But it might be thelasttime I was ghosted.
I’d been unlucky in love. My dates went nowhere other than a one-night stand. It seemed like as men got older, the only single ones left were the ones whowantedto be single.
Brad and I had matched well. But I wasn’t inlovewith him. I was mildly inlikewith him. We’d talked online a lot and had a few phone calls, too.
There’d been a few tentative butterflies swirling in my chest and I’d had a lot of hope. But I’d been in this dating game long enough to know that those first few butterflies didn’t always mean the guy was my one true love.
The part that hurt the worst was wondering if he’d spotted me through the window of the bar, taken one look, and headed back to his car.
I’d sent him some flattering pictures along with a few unfiltered photos that showed the realityof me. The last thing I wanted to do was catfish someone, or send them a picture that made them think I was ten years younger and fifty pounds lighter.
I believed in letting men self-select out early in the process.
There was enough extra cushion on my tushy that I’d never be a stick-thin supermodel. And Bradknewthat.
What I didn’t understand was why he’d go to the trouble of setting up the date if he planned to stand me up? Or why somanymen did that?
Sinking my eyes down to the surface of the table, I let myself dwell in the pain of another rejection. The pinch in my heart wasn’t about my date tonight. I didn’t evencareabout Brad yet. I hadn’t known him long enough to develop any real feelings.
What hurt was feeling rejected again.
The only man I’d ever been in love with was Sawyer Reed, and he’d never looked at me as anything but his best friend’s little sister.
All these dates I tried to go on were an attempt to grow up and move on from my childhood crush.
But maybe it was time to admit defeat. I’d never find a man who filled the hole in my chest that Sawyer had left.
A tear slipped down my cheek and I wiped it away hastily, my face burning with embarrassment.
I wasnotgoing to cry in a bar full of tourists on Valentine’s Day while I sat here in a stupid sweater with hearts all over it.
As soon as I left here, I was going to go home and burn the damn thing.
Another tear slipped out, followed by a quiet sob, then my nose started running.
I needed to get out of here, but I didn’t want to attract any more attention to myself.
The waiter already knew I’d been stood up. Harley had waited patiently to take my food order when I’d told him I was expecting another person to arrive. And now, almost two hours later, he’d stopped bothering to come by the table asking if I was ready to order yet.
But did the whole restaurant need to know?
Subtly, I tried to dry my tears and wipe my face down.
As soon as I could get control of my tears I was going to throw money on the table and slink out of here.
This is it. I’m really done this time.
No more dating. No more hoping. No more attempts to find my match.
I was officiallydonewith men.
What was left of my heart imploded in a tiny, tired puff of smoke.
And it was exactly at that moment that I scraped my eyes up off the table and saw the man who had haunted my dreams for years.
I sat there stunned, taking in six feet of mountain muscle that culminated in the sexiest caramel eyes I’d ever seen.
It was Sawyer.
