“His unshakable belief that we belonged together. We had to face challenges, but he never gave up on me and taught me how to fall in love again.”
“You’re lucky.”
Peering at me intensely like she sees right into my broken soul, she says, “Don’t close yourself to love like I did, Arya. Or you might let the man meant for you slip away.”
But what if he’s the one shutting me out?
How do I keep him?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nathan
ANGEL: Can we reschedule our meeting to tomorrow?
I read Arya’s message twice while waiting for her at Golden Elm. She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. My hand involuntarily tightens around the phone.
Is she avoiding me?
Tit for tat for not calling her the next day after she left my place? I admit it was a dick move abandoning her to drink booze on the balcony. But I didn’t think she’d leave without saying goodbye like a thief in the night.
What would you have done instead? Hugged and kissed her at the door? Walked her to her car? Told her to drive safe and call once she made it home?
All the gestureshermanwould do, which I am not.
The fact I even came up with such lovesick options is troubling, let alone crave the chance to do them. The realization she’s sunk her claws deeper than I thought doesn’t curb the pulsing need to see and listen to her husky voice right now.
It’s been seven days since we met. I can’t seem to stop counting down the days. Another stupid habit I’ve formed.
Glancing at her message, as if that’ll conjure her up before me, I ponder the reason why she canceled our meeting. It’s very unlike her, especially on such short notice.
Did another client show up and steal my time reserved with her? Irrational jealousy colors my vision.
I dial her number to demand an explanation and that she come see me. I’m not above lying and saying I have an emergency. I’m prepared to do just that when she picks up on the fourth ring.
“H-hello,” she utters, low and hoarse.
Something’s wrong. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she answers too quickly, still whispering. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ari,” I sharply reply.
“I’m sick, okay? I’ve got a cold and cough,” she answers.
Except her tone isn’t deep and rough like when you have a cold. Instead of calling her out on it, I play along, “Have you taken the day off to rest?”
“Yeah, I’m at home.”
“Good.” I’m driving there.
“I’m gonna go now.” A hitch in her lackluster voice. It escalates my worry. “I’m sorry for canceling.”
“It’s fine.” I push up from the chair, my appetite lost, and head for the exit to the parking lot. “Take care.”
“Bye, Nathan.”
I hang up and pocket my phone. Once I reach my Maserati, I slide behind the wheel and start the engine. My mind imagines the worst-case scenarios as I drive like the hounds of hell are chasing after me.
