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Unlike Tristan, I’m not fighting for what I want. I’m stuck, expecting things to work out without me taking action.
I look over my notes. Something about the sports app is just not feeling right. I enjoy selling homes and finding people a place to build memories—people like Hope and Toby, who are starting off a new chapter in their lives. It’s rare that I work with those types of families, though. They don’t provide the hefty commissions my dad wants.
How can I work in real estate while doing it the way I love?
Wheels start turning, and a plan builds in my mind. My pen scribbles on my notebook, writing down everything that comes to me. One of these will stick and become an expandable plan.
What I know for sure is that I already screwed up with Lex once. I won’t forgive myself if I don’t prove to her that I’ve changed despite what she currently believes.
34
Lex
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive out with you to decorate?” Ellie asks with wide eyes. The last two weeks have flown by as I’ve focused on work, choreographies, and finalizing the plans for the ski trip.
“I’m sure. I’ll be okay. It’s a short drive. Stay and drive with Hope. We can’t let her drive up there alone or with the guys. She needs her friends.”
Regardless of whether Hudson is helping me or not, I’m going early and decorating the suite. Hope deserves that and more. I won’t let my failed relationship ruin the happiest time in her life.
“Call if you need anything. Take pictures of the room before she arrives.”
“I will. I’m going to let you go. If I leave now, I’ll get there with plenty of time to decorate.” It’ll take me longer to do it on my own, and I hope the resort is okay with letting me get in early. I called, and they said they would, but sometimes things don’t go as planned.
Like your relationship with Hudson.
Shut up, subconscious.
“Byeee.” Ellie sing-songs.
I take a deep breath and grab my bag. I wish I were as excited as she is. My priority at the moment is getting to the resort and decorating the suite so that Hope has the best bachelorette party ever. Thankfully, I don’t ski, so I’ll be able to hang back at the resort and minimize my interaction with Hudson.
It takes longer to pack my car than planned, and when it’s full to the brim with bags, I begin my two-hour drive to Winford. My emotions are haywire. I should be doing this drive with Hudson. I should be doing a lot of things differently. This wasn’t in our plans. Breaking up, him insisting I move to New York. He was working through his own changes.
The way he threw in my face that I didn’t want this relationship to work hurt more than anything. How could he doubt my commitment?
I blink back tears and focus on my even breaths. I can’t take any detours today. I have a mission to accomplish, and nothing will deter me. Turning up the volume, my mind concentrates on the songs playing, and my eyes remain on the road. One breath at a time, everything will work out.
By the time I pull up to the resort, my shoulders are tight, and my hips are stiff. All my stress is pocketing in different parts of my body. I stretch my arms overhead, and a wide yawn takes over. When the valet chuckles, my eyes widen, and I cover my mouth. A moment too late, apparently.
“Sorry,” I say.
“No worries. We’ll help you with the bags and park your car.” Another man opens my trunk after wheeling over a cart.
“Thanks.” I nod. My stomach growls, and I stare at the man, hoping he didn’t hear. All it does is make me think of Hudson calling it the growly monster, and my shoulders drop.
I help the porter by grabbing my own suitcase and thank him for his help. No doubt this would take me forever to get up to the suite. We enter the resort in silence, and he patiently waits while I check-in. Thankfully, the room is ready for me as promised.
My stomach growls again in the silent elevator with the porter. Fire burns up my neck and face, no doubt making me red like a tomato. He chuckles quietly, covering it up with a cough. Not smooth, mister.
I count up the floors as they appear on the small screen. How long does it take to get to the eighth floor?
Finally, the doors open, and I bolt out of there before the porter and press a hand to my stomach as I head toward the right.
“This way.” The porter calls out after me
“Oh, right,” I speed walk to catch up to him.
A few feet down the corridor, he stops by the door.
