I grab my purse and her leash, then head for the door, moving quickly before he can see the tears threatening to spill over. I have to get out of this house before I can change my mind and beg him not to go.
“Heather, wait?—”
But we’re already out the door, and I’m practically running across the lawn to my house. I don't look back.
Inside, I lean against the door and let myself break. Great, heaving sobs that shake my whole body. Because I know what's coming. I've lived this before.
History is repeating itself, and I'm powerless to stop it.
Several days pass in a painful blur. Logan texts constantly, calls, tries to talk. I managed to answer my phone the first few times, forcing brightness into my voice. But I don't have the energy anymore to fake it through another conversation. Now I just stare at his name on my screen until it stops ringing.
I can't face what's coming. Every time his name lights up my phone, my heart clenches with the fear that he's calling to tell me he's made his decision. And I'll have to pretend I'm strong enough to let him go.
He left Monday morning with Violet for San Francisco. It was three days of interviews, city tours, and school visits. Three days of them falling in love with a new life that doesn't include me.
Like any other heartsick fool, I throw myself into work, into grant planning, into anything that keeps me from picturing Logan on the other side of the country. Of him realizingeverything Pelican Point isn't—the opportunities, the prestige, the life he deserves.
Cookie keeps wandering through the house, sniffing the corner of the couch where Violet likes to curl up with her books, her tail nub drooping when she comes up empty. She's been sleeping by the front door since they left, ears swiveling toward every passing car. This morning I found her carrying one of Violet's forgotten hair ribbons in her mouth like a prize, and I had to blink hard against the burning in my eyes.
Needless to say, we're both pathetic.
Julie had sent a group text this morning with a simple directive:
Girls' night at The Celtic Knot. Non-negotiable. You need to get out of that house before you and Cookie form your own support group.
Amy followed up with:
Wear something that isn't dog hair and despair. We're getting you drunk on expensive wine.
Grabbing the closest outfit, I completely skip the dog hair inspection. If they wanted fur-free, they shouldn't have invited someone who owns a shedding machine.
The Celtic Knot's tasting room is beautiful with exposed brick, warm lighting, and old wine barrels repurposed as tables. The server who brings our first flight of wines, gives me a sympathetic look that suggests the majority of the town already knows what’s going on.
“Okay, ladies,” Julie announces, raising her glass. “We’re not here tonight to mope about gorgeous men leaving town for their dream jobs. We’re celebrating Heather successfully landing a huge grant for the library. Cheers!”
I manage a smile and take a sip of wine that might as well be water for all I can taste.
“So,” Amy leans forward, “I didn’t get to tell you at work today, but Mrs. Henderson posted some pictures of you and Logan leaving your house together rather early Sunday morning.” She wriggled her eyebrows. “Is there anything you’d like to share with the group?”
“Oh good,” I say flatly, taking a gulp of wine. “I was worried we might make it through the evening without discussing my doomed love life being documented by the town's spy network. Should we start a betting pool on how many people think Logan will take the job and run?”
“We just heard bits and pieces around town,” Julie comments. “What really happened?”
Suddenly I can’t hold it back any longer and it all comes pouring out. The amazing night together, the phone call, the job offer. Me insisting Logan leave for San Francisco with Violet. The awful, crushing certainty that he's not coming back.
“He's going to take it,” I finish, wiping my eyes with a cocktail napkin. “Why wouldn't he? It's the Condors. It's perfect for him. And I'm just the girl from his past who was convenient while he figured out his next move.”
“That's not true,” Amy says firmly. “That man is in love with you. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
“Then why is he three thousand miles away looking at houses?” I know the words are unfair as I mutter them, especially since I practically shoved him on the plane to San Francisco. But I’m too far gone in this pathetic self-pity spiral to have any honest self-reflection.
“Because he's thirty-two and received a job offer that a thousand men would kill for,” Julie points out. “Heather, what did you expect him to do? Turn it down without evenconsidering it? You just said that you told him to go, do the interview, and you’d talk when he got back.”
“I just hoped he’d choose me this time.” The words burst out louder than I intended.
The table falls silent.
“Oh, honey,” Julie says softly. “Have you told him how you feel?”
