Page 74 of Sand in My Boots

How am I the obstacle?

That makes little sense.

Why would someone who grew up with every amenity, every convenience, every whim catered to, want to be bogged down with a guy like me? Who, four years ago, could barely afford to pay his bills? Whose only “real” job in life was handed to him because of his connection to a friend? Who’s never had a relationship other than casual hookups? I’m no catch, that’s for sure.

Especially not for a woman who could have any man she wanted.

Why in hell would she choose me?

Chapter 20

Juli

Nearly two weeks later, and what a spell it’s been.

Two weeks since I said goodbye to paradise.

Two weeks since I bid Cameron goodbye.

Two weeks since I was last in his arms.

Everything about it has been shitty, starting with my plane being delayed for two hours. Then, I couldn’t find a rideshare from the airport.

When I finally got home, I walked in to find my fridge had leaked all over my kitchen floor. Instead of dealing with it like the independent woman I am, I dropped my bags and escaped to my parents’ house. When no one was home, I drove around, sobbing tears of weighty emotions. I couldn’t tell you which parts made me cry the hardest. At one point, I couldn’t see the road, so I pulled over into an empty lot and ugly-cried.

It was not my finest moment.

The next day, I called the landlord about the fridge, who got someone in immediately to clean the damage, and a new fridge was delivered the next day.

On Thursday, Erica sent me a text message with a picture of Cameron and me from the wedding. I thought my pool of tears had dried up, but with one look, I lost it again. Thankfully, I had just come from the grocery store. I’m not ashamed to admit I ate my weight in Ben & Jerry’s that night.

I can’t bring myself to immerse myself in books, and I’ve barely done any work, even for the new client. She’s probably wondering when I’m going to respond to her email. Today. I’m doing it today. At least, that’s my plan.

In an unusual turn of events, Preston has texted me every other day. Unusual because prior to my trip, I was lucky to get a one-word response to a text message I’d send on the rare occasion. He hasn’t come out and explicitly asked how I’m handling things, but the notion has been implied.

I quickly tracked him down before I left on Monday to say goodbye. It was tearful—how could it not be after leaving Cameron on the beach the way I did? I tried to play it off like I was unhappy about leaving paradise, but I’m not sure he bought it. I didn’t bother to mention Cameron, not wanting to start any arguments that might arise. Nor did I need to have him take any anger out on Cameron. Not for a vacation fling. Not for something that’s over and done with.

Try getting my heart on board with that.

Cameron and I were a vacation fling, a one-week casual hookup between friends, the sand in my boots. As much as it felt like so much more than that.

My phone rings, preventing my thoughts from taking a total nosedive into snot-induced, binge-eating, ugly-cry territory.

“Lissy Girl. How’s it going?”

“You home?”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming over.” The phone clicks off in my ear.

I take in the state of my condo—leftover dinner and empty water bottles on the coffee table, snot rags scattered throughout—and myself—old, raggedy T-shirt, thin, holey, black leggings, rat’s nest in my hair. For about half a second, I consider changing and cleaning before deciding Elisa won’t care. Though I’m not acutely prepared to discuss why my life is in the state it is.

Less than five minutes later, my front door opens, Elisa flouncing through it, her long bohemian skirt swishing across her legs. She’s paired it with a brown belt and a white tank top. Her blondish hair is pulled back into a braid, and her makeup is flawless. One hand holds a tray of coffee, a brown bag in the other. “Hey, I brought coffee and croissants. With chocolate.”

“You, my dear sister, are my favorite.”

She steps into the middle of the room, stopping in her tracks, her eyes perusing up and down me before skittering over the rest of the room. “What the hell is happening here?”