* * *
After Lilla leaves, I remember my promise to my therapist.
“Fine, Mindy.” I grab my notebook. “I’ll try this.”
Dear Mom,
I’m sitting in Tucson at a nice hotel, and I’m writing to you. To the woman I lost all those years ago, and you’d think I’d be over it by now.
Do you think that? Do you think I forgot about you, forgot about your face, your clothes, your hair? I don’t remember much of the details, but I still remember how you smelled. The perfume you wore. When I was a teenager, I went to the department store. I stood at the cosmetics counter for nearly an hour, testing every single fragrance behind the locked glass shelves. I drove the saleswoman crazy, but I sprayed one bottle after another on my wrists and arms until I found your scent.
Ruby XO. That was the perfume you always wore wasn’t it? I knew when I smelled it, as soon as I sprayed it on my right bicep. It was the only part of me that didn’t already smell like something else. Somebody else’s mother’s smell. But not mine.
I bought a bottle right then, and I’ve been using it ever since. Every morning. I haven’t missed once.
Jasalie
I put my journal down and turn off my light.
But I can’t sleep. I toss and turn for over half an hour, unable to even relax. Finally, I sit up and reach for my phone. I reread the saved address on my map, the one I typed in from the lawyer’s note card and that I’ve long since memorized. Then, before I can change my mind, I pull up Dylan’s number.
My text is short and to the point.
I’m in.
It’s late, and I don’t expect him to text me back. I’m about to lie back down when my phone dings with a message. Not sure how he’s going to respond, I touch the screen with a shaking finger.
No trial date needed then? What changed your mind?
I glance over at my journal.
I think you were right. We can help each other.
His answer comes almost immediately.Let’s spend the day together before you commit. See you tomorrow.
Tomorrow. I blow out a breath, finally releasing my tension. And I go to sleep.
Chapter Six
I arrive outside the hotel lobby at eleven the next morning as planned.
I get there first. It’s just me and the mountains.
And I’m officially nervous. Last night the whole thing between Dylan and me had seemed like a big game somehow. Dylan was super-hot, smelled amazing, and was annoyingly persistent. He tempted me, and once I was alone in my room, I bit. But today, all of it feels way too real.
“Hey, Jasalie Gordon.” Dylan appears by my side without warning and I jump.
I must stop looking at these damn mountains.
“Hey, yourself.” I turn and smile at him.
He looks even more gorgeous than last night if that’s humanly possible. His olive shirt brings out the gold flecks of his eyes, and his hair isn’t styled as formally as it was yesterday. The slight waviness is a touch messy. He runs his hand through his hair as he stands in front of me, which just messes it up more. God, he looks like sex on a stick.
I, on the other hand, look pretty much exactly as I did last night. My hair’s different—I’m wearing it down instead of up in the bun I had yesterday—but I’m wearing another pair of black pants and a blouse. I spent all morning running back and forth to the hotel office center to photocopy pamphlet after pamphlet for Bill, and I didn’t have time to focus on what to wear for lunch. So I panicked and threw on what I now realize is far too businessy for this “date.”
“You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Although I do have other outfits, ones that are more…casual.”
