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So nauseatingly, sickeningly in love. It’s tough on a heartbroken single girl.
No, not heartbroken, heart-mending. It’s a process, but I swear I will mend eventually.
It was sweet of Avery to let me stay with her while I got my crap…um, stuff…together. I wasn’t ready to live under Mom and Dad’s roof again, but I just couldn’t stay in that apartment at school any longer either. I did spend a week with my parents, but then I was ready for some semblance of independence again.
We’ve had fun these past weeks, a couple of single ladies preparing for a wedding. Of course, she has her mother and sister for that, but it was nice of her to let me be a part of things.
The worst part has been the weekdays, while Avery worked and I recovered. Supposedly job hunted.
Relived the shootout in September.
Yes, I, little ol’ Annalise Walker, shot and wounded a bigtime drug dealer.
The blood stains are gone. Tripp had the carpet—Avery’s brand new carpet, replaced after the explosion and subsequent fire this spring, courteous of Blaisdell Number One—ripped out and replaced within forty-eight hours. He arranged it all with a phone and a credit card from his bed where he recuperated from what? His third—no, fourth—gunshot wound.
Now here’s a reason not to miss Marco. I could never live like that, wondering if the man I loved was going to make it home.
Or maybe I could. For the right man.
Sigh.
Washing her hands, Avery looks my way. “Well, are you going to tell him, or should I?”
Closing out the social media app I’ve been mindlessly perusing, I set my phone aside. “Tell him what?”
“The job offer?”
“Which one?”
An eyeroll. True. I know exactly which one she’s talking about.
Tripp takes three plates from the cabinet. “How many today?”
“Just one today.”
I have to say, I have been blessed. I started out an economics major, which required a math minor. I gritted my teeth on that part, but decided it was the way to go. Shockingly, not only did I have an affinity for calculus and such, I genuinely liked it. Yep. The ditzy blonde cheerleader liked math. So much, in fact, that I went the extra mile and turned the minor into a full major. The idea was to make myself more marketable. I mean, who doesn’t hearmath majorand thinksmart?I figured it might counter the prejudices and presuppositions that pop up when people meet me.
The Houston offer was the result of my one and only interview last spring. Until recently, I thought it was a fluke.
This is where my recent heartbreak has turned into a lucky charm. No, not luck—God working things for my good. I’m ready to roam. To do the things I’ve dreamed of and not live in a box. Hey, if I can take out a drug lord, I can move to a new state and see what it holds for me. See what He holds for me. So, after today, choosing an offer is nothing at all. It’s Denver. All the way. A boutique investment firm in the city wants me.
I also want them. Doggone, I’m going to live my dream of living in—or at least near—the mountains. I’ll be hiking, off-roading, and riding every weekend. Better, my apartment will have a view, so I can dream of the mountains when I can’t be there.
Both my interviews were online, so I haven’t been in person, but I think I can see mountains from the city. Okay, I’ll check on that, but either way, I’m up for an adventure.
“Well, I’m waiting.”
“Denver.” I sum it up in one word.
He blinks. “Aw, Lise.”
“I know it’s far, but you guys can visit.”
“But…”
“Hey, don’t kill my buzz. I need this, Tripp.”
He sighs. “Denver, huh?” He’s thinking something.
