* * *
The second day of the conference is a haze.
I try to stay present in the moment, but my mind keeps wandering tohim.Keeps wondering what he’s doing. Keeps replaying the night in my head, searching for clues, trying to decode the things his body was telling me that his words weren’t.
Worst of all, I keep thinking about Mel.
I attend a few morning demonstrations, but my heart’s not in it. I power through the afternoon, but my head’s distracted, and when I finally make it back to my room, my heart sinks. The cleaning service was in while I was gone, and the bed’s made, the towels are fresh, and any evidence that Landon was here at all has been erased.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I collapse on the edge of the bed and kick off my shoes. My feet are sore from all the walking, and I’m exhausted from the maybe-two hours of sleep I was able to get after he left.
Laying back on the fresh sheets, I close my eyes against the sudden rush of tears, trying not to picture the things we did in this room before it all went to shit. Trying not to dwell on how perfect those moments were or how I’d been waiting for them for a long time.
My fingers clench around my phone, desperate to text him and check in because, despite everything, I’m in deep. I don’t know when it happened, or really even how, but at some point, I fell for my sister’s ex. And now things are…complicated.
My phone buzzes, and I roll onto my stomach, glancing at the screen. My pulse starts racing when I see Landon’s name, his first attempt at contact since our disastrous night, but my heart drops after I read the message.
Landon:Getting dinner with some alumni tonight. I’ll meet you in the lobby tomorrow morning at 6:30. We have to be at the airport by 7:15.
I respond with a simpleOkay,because what else can I possibly say?
Don’t go out with them.
Eat with me instead.
Explain to me how and why and when you decided to start talking to my sister again.
What aren’t you telling me?
The rest of my night is pathetic. I order room service, but I have no appetite. I channel surf, but nothing’s appealing. I don’t even feel like watchingThe Baking Challenge, andthat’ssaying something.
Eventually, I shut off the lights and curl up under the covers.
It’s hours before I fall asleep.
* * *
Landon and I barely speak on the return flight.
We exchanged few words on the ride to the airport and even less while waiting at the gate. On the plane, I pretend to sleep, and when we touch down in Florida, Landon orders me an Uber to the house before going straight to the office himself.
He still won’t explain anything, he still won’t let me in, and my chest hurts because I have a horrible feeling that everything’s ruined now. I have no idea how we can come back from this.
I’m numb in the car, and when the driver drops me off, I don’t get that familiar rush of comfort I’ve come to associate with Landon’s home. Dragging my suitcase down the driveway, I unlock the front door and push inside with a heavy sigh.
The slam of the refrigerator door echoing through the house gives me pause. I didn’t see Eli’s truck outside, but maybe Lemon dropped him off? I’m about to call out to him when the voice cuts through the silence.
“Landon?”
No.
It’s a voice that makes my palms start to sweat and my pulse pick up pace and my heart thump painful, sporadic rhythms against the wall of my chest. “Landon, is that you?”
I don’t respond. Can’t respond. I’m more focused on the fact that I might pass out or puke or have a heart attack—hell, maybe all three—because I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this right now.
“Landon, you could respond when I-”
Mel appears in the doorway, and it’s immediately clear that she was expecting her supposed ex, not me. The look of genuine shock on her face makes my hands start to shake. I press them to my thighs, willing them to still, and watch the myriad of emotions play out. I watch as shock turns to confusion and confusion turns to disbelief. I watch as disbelief turns to anger and anger turns to rage. I can only imagine what she’s thinking, and what she’s thinking’s probably not far from the truth.
