pleading for another chance. Would Chloe give him one? Paige had wondered, hearing the familiar ping of her phone.
Sorry, Wildflower. Phone died. You were saying?
Paige had smiled, and was about to text him back when Chloe came back downstairs. She decided to wait till she got home.
But that was before she discovered that her mother hadn’t returned from her date, and the frantic calls to the hospital and the police that followed. Now it was way too late to text a man who was, after all, a virtual stranger in every sense of the word. “Sorry, Mr. Right Now,” she said, sleep tugging at her eyelids, wondering how many apologies the man would stand for before giving up on her once and for all. “We’ll try again tomorrow. I promise. I’ll be worth the wait.”
