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After I leave the store, I walk around Prospect Park for a while, trying to get my head around what just happened. I’ve ended things with women before, and each time, the idea of them moving on makes me happy for them and relieved. But the idea of Grace attending weddings with someone else or, damn it, getting married herself makes me want to punch a wall. I want her to be happy; that was the whole point of keeping boundaries. So why does thinking about that feel like misery?
I don’t know the park well, and I wander aimlessly, lost in my frustration.
But somehow, I wind up in front of the damned roller rink. It’s still an impressive structure, but the banner is gone. No neon lights, no costumed skaters.
The universe might as well smack me in the face with it. Grace brought color and lights to my life. Without her, everything is grayer and more practical than I ever realized before.
Grace does things with her whole heart, whether it’s completing an impossible task or designing an apartment that perfectly suits her. I can go full throttle with work or even with my friends. But I lost the ability to put my whole heart into a relationship years ago.
At least, that’s what I believed.
All this time, I’ve been insisting to Grace that she should trust herself. And here I am not trusting myself at all. I’ve been so sure I’ll screw things up in the end, sure that any type of commitment will turn me into someone I don’t like, the way it did with Rachel.
But what if it didn’t?
What if this time around, it was different? Withher.
I blew it.
Fuck. The realization hits like an anvil: Complete with a Greek chorus in my head—which sounds alarmingly like Dash and also Grace’s aunt—that sings:Yes! Duh!
I’ve been a goddamn fool. She was right, what she said at the wedding. I’m a coward, too scared shitless to risk my heart on love again. The past hurt too much for me to see what was right in front of me.
Whowas right there in front of me.
Grace.
Ironic, huh? She always talks about being invisible in high school, and here I am, making the same mistake all over again. But once you do see her…
It’s like staring into the sun. Nothing is ever as bright again, compared to her.
I love her.
And I don’t know what the hell I can do or say to make her give me another chance.
But I do know that I have to try.
25
GRACE
Maybe the universeis trying to compensate for my utter heartbreak, but my new business is suddenly booming, and I can barely keep up. In the past week, Katherine Vanderberg has already recommended my services to several ladies-about-town, all raring to secure the services of what is apparently the new must-have concierge service on the block. Never in my life have I seen an influx of work and cash like this, I’m so busy, I barely have a chance to wallow in misery over Charlie.
Almost.
“So, special orders,” I say, doodling on my notepad. I’m on the phone with a baker who specializes in pies. He was recommended by the sommelier I spoke to before this. “Talk to me about your options.”
“I can combine any existing flavors and switch up latticework,” he offers, as I scribble along. “But if the request is for an out-of-season fruit or something, I might need more lead time.”
“Roger that,” I say. “Okay! Thanks for talking to me. Thanksgiving is going to be crazy this year, I want to make sure I have plenty of options on my books. While I have you… Any other local artisans you might recommend?”
“I do!” he reels off another half-dozen patisseries, bakers, and even a candlestick maker, which I jot down for my records.
My spreadsheet grows by the hour—more details of services I can call upon for my growing client list. With each step forward, I can feel myself blazing a path. And okay—yes, some of my fervor is because I’m funneling my Charlie feelings into work. But at least it’s productive, right?
“Whew!” I say, after my last phone call finally wraps up. My business is still operating from a side table at the Mysteaque, which is getting way too cramped to manage for long. But, bonus, it does come with a never-ending supply of hot tea.
“Smells good,” I tell Skye, gratefully taking the mug she offers. “What blend is this?”
