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“So good to have you here, my dear.” Carol smiles.
“Bye, everyone.” I wave. “I have to work in the morning, so I’m heading out.”
“Goodbye,” everyone calls.
Henley’s eyes lock on mine, and we stare at each other across the room for a beat longer again. As if not remembering that we hate each other.
Stop it.
With another small wave, I walk back across the road to my house, and just as I step onto my veranda, I hear Taryn’s annoying voice echo through the street. “Let’s get some music going.”
Ugh, Rebecca is right.
I lie in bed, wide awake.
The beat from the music is drifting through the neighborhood.
The party has moved from Carol’s house to Antony’s backyard. They are now sitting around a campfire. I don’t know who’s over there, but I can still hear Taryn’s annoying voice over everyone else’s.
My mind keeps going over Rebecca’s words about Henley tonight. And I know I should be angry at him and resentful because he has a burner phone, but . . .
He’s damaged.
I feel sad for him. I can’t imagine what it must be like to hold no hope of meeting the one. Or not even wanting to.
I thought he would have tried to talk to me tonight . . . but then, based on his crazy up-and-down behavior, I didn’t.
I mean, everything Rebecca said all makes a lot of sense.
I knew we hit it off on that first date. And I knew he liked me. Damn it, I liked him. I was so shocked when he didn’t call me.
But did he want to?
Even last weekend, we made out in the most perfect of ways, and then he acted like it meant nothing.
What happened to him to make him so closed down?
I hear Taryn’s annoying laugh, and I roll over and punch my pillow. “Go back to your ex-husband, Taryn. You’re pissing me off.”
I run around in a fluster. Joel is going to be here any minute to talk about the couch and colors, and I got home late from work.
I hear a knock at the door, and I quickly throw my clothes into the laundry hamper. “Fuck’s sake, this place is a mess,” I whisper en route to the door. I open it in a rush. “Hi.” I smile. “Come in.”
“Hello.” Joel smiles. Damn, he’s good looking. Not in a Henley-king-of-the-world way—more like a prince kind of guy.
“Would you like a coffee or something?” I ask.
“Oh yes, please. After the busy day I’ve had, I need an upper.” He follows me into the kitchen, and I make our coffees. He opens all his books on the kitchen counter and begins to flip through them. “So you liked this Hopewood line?”
“Yeah. I love it, but I don’t know if I should get a two-seater or two three-seaters.”
“Hmm.” He thinks for a moment. “Let me measure the room again.” He takes out his tape measure, and we walk out into the living area.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Who could that be?” I roll my eyes. “Excuse me.”
“Sure,” he replies as he begins to measure the room.
