Now, I’m pulling into town and want nothing more than to drive straight to her apartment and talk to her. Kiss her. Crash in her bed with her in my arms. In that exact order.
But I’m running on barely any sleep, and that’s not fair to her. So, instead of driving to where I want to be, I go home. To my cold, lifeless house. But at least there’s hot water and a comfortable bed to crash in for a while.
After signing off with Mom, I make my way into my place, dropping my bag on the floor by the washing machine to deal with later. My plan is to catch a few hours of much-needed sleep, shower, and head over to the bar to see her. I’m assuming Guy is working today, so she’ll probably be on later. I’ll give her the first half of the day, but then I’m coming for her.
Me
I’m home. Gonna crash for a bit then I’ll come find you. I know we need to talk. I miss you and can’t wait to see you.
I hit send before dropping my phone onto the charger in my bedroom. Then, I crawl into bed and let sleep pull me under.
I wake at three and practically jump out of bed. I had hoped to be up by one, but apparently my body had other plans. I knew I needed sleep, but I was hoping I’d catch up later tonight, after talking to Lizzie. Of course, I could have set an alarm, so the fact I actually slept as long as I did is on me.
After running through the shower, brushing my teeth again, and redressing in a pair of comfortable jeans and T-shirt, I slip on athletic shoes, grab my keys and wallet, and head for the door. My anxiety level is high, with both a mixture of wanting to see her so fucking bad and knowing this conversation is going to be one of the hardest I’ve ever had. Even harder than the time I came home and broke up with Whitney.
I jump in my truck and head straight to the bar. Parking in the back lot, I climb from the cab and jog around the building to the front. It’s almost four, not quite time for the shift to change, but that’s okay. It’ll give me about an hour with Lizzie to talk.
Pulling open the door, I’m greeted with the familiar round of hellos from the regulars, all who are sitting at the bar, watching an old episode ofGunsmoke. Most of them aren’t even drinking. They’re just enjoying the atmosphere and the comradery of friends, something I’ve noticed happening more and more. They just like being together, talking about life and whatnot, and it makes me smile. These men are an integral part of what makes The Tipsy Lizard so damn special.
“Hey, Collin,” Guy says as I approach. “Thought you were off today?”
“I am. Was gonna run up and talk to Lizzie,” I reply casually, even though I feel anything but.
“Lizzie, huh?” Jarrod asks, a smirk on his face.
“You sweet on our little Lizzie?” Tom asks, a knowing grin stretching across his mouth.
“You two would make such a great pair,” Larry chimes in.
“She’s not here,” Burt announces.
“She’s not?”
Guy jumps in. “Nope, she took the day off. I’m not sure where she went, but she left a little more than an hour ago. Jani’s coming in at five.”
My heart sinks, and I’m certain my disappointment is written all over my face.
“If it’s any consolation, she didn’t appear upset or anything. Just said she was taking the afternoon off. Something about needing some wind therapy and wanting to go where the trees talk and she could think in peace.”
My brain is spinning, my heart’s trying to leap out of my chest.
Where would she go for wind therapy?
I mentally run through all the places she likes to go, but nothing fits the bill. As far as I know she doesn’t frequent a park or a hiking trail, and she’s never gone on a run with me.
Then it hits me.
Could it be that easy?
“I gotta go,” I tell them, tapping the bar top as I practically bolt toward the door.
“Go get her, tiger!”
“Get your girl!”
“About time he figured it out.”
I make it to my truck in record time, jumping in and taking off like a bat out of hell. I drive straight out of town, traveling the familiar roads that lead to the farm. I pull onto the lane and head for the barn, bypassing the house completely. As if waiting for my arrival, Wyatt is there, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
