Mortification slams into me, aggravating my undoubtedly bruised ego, and I groan, covering my face with my hands. I wish I could sink down into the mattress and disappear entirely.
Because what was I thinking? What am I doing? How did I let this happen?
Simple. Landon and I have been spending too much time together, and against all odds, I developed a crush on the guy. A big, monumentally stupid crush. I couldn’t admit it to myself before, but I can’t ignore it now, not when I think about him all the time. Not when I’m constantly wondering what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. I can’t ignore the way my heart sprints when he enters a room and sinks when he leaves it.
And I thought…I thought maybe he had a crush on me, too. A crush that was built less on desire for my body and based more on an emotional connection, one I (apparently) imagined in my head. One I allowed to cloud my judgment and control my body and throw caution to the wind. Because seriously. It was never going to happen. Not with his history dating my sister.
I misread all the signs. I ignored all the warnings. I destroyedeverything.
Because the truth is…the truth is it was easier when we hated each other.
With another humiliated groan, I roll over onto my side and stare at my running shoes in the corner, sitting there mocking me. Sighing, I drag myself out of bed and pull on my workout gear.
Is it possible to outrun your embarrassment? I guess I’ll give it a try.
I run for forty minutes, but my energy’s low and my time is shit and not even my usual hype playlist can drown out my regret. When I make it home, sweaty and defeated, Landon’s car is missing from the garage, and my heart sinks lower. Under normal circumstances, our paths would cross in the kitchen while he sips his morning coffee, but these circumstances are far from normal. I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed by the empty house.
My eyes fall on the calendar hanging on the wall, and I zero in on the date. The Atlanta trip is a little over a month away, but I have a sinking feeling I might have to make alternate arrangements.
I think I ruined it all.
On the way to work, I make a quick stop at Jane’s house to drop off her bridal shower order, and her excitement over the desserts is the little ego-boost I need to power me through my day. During the first few hours of my shift, I even manage a few smiles here and there without breaking down in tears.
That is, until the Blairs enter the club.
Ever sincethe incidentwith Kathleen,the hostess is sure not to seat the family in my section. That doesn’t mean I’m unaware of their presence,especiallynow. I can feel Kathleen’s petty glances, her distaste and displeasure palpable, and I can sense Nathan’s suspicion. But worst of all is Landon himself. I’m aware of his eyes on me as I pass by their table, and when our gazes lock, he quickly averts his. I follow suit, my stomach turning over.
I hate this.
I try not to let my distress carry into work, but it’s difficult. My smiles feel forced, and my heart’s not in it. It’s a struggle to speak, and it’s impossible to focus. Even breathing takes effort.
“God, the Howells are on one today,” mutters Jake, shuffling over to me while I wait on an order. “First, they want milk, then they want cream, but wait! Jack only drinks oat, but only a particularbrandof oat, and do we have that? Because if not, we should get it. I think they’re taking pleasure in watching me run around like a headless chicken.” I barely hear him, instead staring blankly at a spot on the wall. “Um, Violet?” He waves his hand in front of my face. “You good?”
That snaps me out of it. I force another smile. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. The Howells. Milk. Chicken. Bummer.”
Jake gives me a weird look. “Is…everything okay? Is it Kathleen? I think they’re finishing up now. Brit’s delivering the check to their table.”
I shake my head. “No, no. She’s fine. I’m fine. All good.”
The lie makes my teeth ache.
The week continues like this, in a blur of fake smiles and Landon’s avoidance. I’m completely beat when I get home on Friday, and I waste no time changing into sweatpants and crawling into bed without dinner. I alternate between re-runs ofThe Baking Challengeand dozing off, but around ten, my stomach grumbles. Sighing, I shove my laptop to the side and drag myself out of bed, heading downstairs.
Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the pantry, I stuff it in the microwave and set the timer. My stomach growls again, and I wait. I don’t notice Landon enter the kitchen until I turn and nearly run him down. At once, his arms shoot out to steady me, before dropping away with surprising speed.
“Sorry,” I mutter, finding it difficult to meet his eyes. It doesn’t help that he looks good in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. “Was just getting some food.”
I start to move around him, but he sighs. “Violet, wait,” he says softly, and I pause, glancing back at him. “This is only awkward if we make it awkward.”
I can’t help but frown at him. “Then why are you avoiding me?”
He runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “I’m notavoidingyou. Ever since the shoot, things are just busy at work.”
I nod like I understand, but I’m not sure I buy it. “Should we cancel the Atlanta trip, then?” I wince, realizing that I probably should have segued into that a little better, but it’s practically the only thing on my mind lately.
“I already booked the tickets, Violet. Let’s just…be adults about this. It’ll be fine.”
“Will it?” I ask, and my voice sounds the way I feel. Fragile.
