Page 29 of From Rivals to I Do

Alright, well, don’t be a stranger, Eli says with a winking face.

Don’t worry, I won’t, I reply as I let out a contented sigh and put down my phone, finally lying down for the night. A big grin sits on

my face as I stare at the TV, excited for the future.

As the adrenaline and excitement wear off, and I gently slip off to sleep, I find myself dreaming of the cowboy I’m going to meet.

Wondering if this will be the end of my streak of bad luck.

I truly hope so. Because he sounds like a dreamboat.

***

After a night full of dreams of riding through the field on horses with Mr. Eli, I make myself breakfast—eggs, bacon, cottage cheese,

and toast—and sit down at the table to eat. All the while, Eli remains in my thoughts.

I feel like a dumb teenager, being so excited about Wednesday. But he seems so funny, kind, and genuine. A true gentleman.

Something that maybe I need in my life. Someone to show me that, like Sparrow says, every man isn’t bad.

Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, it’d be nice to have another friend, at least. Though a big part of me is excited and hoping that it will

lead somewhere, which is funny since just a few days ago, I was so against even trying.

I take a shower, get dressed in my favorite pair of scrubs, and eye the clock. I still have plenty of time before work, so I decide to put

on my face, feeling really good about myself.

Towels piled on my head, I did my eye makeup and worked my way to my lips when I heard a knock at the door. Maybe it’s the

mailman, I think to myself. He knocked on Friday when we dropped off a package.

I go to the door, still in my robe, and when I open it, I’m immediately filled with rage as I’m face-to-face with my past once more.

“Apparently, I didn’t make myself clear enough the last time you showed up,” I say as Joe stands there with a fistful of roses in his

hand. “I brought you something,” Joseph says as my eyes flicker toward the flowers and then back to him.

“I don’t like roses. I like lilies,” I reply. “Not that you’d possibly remember.”

“Darla, come on now, don’t be difficult,” Joseph replies, his smile unwavering despite my obviously grumpy demeanor.

“You’re the one who is being difficult,” I growl. “Because apparently you don’t understand the meaning of ‘don’t come back here’.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Joseph says, and the very word ‘sweetheart’ coming out of his mouth makes me nauseous.

“Don’t you patronize me,” I reply. “I had nothing to say to you the other day, and I surely have got nothing to say to you now.”

“But I love you, Darla,” he whines, and I’m hit with the acrid and strong smell of booze.

“Ugh! Have you been drinking?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Joseph says. “What matters is I love you—”

“Don’t,” I say as I feel my chest tighten and my eyes begin to burn.

“Don’t what?”

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