Look at me. If I’d been able to stick to my plan of enjoying Owen for some quick, fun, sexy times and a wave goodbye, everything would be fine right now. I’d be fast asleep, dreaming of a long walk with Elsa tomorrow morning, followed by a day clacking away with my knitting needles.
But here I am, burning my face staring at the fire at God-knows-what-o’clock because my heart and my head hurt too much to sleep.
My eyes sting from fatigue, as well as crying. My chest hurts from broken pride, as well as a broken heart. My stomach churns from the hurt, as well as from not having eaten since the granola bar Owen and I shared on the drive to Blythewell.
Stupid me.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid me.
I pull my phone from my bathrobe pocket. 4:03 a.m. Jeepers.
I flick to my messages and reread Izzie’s last reply in the I-always-knew-he-was-a-dick conversation that I started as soon as I got home.
IZZIE (11:37 PM)
At least you know for sure now. And on the upside, you finally got back in the saddle. YEE HAW! *cowboy emoji*
At least she makes me smile.
As does the sound of Elsa trotting down the stairs. I’d crept out of the bedroom without disturbing her. She must have woken up and realized I wasn’t there.
Her eyes smile when she sees me, and her tail makes low swishes as she pads over and licks the side of my face.
I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck as the gentle, sleepy wags continue. There’ll never be another love like this.
Mid pooch-hug, a giant yawn creeps up out of nowhere and consumes me.
I’ve never been so exhausted yet so unable to sleep. But I dread the thought of the Owen movie montage restarting in my head if I lie down in bed again.
“Maybe we could try arealmovie instead.” I rub Elsa’s ears as she presses her head against mine. “Let’s tuck back up and watch something cute.”
Hopefully that will replace the images my brain keeps forcing on me and I’ll finally nod off.
I haul myself to my feet, put the fireguard in place, and grab my laptop from the coffee table. “Come on then.”
As I follow Elsa up the stairs, I know there’s only one movie I want to watch.
29
OWEN
My hands shake as I tie a red bow around the bright blue lidded tin that I found lurking in a kitchen cupboard while I was searching for sugar. And discovering this ribbon at the back of the utensil drawer was a stroke of luck. Hopefully Maggie won’t mind me borrowing them.
I’m not sure if my hands are trembling from fatigue, lack of food, or the frustration of not being able to get out of here and rush to see Summer. Or possibly all three.
It wound up being a late night. After the guests left, we ended up sitting around the kitchen fireplace drinking Uncle Jim’s best scotch—nowhere near as good as Summer’s grandpa’s old Irish whiskey—and talking about our favorite parts of the evening. Needless to say, Elliot and I had quite the tale to tell.
I toss the left-over ribbon back in the drawer.
Elliot wanders in, barefoot, in a gray T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, yawning, hair sticking up. “Hmm. Something smells good. How long have you been up?”
“Hours. Couldn’t sleep.”
The precise answer is since 4:03 a.m. And I’d only slept for about an hour before that. My mind raced as I tossed and turned and mentally rehearsed over and over what I might say to Summer if I’m lucky enough to see her again.
