Connor Beauregard
“I need to talk to him.” I hang up on Jessa and try Connor. Straight to voicemail.
I leave a message. “Connor, please call me back. We need to talk about this. You can’t just—” I stop, swallowing hard. “Please don’t throw away everything we have. I love you.”
My eyes land on Connor’s formal email signature at the bottom of his message, complete with his company logo and professional title. I let out a sudden, strangled laugh.
“He used his work email,” I say aloud to the empty room, a bizarre bubble of hysteria rising in my chest. “He cancels our wedding with his corporate email template.”
The laughter dies as quickly as it came, dissolving into tears that burn my eyes.
My phone pings with texts from Antonio.
Mom’s freaking out. What’s happening?? Call her!!!
From Jasmine.
Are you okay? Where are you?
From Antonio.
Connor’s not answering either. Talk to us, Meesha.
Pressing my palms against my eyes, I try to stem fresh tears. How did everything fall apart so completely in less than twelve hours?
I call Jessa back. “I’ll send my location. I need a ride.”
“We’re on our way.”
I move to the bathroom to splash water on my face, trying to compose myself before Jessa arrives. In the mirror, I see swollen eyes, disheveled braids and the same dress from last night’s party.
The memory of Connor walking out the door replays in my mind, and the image of his back retreating into the rain sears into my memory.
For ten years, I’ve loved him, planned a future with him, believed we were unbreakable. Now, in the cold light of morning, I face the possibility that I’ve destroyed the one relationship I cherished most with thirty seconds of weakness.
As I wait for Jessa to arrive, I send Connor a text.
I understand you’re angry. I deserve that. But please don’t make permanent decisions based on temporary pain. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you. Please talk to me.
Jessa leans against her kitchen counter, arms crossed as she hands me a mug of strong black coffee. Her apartment has a homey feel, though with not a single item out of place.
“So let me get this straight,” she says. “You kissed a stranger in Vegas. Didn’t tell Connor. Now, this same guy shows up in Winter Bay, crashes Kamal’s party, and tells Connor everything?” She raises an eyebrow. “And you’re absolutely certain you only met this man once?”
Jasmine, perched cross-legged on Jessa’s pristine white couch, gives me a sympathetic look. “What Jessa means is that his behavior seems extreme for someone you barely know.”
“That’s exactly what scares me,” I admit, clutching the coffee. “I spoke with him for maybe an hour total. The whole interaction was so brief and meaningless I convinced myself it wasn’t worth telling Connor about.”
Jessa’s gaze hasn’t softened. “And now this man has followed you to Winter Bay, and he’s trying to insert himself into your life. This isn’t just about a kiss anymore, Meesha. This is concerning behavior.”
“I know.”
Jasmine tucks her legs underneath her, leaning forward. “Have you thought about contacting the police?”
“And tell them what? That a man I kissed once showed up in town?” I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “They’d tell me there’s nothing they can do without more evidence of threatening behavior.”
“She’s right.” Jessa nods. “Unfortunately, the law requires more than just uncomfortable encounters.”
Jasmine moves to sit beside me, her hand gentle on my arm. “You couldn’t have known he’d follow you here, Meesha. This isn’t your fault.”
