It was so dumb of me to think that I could make that video online and that it would magically bring Trevor back to me. I’d hoped that by telling the truth, he’d learn what happened and forgive me for it. I was a nervous, anxious wreck for a week straight after I’d posted that video online. The possibility that he’d call or email or reach out to me felt so likely. Maybe even his manager would reach out. Or his assistant. Someone. Anyone.
Plenty of other people reached out to me. My video got two million views the last time I checked, and thousands of comments. #MysteryWoman was trending for a few days after the video went viral. As most internet trends do, it was popular for a couple days and then it faded away, replaced by the next dozen viral videos. Which is good, because I think it made a big enough splash that Trevor would have seen it, but not so big to ruin my life or anything. Besides Julie’s friends in Sterling, no one has talked to me about it.
But I didn’t make the video for the world. I made it for one person. And it’s been radio silence from Trevor Owens for two weeks now.
I had to let it go. To let him go. I had to accept my fate and move on with my life, otherwise my heartbreak would ruin me. While Mrs. Gomez noticed it right away the day I met her, no one else seems to care, and I prefer it that way. I’m moving on. I’m working my dream job and living as a single woman who just moved out of Julie’s house and into her own apartment. Everything else in my life will be okay, and my broken heart will just have to deal with it.
“Well, what do you think?” Mrs. Gomez says.
“Huh?” I look over, realizing she’s been talking this whole time but I was too lost in thought, staring at the TV screen to pay attention to what she said. “Sorry, I—got distracted.”
“I said what’s your favorite color? I’m going to crochet you a little present.”
“Oh, um…” I consider it. I usually say purple, or pink, but as I look at the wide array of yarn colors in her bag of crochet supplies, a teal color pops out at me. “This one.”
“Perfect,” she says, setting aside the piece she was working on and reaching for the teal yarn.
The radio on my hip beeps and my manager Ashleigh’s voice says, “Annie, come to the front.”
My eyes widen. Usually when my manager calls me on the radio she’s asking for assistance in another room. Butcome to the frontsounds bad.
“Am I in trouble?” I wonder out loud.
Mrs. Gomez presses her lips into a flat line. “You better not be. They’ll have to deal with me if so.” She stands up. “Let’s go see what they want.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, not wanting to be humiliated in front of one of my patients if I am in trouble for something. “You can stay.”
She shakes her head. She is a small woman, but a fierce one. “I’m going, now come on.”
She makes her way to the door and down the hallway, so I follow, quickly getting in front of her so it doesn’t look like I’m purposely asking a resident to fight my battles for me. We make our way down the main hallway toward the front desk.
I’ve loved every moment of my new job and I really hope I’m not in trouble. But when I approach the front desk, Ashleigh gives me the weirdest look. Immediately, I know I’m not in any kind of trouble with my job, but that something weird is happening. Her eyes widen and she rushes up to me.
“Oh my gosh,” she whispers.
“What?” I whisper back.
“Talk louder,” Mrs. Gomez says from beside me. “My old ears can’t hear whispers.”
“You have a visitor,” Ashleigh says, nodding her head toward the waiting room next door.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Gomez says, walking toward the waiting room.
I quirk an eyebrow at my boss. Who would come visit me? Julie is busy working on her next novel and my parents live several states away. I’m so confused, but mostly, I’m glad to find out that I’m not in trouble at my new job.
“Girl, I wouldn’t keep him waiting,” Ashleigh says, grinning at me as she wiggles her eyebrows. She pushes me toward the door that leads to the waiting room and whispers, “You are a very lucky woman.”
Time seems to slow down as I walk the short distance to the waiting room. It’s a large room, filled with couches and nice chairs for family members to wait when they come to visit their relatives but can’t go in their room for whatever reason. Sometimes the residents are showering or getting medical care and can’t have visitors just yet.
I think somewhere deep down,very, very, deep down, my subconscious knows. But my brain is scattered with anxious thoughts and worries and the fear that I’ll get my hopes up for nothing as I step through the door. The first thing I see is Mrs. Gomez.
“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that gentlemen the same one on the TV?” she says to me before looking back at the man standing sheepishly near a large houseplant.
“Oh my gosh,” I say as my eyes meet Trevor’s. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt. He looks a thousand times more handsome in real life than on the TV screen.
I spent a week hoping this day would come. And then another week convincing myself it never would. But he’s here.
“Wait, are you the guy on the TV?” Mrs. Gomez says, totally unaware of how I am internally freaking out right now.
