I almost can’t see by the time I finish reading, my vision completely blurred by tears. The post closes with a plea to meet him at six o’clock this Saturday at the place where we rescued our dog.
“Damn it,” I mumble when I put the phone down on the table. “I thought we had a deal.”
Alana hands me a napkin to wipe my face. “We did. But he’s a mess. You’re miserable. Neither of you are coping. I’m sorry I resorted to a sneak attack, but come on. What’s the harm in hearing him out?”
“I’m not miserable,” I say in my defense. “I’m moving on.”
Steph gives me a look that begs to differ.
“You’re in denial,” Alana corrects. “Spending ten hours a day at the hotel and another five holed up in your room on your websites is not the sign of someone who’s moved on.”
So it’s been difficult. Fine. When everything else is spinning out of control, work is where I find my center. It’s a distraction, and the most effective way I’ve found to keep my mind off Cooper.
Truth is, he’s a hard man to get over. Hardly a day passes without me waking up and expecting to feel his arm around me in bed. Ten times a day I almost text him some funny joke or exciting update about the hotel—until I remember he isn’t mine anymore. Daisy still searches for him. Picking up his scent here and there. Lying at the foot of his side of the bed. Waiting at the door for someone who never comes.
Nothing about being in this town feels right without him.
And none of that changes the fact that he lied to me. Repeatedly. He took away my power to make my own decisions. He tricked me, and I can’t so easily disregard that. If I can’t have respect for myself, no one will.
“Meet him,” Alana urges. “Listen to what he has to say. Then go with your heart. What’s the harm in doing that much?”
Irrevocable damage. A small crack in the levee that gives way to insurmountable anguish. When I left Cooper, I built my walls sturdy, made to last. I wasn’t designed to open and shut at will. More than anything, I fear that if I let myself see him, I won’t ever stop feeling this terrible ache. That if I forgive him, I’m setting myself up to be ruined again. Because I don’t know how to walk away from Cooper Hartley twice.
I might not survive it again.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
COOPER
It’s seven o’clock.
I feel like a moron. I should have dressed better. Brought her some flowers. I was knocking around my house all afternoon trying to not get worked up about this that I drove myself fucking batshit. I walked out of the house in my cargo shorts and a T-shirt, looking like a goddamn bum asking this amazing woman to forgive him for being a complete bastard since the day she met him.
What the fuck am I doing here?
My eye twitches. It’s been doing that for two days. Alana told me she’d shown Mac the post I’d written, but wouldn’t elaborate much on her reaction, except to say she didn’t chuck the phone into the street. It’s been an hour since the time I’d asked to meet, though, and with each passing second my hope evaporates. Somehow, I’d gotten into my head this plan was foolproof. Mac would see my sincerity and thoughtfulness, and of course she’d forgive me.
This was a stupid plan. Why did I think pouring my heart out on a website she built to drag dumbasses like me would be romantic? I’m a joke. Maybe if I’d gone after her that night at the party, I wouldn’t be standing here with the seagulls, which are circling as if they’re mobilizing for an assault. I kick a mound of sand in the air to remind them of their place in the food chain.
Seven fifteen.
She’s not coming.
Maybe I shouldn’t have expected to win her over with one grand gesture, but I never thought she’d blow me off entirely. It knocks the wind out of me like a punch right to the center of my chest. The boardwalk lights flicker on as the sun dips behind the town.
She’s really not coming.
Accepting my fate, I slowly turn back toward the way I came, and that’s when I see a lone figure walking toward me.
I careen into a full-blown panic at the sight of Mac approaching. She’s only ten yards away now. Five. She looks stunning, her tall, slender body wrapped up in an ankle-length blue dress with a low V neckline. I haven’t forgotten a single freckle or the way her eyes have little flecks of blue in their green depths. The crease of her lips when she says my name. Seeing her again, though, it’s wiping the dust off the window.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I tell her, trying to keep my composure. I got her here. Last thing I want to do is scare her off, even if every ounce of me wants to hold her one more time.