I stand at the window for a long time after his truck disappears, wondering which would have hurt more—if he’d left the job half-done, or this. The careful, complete silence of a man who’s decided you don’t exist.
Lucas isthe hardest to track down.
Not at the grocery store. Not at the Honey Crumb. Not walking down Main Street where I could accidentally-on-purpose run into him. He’s either at the clinic or at home, and I can’t exactly show up at his house.
Which is probably for the best. The clinic visit proved I can’t be trusted around Lucas. One whiff of bergamot and sandalwood and I turned into a mess of slick and want on an exam table. My body doesn’t care that he hates me. My body just remembers what his hands felt like.
So I call instead. Safer that way.
“Honeyridge Family Practice, this is Mary.”
“Hi, Mary. This is Cara Donovan. I was wondering if Dr. Price could call me back when he has a moment? It’s... personal.”
A long pause. I can practically hear Mary’s eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
“I’ll pass along the message, hon.”
He doesn’t call.
I try again the next day.
“Mary, hi. It’s Cara Donovan again. Did Dr. Price get my message?”
“He did, sweetheart.”
“Is he... going to call me back?”
The pause is longer this time. Heavy with things Mary is too polite to say.
“He’s very busy, Cara. You know how it is.”
I do know how it is. I know exactly how it is.
“Could you just tell him...” I swallow hard. “Tell him I’m sorry. And I’d really like to explain. Whenever he’s ready.”
“I’ll tell him.”
She sounds kind. That almost makes it worse.
So here I am.
Day of the Valentine’s fundraiser. Sitting at the Honey Crumb with my fourth coffee, watching the town transform into an explosion of hearts and flowers through the window.
My laptop is open in front of me. Chapter twelve of the book I’m supposed to be writing—the one my editor has been hounding me about for weeks. A second-chance romance about an omega who returns to her hometown and has to win back the three alphas she left behind.
The irony is not lost on me.
I’ve written three different versions of this chapter. Three different ways for my fictional omega to break through the walls her alphas have built. Grand gestures, heartfelt speeches, dramatic confrontations.
None of them feel right. Because in real life, grand gestures don’t work when the other person won’t even look at you.
“You’re going to burn a hole through that laptop.”
I look up. Maeve is standing beside my table, coffee pot in hand, watching me with those knowing eyes.
“Just working.”
“Mm-hmm.” She tops off my cup without asking and settles into the chair across from me. “How’s the book coming?”
