Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,48

Saturday when I just made the date to go out with George.

I stand frozen for a long time, staring down at the open box. The pretty crystal stem of the glass. The cozy photo on the lodge brochure.

I want to go there to meet him. So badly. I want to see him again next weekend. I like George, but I don’t want to date him.

With a shuddering breath, I pick up the glass and set it on the same shelf where I’ve kept the other three. I’ll keep them. As a reminder of something good in my life.

But they can’t be anything else to me than that. Not anymore. Nothing but a remembrance. I collect all four and carefully pack them up in a box. Put the box on a high shelf in my linen closet with the note cards and brochures that came with them. Including the latest ones.

I don’t make arrangements to go to Vermont. I don’t start to buy any new outfits or lingerie. I don’t cancel my plans with George.

This is my life. It’s important to me. I’m not going to sabotage it by daydreaming of something that will never happen, and I’m not going to make choices I know will end up hurting me.

I’ve made the right decision. It doesn’t make me happy, but I know it for sure. I try to put Richard out of my mind for the next week. I work hard. I buy a new outfit for my date with George. Whenever I feel my thoughts slipping in Richard’s direction, I ruthlessly yank them back to something else.

So it ends up Friday before I know it. The day I should be heading to Vermont to meet Richard. By the afternoon, I’m sick to my stomach, wondering what he’ll do when I don’t show up. How he’ll feel. I hate, hate, hate the thought of him in the hotel room by himself, waiting for someone to show up who never will.

I hate that I’m the one who’s done it to him.

But I don’t have a choice. He’s never given me his phone number or email address or any way to contact him. What does he expect? How long does he realistically think a woman is going to put her life on hold to have random weekends with him?

This situation—as awkward as it is—is because of decisions he made, so I refuse to feel guilty about it.

I don’t sleep much on Friday night. I toss and turn and jerk dramatically at every stray sound I hear. On Saturday, in a desperate attempt to distract myself, I have brunch and go shopping with a couple of friends. Then I go to a spa in the afternoon for a massage and pedicure. I stop at home briefly to get ready for my date, but otherwise I’m hardly home all day. It’s better that way. I don’t need any downtime to think.

George takes me to dinner at a trendy restaurant and then to a cute place in my neighborhood for dessert. I do my best. I put on a good show. I act fun and engaged and interested. I do a lot of smiling and laughing. None of it feels like me, but it’s the best I can manage right now.

Ashley was right about George. He’s a really good guy and would be a good match for me. I don’t want to blow this. I don’t want to lose the possibility of finding a guy I might actually have a future with.

The evening is exhausting, but at least it passes quickly. I’m still smiling and laughing and clinging to George’s arm as we walk the few blocks from the dessert place to my building.

I should invite him upstairs, but I don’t know that I’m ready for that.

That would feel like a betrayal. Maybe of Richard. But definitely a betrayal of myself.

As we’re approaching my building, I notice a fancy black sedan parked at the curb. The kind of vehicle used by car services. I glance over at it quickly, but I’m absorbed in trying desperately to flirt with George so my gaze doesn’t linger.

It’s another minute—almost a full minute—before I process what I saw by the car.

A man. A handsome, sophisticated, mature man in expensive clothes and silvering hair. Leaning against the car. Right in front of my building.

Waiting for me.

Richard.

My heart freezes inside my chest as I come to this realization. George and I are standing in front of the exterior door of my building.