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I won’t survive that.
“No,” I say finally. “I think we should say goodbye now. Thank you—”
“Don’t.”
I inhale sharply.
“Don’t thank me. It’s not like that for us. You were the gift, Sunday School. I forgot what real was. You were the gift.”
THREE MONTHS LATER
I close the window on TMZ, but know I’ll open it again momentarily.
Grimnoire broke up two months ago. I think he knew they were going to at the last show. Griffin has a new solo album coming out in the fall. “Neon Love” will be the first single.
The song he wrote in my stupid pink bedroom.
But that’s not what TMZ is reporting about. It seems Griff has a new love interest. Not the actress they photographed him with last week. Not the one from the week before that, either. Sources close to the singer-songwriter said he’s in love for real this time. That those women were just friends.
He’s sold his Malibu home. Probably to buy something more family-friendly.
I’m happy for him. Really.
Sure I am.
What I want, of course, is for Griffin to be happy. He wasn’t happy when I met him. He was jaded, cynical, and blocked from writing. There have been no reports of him partying hard or going back to rehab. In fact, the paparazzi haven’t had much to report at all. Even the photos with the other women were tame. Like PG instead of R.
But I have alerts for his name set up on my phone so I know whenever he makes the news.
Because I’m a masochist.
Because I’m in love with him.
Of course, I’ve loved him since I was a kid, but that was different. I love the man he is under the mask the rest of the world gets to see. The man he truly is if he would allow himself to be. I didn’t spend enough time with him to feel this way, but I feel this way all the same.
Trish has tried to convince me to contact him. But it was just a Valentine dream. Best to leave it where it ended. The only way to contact him would be to send a letter to the record company and hope they forward it to him.
I’m guessing he doesn’t get much of his fan mail anymore. And I don’t want to be lumped in with the rest of the groupies. It cheapens what we shared. As fleeting as it was.
No, it’s better for him to contact me. And since it hasn’t happened yet, I’m not holding out much hope.
I put my car in park and unload the colored tissue paper I bought from the dollar store from my trunk. We’re making flowers today. The kids are restless with spring fever, but we’re on day two of spring thunderstorms.
“You’re a hard woman to find.”
A gravelly voice stops me in my tracks, a shiver running down my spine.
I know that voice.
Summoning my courage, I turn. And there he is, leaning against the wall of the preschool, arms crossed over his chest.
Griffin Grimm in all his tattooed glory, crystal blue eyes staring into my soul.
Chapter Ten
Griffin
Mallory looks better than I remember. Better than my dreams. And I dream about her every night.
