Page 49 of The Thought of You

With a huff, I square my shoulders and hold my head high as I launch into a shorter version of my morning routine, since I lobbed off twenty precious minutes from my schedule by stewing in bed.

Outside, leaves litter my front yard, along with random scraps and trash. A few cups caught onto my tall blades of grass at some point during the storm last night, and it’s going to be a pain in my ass to clean up.

Next door, Scarlett climbs down her steps in leggings and running shoes, two pods nestled into her ears.

I make my way toward my car and toss up my hand in a wave, the cool morning breeze chilling my cheeks. “Was the storm really this bad last night?” I call out to her.

The young girl taps at her ear and pauses at the base of my driveway. “We got the best of it. Matilda’s neighbor’s flowers blew chunks all over her car. She DM’d me a picture of the disaster—it’s a colorful massacre.”

I snort. “Sounds like the name of a podcast.”

“Are you using the mascara I brought over last week? Your eyes are on point today.” Her swinging ponytail behind her head matches her enthusiasm.

Instinctively, I touch my fingertips to the corners of my eyes, heat flaring throughout my face. “I might’ve… tried it…”

“It looks great! Like you got a lash lift and tint without all the hassle, right? You should follow The Glamor Girlie on YouTube. She has all the best recommendations on makeup and hair products. I’ll bring over some leave-in conditioner that’ll change your life,” she gushes, waving her hands in the air like they’re the ones doing the talking.

“Do I need it?” I inspect the tips of my hair with newfound doubt and horror.

“Your hair is great and thick, but this magic just gives it a little oomph.”

“We can never have too much oomph,” I say and smooth my hair back into place over my shoulders, my tote weighing on me the more I stand here.

“You get it.” With parting finger guns, she maneuvers around a large puddle and jets off onto her daily morning jog.

I slide into the driver’s seat of my car and coo, “Please start for me today. You’re a good car, yes you are.”

Sweet-talking this lump of metal and leather has become part of my daily routine. As the gurgling engine crescendos to life, I check my makeup in the mirror overhead.

If Scarlett noticed the good mascara, so will others at work. Then again, it’s possible she only commented because she’s the one who gifted it to me. Plus, she’s as prone to talking about such innocent things as she is gossiping about every racy scandal in town.

Why did I use the good makeup today? I always put my best foot forward when it comes to my appearance, but the fancy mascara might’ve been excessive for work.

But work isn’t the reason I reached for the shiny new tube.

The real motive is more shameful than cursing in church or adding sugar to cornbread.

As I back out of my driveway, I grumble under my breath, scolding myself for trying too hard to get an irritating former baseball player’s attention.

Suddenly, the obscene number of times I’ve cursed him doesn’t seem like enough.

I turn onto Main Street and hiss, “Fuck Owen.”

My shriek catches in my throat as I take in the current state of my classroom.

Last week, this was where dreams came to soar like butterflies, but right now, with a freaking tree smashed through the window and across one corner, the dream is dead—as dead as this innocent tree.

When I left my house this morning, I figured the worst thing that would happen to me when I arrived was running into Owen. I practiced and practiced my indifferent posture, along with my nonchalant expression, until confidence filled my bloodstream.

I did not expect this. This catastrophe is much worse than my situation with Owen Conrad.

“What happened?” I screech, my jaw unhinged. I scrunch my nose against the mix of smells ranging from the earthy scents to something like mold, and I blink rapidly to fight the dust filtering into my eyes.

Gemma places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it looks. It’ll be an easy fix too, just a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” My heart rate spikes as my mind races with different scenarios coloring my vision.

I’m dizzy.

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