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“The best luck.”
“Give me your number, and I might text you.” She passes her phone to him.
“Oh, justmight? Ididsave your friend.”
She giggles. “You did, but she’s also my boss.”
I smack her arm. “I almost died to get you a date.” Leaning past her, I assure him, “She’s gonna call you. I promise.”
He laughs. “You’re a good boss.”
“She’s my best friend,” Delia says. “I promise I’ll thank you for saving her.”
“You better.”
After that’s over with, she takes me home. “You sure you’re okay?”
I get out and shut the door. “I’ll be fine. I just want some wine and some sleep.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” We say our goodbyes, and I go into my apartment with only one thing on my mind.
Rowan.
I dial him up, but there’s no answer. When I ring up his office, his secretary tells me that he left early for the day.
“Was he sick or something?”
“No, he wanted to get ready for a date. I can get your message to him—“
“No. Thanks. Have a good night.” I hang up, feeling hollow. Nope, not hollow. Drunk. I need to be drunk.
I march to the fridge, grab a bottle of Riesling, and pop it open, drinking straight from the bottle like it’s a grown-up sippy cup. As I chug, I strip down and run a tub with bubbles and candles, because screw it, I almost died today, and I deserve a treat.
Sinking into the water, though, it doesn’t feel like a treat. It feels like sublimation. Can’t have Rowan to soothe my jagged edges. All I have is the tub and the wine. And it’s not enough. There’s no substitute for Rowan. His calm demeanor, his deep, comforting voice. I sigh, thinking about him and trying not to think of him on a date.
She was pretty. I get why he would be out with her.
I could text him and ruin his night. But that wouldn’t be fair. We aren’t anything more than friends. No matter what I want. Hell, I’m not even sure what I want. On the ledge, it all felt so clear. Now, things are muddy again.
Hanging my head on the edge of the tub, I take a deep breath and let it out, trying to clear my mind. I’d told myself I could handle this, but I don’t know. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. I—
My phone rings, and I snatch it up with slippery, bubble-covered hands, almost dropping it in the water. “Rowan—
“Uh no. This is Trevor. Beaumont.”
I laugh. “Oh, hi.”
“This might be stupid, but you said you’re not seeing anyone, and I could not stop thinking about you since the clam bake, Autumn. I’d like to take you out.”
“We went out. It went badly.”
He laughs. “High school was a thousand years ago. People change. I’d like to think we’re both different people now. For instance, you got much, much hotter.”
I giggle. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“I appreciate that. So, how about it? Tonight? Marco’s? I’ll pick you up around seven.”
I nearly died today. I still deserve a treat. “Yes.”
