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The thing was charred at the top.
Elise grabbed an oven mitt and placed the tray of burnt bread next to the perfect butter chicken.
Maybe something had happened outside?
Elise rushed to the back door, where she spotted both Darla and Ghost. Darla’s curls fluttered in the evening breeze. Ghost shoved his head into a big vat of grain, removed it, and then chewed contemplatively.
Wayne was nowhere in sight.
But here was the dinner he had made for her. Here was the wine he’d already uncorked. Here was the life, perfectly displayed before her, the one she so craved.
But no Wayne.
Elise heaved a sigh and collapsed on one of the kitchen stools. It was nearly seven-ten. She found her phone in the bottom of her purse. It revealed four new text messages: two from Penny, one from Bradley, and one from Wayne.
Penny’s were about the play.
Bradley’s was about car insurance—he wanted to switch it over to his name.
And Wayne’s?
Elise, I’m so sorry to do this last-minute. It’s really difficult to explain, but I have to reschedule our dinner. I’ll text you tomorrow. Maybe we can talk about it in more detail.
It felt a little like being punched in the stomach.
She stood there amongst the chicken and the black garlic bread and the airing wine and stared at the text message, which gave her absolutely no understanding.
Wayne will hurt you. He’s a bachelor, a player. He has his way with people and then gets rid of them.
This dinner could be for someone else, now.
He might have met another woman today and decided she was more fitting.
Maybe they’re at the Pink Pony right now. He’s showing her the Rum Runners. They’re laughing about something a whole lot simpler than my weird “family chaos” and “secret affair.”
Elise felt like an idiot. She started to text back—something about how okay it was, that sure, they could meet up again for a better explanation...
But almost as soon as she had typed it out, she deleted it.
She and Wayne didn’t owe each other anything.
He had offered dinner as a friend. Now, he had canceled it.
To top off her embarrassment, she now stood in his kitchen—actually simmering in her own imagination about some possibility of a life where she and Wayne were falling in love.
If this theory is correct, Wayne and whoever this new girl is could really burst through that door in a matter of minutes.
Or worse. Maybe they’re in the bedroom, and they’re about to come out to get the garlic bread out of the oven...
Elise turned off the oven and blew out the candle, just in case. She then collected her things and rushed back out the door, grateful that Wayne wasn’t on the other side. Her heart hammered in her throat as she hustled back toward Main Street.
She didn’t want to be alone, couldn’t imagine where her mind might go if she headed back into her little bed and breakfast room.You’re old. All the excitement of your life is over. You’ve had your fun. Why did you think you could have anything else?
She headed down the street and ducked into a little waterside wine bar. She ordered a glass of merlot and collapsed on a stool, her hands in fists under her chin. A sunset brewed itself across the horizon line and an overly crisp breeze cut through the crack of a window. She shivered and sucked down her glass of wine a little too quickly.
When she blinked up again, she realized she had begun to cry.
“Oh, honey. What happened?”
