“Through there. You might have already missed her. She seemed in a hurry.”
I fucking bet. I don’t acknowledge my mom’s curious gaze; those questions will have to wait. My shoes aren’t made for running, yet I pump my arms and legs out of the room into a narrow corridor. The breakroom is empty. Back in the corridor, the emergency exit door swings shut, and I sprint toward it and out into the cold evening.
A middle-aged man saunters across the parking lot.
“Hey, have you seen a woman out here? Blue dress. Blonde hair. She was singing.”
“Oh, Harriet? You just missed her.” He points at a set of taillights disappearing into the night.
“Fuck!” I throw my head back, staring up at the stars.
Marcus is right. I will do the right thing, even if it kills me, because you can’t kill a man who died years ago.
FIFTEEN
HARRIET
Rage replacesrejection once the country club is behind me, and I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire ride home.
The girls received a prompt update after my final set, and they were not happy. I understood his panic, had experienced it myself, but to leave with no explanation and then have the audacity to sit there and watch my entire performance as if nothing had happened?
Okay, his dark, serious gaze implied something had gone down, and it proved difficult to keep my eyes off Warren’s from where he sat broodily in the back of the room. I’m pretty impressed that I could siphon the energy and courage to perform the second half of my set. Lilah and Ben, the bride and groom, were a delight, and I wouldn’t allow one of their guests to ruin their day. Or me.
It was confusing, distracting, and an utter headfuck, but I refused to acknowledge him. Instead, I funneled all my emotions into my music. During the last song, I allowed the riff of my guitar to carry me away. The second I strummed the laststring and thanked the crowd, I was out of there, unable to stand another minute of his intense attention.
Talia was waiting for me when I arrived at my apartment and, like the amazing friend she is, listened to me babble, cry, and vent for the last thirty minutes.
I collapse on the sofa next to her, breathless from my tirade. “Am I being too harsh?”
She cuts me a sharp look. “You’re behaving exactly as you should. It’s a good thing Parker is busy; otherwise, she’d be over there, ripping him a new one.”
Bone-tired and brain frazzled, I shut my eyes. “I got my hopes up. A naïve part of me hoped he’d want to be involved. Now, the truth is out there, and I can move on. We don’t need him.”
Right?
Abzzzrings through the apartment.
“Exactly, and moving on with two family-sized pizzas is where you should start.” Talia jumps to her feet and darts toward the intercom. “Hello?”
Heavy breathing crackles through the speaker before a deep voice asks, “Please tell me Harriet Thomas lives here?”
My eyes blow wide. “That’s Warren!” I hiss.
She gasps. “How can you tell from his voice?”
There’s no time to explain that his voice has replayed in my head more times than I can count since Oktoberfest, a guilty pleasure I will not be delighting in again.
“I just do.”
“Should I call the cops?” Talia isn’t joking.
“No.” She levels me with a look. “No.I’ll go down and tell him to go away. Right? Or should I talk to him? Ugh, I don’t have the spoons for this.”
I bury my head in my hands and release a frustrated cry before reminding myself to stay calm. Stress is not good.
A gentle touch lands on my shoulders. “Maybe see what he has to say. I can come with you, but I know you’ll kick yourself later if you don’t.”
She knows me well. Without a word, I rise and take the stairs leading out into the street.
