Not So Far Away (Worlds Collide The Duets #1) - LL Meyer Page 0,57
wouldn’t worry, mi amor, if it’s meant to be, all will be well.”
“Okay, yeah. You’re right. I’ll take it as it comes.”
Feeling much better about this storm cloud that’s been looming on the horizon for the last couple of weeks means there’s almost nothing tethering my mood to the ground. At home, I work on the recipe, reading and rereading the instructions carefully as I go. I even send my sister a picture of myself in front of the stove. Briefly, I consider sending Scott the same picture, but for some reason, that feels really intrusive. I know Saturday and Sunday are his days with the girls. He’ll be all mine tonight at 7:00.
When I finally get the casserole in the oven, I check my phone for the hundredth time and start to wonder why he hasn’t sent me anything all day, at least to see how I am, or to confirm our plans, or to say hi. But then it occurs to me that I haven’t contacted him either. I never was one for double standards, so I decide to put on my big girl panties and text him.
Except my thumbs hang poised over the keyboard without a clue of what to say. I start with the obvious, Hey. But then what? Can’t wait to see you, or you rocked my world last night, or maybe a simpler, hope your day is going well. Ha, ha, that last one sounds like something out of a Hallmark card. I’m backspacing furiously when I accidentally hit send. Oh shit. I stare down at it and laugh.
Ellie: Hey.
Short and sweet. I consider adding more in another message, but ultimately leave it as is. If he’s busy, then he won’t feel obligated to answer.
While the food bakes, I jump in the shower. When I get out, I frown slightly at the lack of a response. I really thought he’d answer, but then I chide myself. It’s not a big deal.
I get dressed in my favorite jeans and an off the shoulder blouse. Last night, he’d clearly liked the exposed skin and I want a repeat of the experience. When the timer on the stove goes off and it’s only twenty to seven, I decide to take the straightening iron to my hair to pass the time.
By seven, my apartment smells amazing and I look great. I’m unreasonably nervous and excited. I can’t wait to see him.
By seven fifteen, I’m more nervous than excited. He’s never been late before.
At seven twenty-five, my phone dings and I snatch it up. But it’s my sister responding to the picture I sent earlier.
By eight fifteen, I know something is wrong, and I do my best to scrub images of car accidents from my mind.
I text him.
Ellie: I hope everything is ok.
He doesn’t respond. By nine thirty, I’m climbing the walls. Is it wrong that I’m hoping that something happened? Some kind of family emergency maybe. Because the thought of him blowing me off for no reason is painful in ways I don’t want to even contemplate.
I jump up from my place on the couch when I feel the sting of tears. No, no, no, no. Not happening. I don’t cry over men anymore.
By ten thirty, the walls are officially closing in on me and I’m desperate. I text Vanessa.
Ellie: Hey, you guys still going out tonight? Can I tag along?
Though I fully plan on giving Scott the benefit of the doubt, there’s no way I can continue to sit here all night, waiting and wondering and worrying.
Vanessa: Why? I thought you had big plans.
Ellie: They fell through.
It’s a relief when she texts me the address of a local salsa club that I’ve been to plenty of times in the past. Well, Piper’s been there, but I have confidence in Ellie now. She’s much stronger than she was even a month ago. I certainly won’t be drinking. I’ll take my car so if Scott needs me, I can be ready to go at a moment’s notice.
As I’m putting my driver’s license and my money into my phone case, I’m hit with a very unsettling case of déjà vu. Maybe this isn’t the best of ideas. But the thought of staying here is suffocating. I just can’t.
Arriving at the club near midnight, I balk at the lineup outside. Piper has never, in her life, waited in a lineup. I make my way up to the front.