It's so far removed from the girl who used to sit hunched over her laptop for sixteen hours straight, forgetting to eat, forgetting the world existed beyond her fiction.
When she's done, she'll go home, shower, put on something cute, do her hair and makeup, then walk the four blocks to Cornerstone.
She'll order a latte.
She'll sit in the corner with her laptop, watching the crowd of people ebb and flow as the hours pass.
Then she'll leave, go to the gym and continue her day like the maze never happened. Like the auction was a dream.
Spoiler alert, Scarletta. It wasn't. And it's time I helped you remembered that.
Just… a reminder.
That I'm still here.
That I still want her. Still need her.
That it's time to begin again.
I finish my coffee, rinse the mug, set it in the sink.
Today is a special day.
Today, Scarletta learns I haven't forgotten her.
That I willneverforget her.
That she isunforgettable.
Chapter 3
Scarletta
The early August evening is still warm when I walk through downtown Idaho Falls toward the pizza place. My sundress is light yellow—pretty, feminine, carefully chosen to signalavailable but not desperate. The fabric swishes against my thighs with each step. I've got my hair down, curled at the ends. Makeup applied with actual effort instead of the bare minimum I usually manage.
I look normal.
Like someone who goes on dates.
Like someone who hasn't spent six months unable to come without thinking about a man murdering someone.
Marty is waiting inside Provisions Pizza when I push through the door. He waves immediately, standing up from the booth with this eager-puppy energy that should be endearing but mostly just makes me tired.
He's tall. Blond. Clean-shaven. His yoga-instructor body is obvious even under his casual button-down. We met yesterday during the post-class cool-down when he asked if I wanted to grab coffee sometime. I said yes because I'm supposed to. Because normal girls say yes when normal guys ask them out.
Because I need to prove I'm not completely ruined.
"Scarletta! Hey, you look amazing." He gestures to the booth seat across from him.
"Thanks." I slide in, setting my purse beside me. "Sorry if I'm a little late."
"No, you're perfect. Right on time, actually."
I'm starving. Like actually hungry for the first time in weeks. When the waitress comes over, I order the specialty—a pizza pie with extra cheese and pepperoni. Marty gets a salad because of course he does.
"So I was thinking after dinner, maybe we could grab drinks at that new place on the river?" He's leaning forward, hands folded on the table. Engaged. Present.
"Oh, I can't stay out late tonight." The lie comes automatically. "Early morning tomorrow."
