Like what the actual fuck?
What happened to the marketing executive who loved being outdoors and lived in his own apartment overlooking the park?
I mean, I didn’t want to be that person who judged on appearance, but what I’d ordered and what I’d got weren’t even in the same ballpark. The guy sitting in front of me was squishy around the middle, he had a long, greasy blond mullet, his skin was pasty white, and I wasn’t sure the last time he’d seen sunlight or breathed in fresh air. He smelt like mothballs and had acne covering half his face.
The guy I’d been expecting, the guy in his profile picture and the ones he’d shared with me were of a guy with a square jaw that could make even Henry Cavill jealous. He was tall, lean, had tattoos down his arm, and rocked a suit like it was nobody’s business.
Needing a moment to compose myself or jump out a window, I excused myself to escape to the bathroom. As I passed the bar, I caught the bartender’s attention and asked him to hold my Cosmo behind the bar and add two shots of tequila to my order. Tucked away in the bathroom, I took a breath and ran cold water over my wrists. This was a disaster. A dating disaster. This was worse than those dating horror stories that ended up in books. Resolved to thank him for coming and make my getaway, I headed back out toward the bar for my liquid courage first.
Opening my purse, I went to pay for my drinks as the bartender slid them in front of me.
“They’re already paid for, honey,” she told me, pointing to a guy sitting on a stool eyeing me over the rim of his own drink.
I turned my attention to the good Samaritan, or maybe he was just a guy who’d noticed how shitty my night was and was trying to turn it around. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“You looked like you needed a break.” He shrugged before stretching his hand out to shake mine. “Todd,” he introduced himself confidently.
“Charlotte,” I replied, not missing the warmth from his hand or the way he smelt as I edged closer.
Two years.
Two years and he’d gone from my personal superhero to the villain of my story. The saddest part of the whole thing was, I couldn’t work out how much of this was my fault.
“Miss!” the cabbie alerted me. “We’re here.”
I’d been so lost down memory lane, I hadn’t even noticed we’d stopped or the fact he’d already unloaded my suitcase from the trunk and was standing on the sidewalk waiting for me to get the hell out.
“Oh, sorry,” I apologized quickly, shoving a fistful of cash at him before looking up at the beautiful house in front of me.
This is what I wanted. This is why I’d overlooked Todd’s flaws and made excuses. He forgot birthdays, ignored anniversaries, and didn’t even entertain the idea of Christmas. He’d bought me flowers once in the whole time we’d been together and even then, it was only because I refused to speak to him and was withholding sex because he’d gone out drinking with the guys and stumbled home the next morning reeking of beer and stinking of cheap perfume. But this house, it wasn’t just a house. It was a home. A home filled with love. And it was what I craved.
Pushing open the gate, I trudged up the path, dragging my suitcase behind me feeling like the world's biggest loser. Taking a breath, I straightened my shoulders and looked down at my food-splattered shoes before knocking.
Turning around, I looked over the front yard and it was as perfect as the couple inside. Flowers filled the planter boxes. Hedges lined the fence almost making it disappear entirely and the lawn was neatly trimmed.
“Charlotte?”
At my name I spun around and came face to face with a giant. Well okay. He wasn’t really a giant, but Mason Fynn was a tall man. One of Chicago’s favorite NBA superstars he was definitely above average in the size department, and thanks to his wife and my bestie, Hannah, I knew about ALL his impressive measurements.
I hadn’t cried.
My bottom lip hadn’t even trembled.
But the moment Mason said my name, it was like the world hit me like a ten-ton truck. It’s incredible how you can hold all your emotions in check but the moment anyone shows you the slightest bit of kindness, you fall apart.
“Ah, Hannah. It’s for you,” he called out over his shoulder as he helped me inside, grabbing my suitcase and hauling it in without a word.
It’s what true friendship is. The ability to show up unexpectedly on your friends’ doorstep, looking like something that’d been run over and they invite you in with no questions asked.
Hannah appeared looking absolutely gorgeous, wearing a long sleeve silver dress that hugged her huge seven-month pregnant belly and a pair of flat sandals. Her hair was done, and she was wearing makeup. Looking around the room, I noticed Hannah wasn’t the only one looking fancy. All the lights were off, and candles flickered on every surface. In the middle of the table sat a huge bouquet of white roses because Hannah thought red roses were cheesy but white were classy, and two champagne flutes with a bottle of sparkling water.
“Fuck!” I swore as I pulled my head out of my ass and started thinking about someone else. “Shit!”
“It’s okay.” Hannah placated me as she moved toward me, arms outstretched ready for a hug.
“It’s not okay. It’s your anniversary, and I showed up here and completely fucked up your night,” I cried as I spun around looking for my luggage so I could get the hell out of here. Just because my night, my life had gone to shit didn’t mean I needed to ruin theirs.
“You did not fuck up our night. We were about to have dinner and there’s plenty for you. Isn’t there, Mase?” Hannah asked sweetly. I didn’t miss the way she battered her eyes in his direction and when he went directly for the kitchen, I knew he wasn’t even going to question it.
