Carly couldn’t respond to that because her throat was thick with grief. She had no idea his heart was broken. She had no idea he was longing for her like that. He’d been nothing but supportive and . . . and she was such an idiot. What was she doing? Living in a box trying to be someone in a big pond when a guy like that was longing for her? But what was she supposed to do, give up everything she’d made of herself and all the goals she’d set because a man was into her?
“Listen, you need to go live your life and I need to live mine. If we can’t make this work, then we need to let go.”
“You are making this sound so final, Max.”
“Carly . . . it is final. It’s been final. It was final the day you took a job in New York and I got the green light from my department’s tenure committee. We’re going in opposite directions.”
There was no argument she could give him to make that any less true or this conversation any better. He was right—it wasn’t practical, and there was nothing that she could say to make it so. “But can’t we at least be friends?” she asked tearfully.
“Of course we can. Always. I just need some time.”
So that was that.
When Carly clicked off the phone and looked around at her box of an apartment, she felt so sick that all she could do was curl around a pillow and listen to the fighting upstairs.
She picked up one of her ridiculously expensive handbags to throw at the wall. It was a soft bag and wafted through the air. A piece of paper fluttered out of it and fell on her bed. She picked it up. It was the name of the singer from the Yard Bar. The girl with the beautiful voice and haunting music and absolutely no online presence.
Carly tacked the paper to her wall, then grabbed her things and went out in search of a bar.
Twenty-Seven
Two Months Later
New York City
It was sleeting, and traffic was snarled, and Carly was going to be late. She kept leaning forward to peer out the front window of the cab.
“That ain’t going to help,” the cabbie said.
“You’re killing me,” she muttered, and dug her phone out. She’d been at a photo shoot on the Upper East Side today. She’d discovered a woman who made fascinators of iconic New York sights. The little shop was adjoined to an art gallery that was currently featuring impressionist art that reminded her of Jamie’s paintings.
The fascinators were delightful, and Ramona loved them. She loved everything Carly was doing. Priyana, who shared cube space with Carly, had the most luxurious thick hair Carly had ever seen and the worst scowl. She rolled her eyes when Ramona stopped by one day to tell Carly to keep up the good work. “She likes you now, but just wait. When she turns, she turns.”
She hadn’t turned yet, and had given Carly the green light to get some professional photos of the fascinators. The only day the designer could do it was today. Today. The day she was going to see Max again.
It had been a very pleasant surprise to receive his text. They’d been texting a little here and there, mostly about the dogs. She’d assumed, when he’d finally texted her out of the blue with a hi, how are you, a few weeks after their breakup, that he’d gotten over it. She’d done an admirable job of restraining herself and not bombarding him with questions. She wanted to know everything, but more than that, she desperately wanted him in her life. She still loved him. She missed him desperately.
And then he’d made her day, her week, her month and sent her a picture of Baxter and Hazel side by side, looking up.
OMG! They are adorable! However, B is looking a little chonky. What’s our rule about mac and cheese?
Your rule is that he doesn’t get any. My rule is he does if H does because it’s only fair. I’m wondering if you’re up for dinner next Wednesday? I’m in town to make a speech. Quick trip, in and out, but I’d love to see you if you are available.
Was he kidding? She would leap tall buildings in a single bound if he asked.
Not only am I available, I am so excited to see you. I know a great restaurant. Cuban