Page 45 of His Small Town Girl

“You’re here because you know I will be in New York City in two weeks.” I back away from him. He only wants me when it is convenient for his feelings.

“I didn’t hear about Columbia until last night, from Flynn, your soon to be roommate. Imagine his surprise when I had to end the interview early because I was so caught off guard that you didn’t even bother to tell me you were moving to New York City.” Will says, and I can tell he is hurt that I didn’t tell him. I don’t regret not telling him, though. He never made it seem like he would care.

“So, what? You jump on the first plane to tell me that you guess you can care about me because we will both be in New York City?” I ask incredulously. “You didn’t even care about me enough last week to text me happy birthday!”

“I booked this flight last week. I didn’t book a return flight. I still haven’t.” There is no apology in his words, but they still sound like one.

“Maybe you should.” I back away again. I can’t risk getting my hopes up.

“Hannah, please.” Will raises his hands in supplication, but I don’t have any mercy to give him without destroying myself.

“You weren’t there at the airport, Will. You don’t know how it felt and maybe you should. Why shouldn’t I make you feel how I felt at that airport? Foolish, naïve, and completely shattered.” I’m crying again, and he looks so pained I wonder if he can see what he did. I wonder if he can feel it.

“Because you have always been a better person than me.” Will says softly, but that isn’t a good enough reason for me.

“Well, I’m done Will. I can’t take your words anymore. They don’t mean anything to me.” My voice is somehow emptier than when we started this conversation.

“Okay.” I see the acceptance settle over him. The fire in his green eyes dulls, and he walks away, leaving me alone. Somehow, my heart finds a way to ache more as I watch him climb into his car and drive away. I got what I wanted, what I had asked for, and it hurt.

Chapter 37

The following morning, as I drive into the diner for my shift, I tell myself that I have accepted the end of Will and I. Sure it hurts now, but it would hurt more to live in a fantasy land and have him dump me several months down the line when he realizes I am not enough. This is the logical thing to do, to cut him off before he can hurt me even more.

I’m almost believing the lies I’m telling myself when I see Will sitting on the porch of the only bed-and-breakfast in town. I almost crash as my eyes fix on him and my car veers into the other lane of traffic. With my eyes back on the road, I try to calm myself, but it is useless. Why is he still here?

I hazard a glance at him in my rearview mirror, and my nerves skyrocket again. His gaze is trained on me, his coffee mug raised in salute, and an infuriating smirk lets me know he witnessed my driving acrobatics. I look back to the road again and take a deep breath. Hopefully, he will be gone by tomorrow.

He isn’t. Nor the next day or the day after that. By the fifth day, I remember what he had said that day at the diner and I roll down my window as I drive past. With my middle finger pointed up to the sky, I give him my regards. I can’t help but smile as I hear his responding laughter. The interaction makes my heart feel a little lighter, but then everything crashes down on me again. Will and I are over. It is for the best, even if it feels the worst.

I park in the lot of the diner and take a second to collect myself. Can’t go into work on the brink or tears. After a couple of deep breaths, I feel in control again and force a smile onto my face. Ready to go into work, I reach over to the passenger seat to grab my apron, when I notice something below it. It is a large spiral bound stack of paper.

The Road to Susan Smith

This is Will’s manuscript. Dad had tried to make me look at it last night, but I’d refused, and he must have slipped it into my car, figuring I’d see it at some point. I think about throwing it in the back seat and going into work, but my curiosity wins out. I flip open the first page.

For Hannah, who is typical.

For Hannah, I love the way you glare at me.

For Hannah, thanks for always picking fights with me.

For STG, never stop seeing the world the way you do.

For Hannah, who makes me typical.

For Hannah, who made me believe in love stories again.

For Hannah, I love you.

For Hannah, I’m sorry.

For Hannah, please forgive me.

For Hannah, I’ll wait forever.

For Hannah, read chapter 2, paragraph 3.

For Hannah, you look hot in an apron.

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