And now my car is sitting at a mechanic’s shop until Monday—and it’s only Friday morning.
“It’s rare to see the spark so quickly.” Wilma’s rough voice is quiet, but loud enough to reach me.
Like they purposely want me to hear whatever they’re going on about.
“When he walked in earlier, something in the air shifted.” The soft-spoken hostess doesn’t hide her excitement. “Like the room was waiting for someone else.”
Oh great, they’re loony, and I’m booked with them until my car is fixed.
Monday can’t come soon enough.
“And then in walks our someone else.” A faint clink of teacups punctuates the words.
They had better not be talking about me.
Why would they?
They aren’t.
Are they?
“She is his perfect match.” The words float across the hallway, light as a breeze.
Just. For. Me.
Don’t turn around.
Don’t turn around.
I twist anyway, my phone still wedged against my shoulder.
The two sisters stare at me, hands clasped around teacups, and smiles on their faces.
Well, sort of.
Wilma is trying to smile, but it looks painful.
These strangers are referring to me.
I’m the perfect match.
His perfect match.
Who the heck ishe?
I don’t want to know.
Why did I choose the second week in February for my month-long trip? Valentine’s Day weekend, when love is on everyone’s mind.
Everyone but mine.
I have life goals.
That’s what I discovered when I realized editing someone else’s life had become easier than imagining my own.
And the day that hit, I knew waiting for the “right” moment had always been my way of staying in my comfort zone.
The comfort zone that kept me in a three-year relationship where love never even entered the equation.
