Page 11 of I Still Love You

I’m between a rock and a hard place—between my past and my future. I would scream out my frustrations if I knew it would help matters. Grip my honey locks and tell my recruiter how I really feel about the ordeal. The reality is, I’m internally panicking. I have been for weeks now. Ever since Aubrey called and notified me that Tampa fell through, they had a glitch in their computer system and already filled the position that was supposed to be mine.

Had Tampa’s system not malfunctioned, I wouldn’t be staring through the window at the blinking Quaint Diner sign from the booth all the way in the back. I understand that sometimes things go astray. That things don’t always work out, but I thought Aubrey had this one in the bag. He was so certain, and that made me comfortable. Too comfortable. If anything, I realize that’s where I let myself down. That, and I put all my eggs in one basket. One we didn’t know was already overflowing.

And because of it, I’m back in the one place I never thought I’d end up—Quaint, Maine. To some, it may very well be charming. In some areas, it’s old-fashioned. The population, somewhere between fifty thousand people, thanks to Regional Hospital and the nearby college campus, makes for a place filled with opportunity. If this were anywhere else, I’d find that endearing, but it’s not the place I want my opportunities to exist.

There are too many memories here. Too much that reminds me of who I lost. It’s been at the forefront of my mind since my conversation with Aubrey. Back then, I didn’t know how to withstand the heartache of the grief. I’ve had two years to heal from the loss I experienced. I’ve had time to think it over, work through each step, and learn how to cope.

Facing this town and Luke is something I wanted to do on my own terms. Getting in the ring without time to prepare twists my stomach into a sailor’s knot, my stomach turning like one of those hot dog roller machines at convenience stores.

“What the hell can I do? Jesus, I can’t even think.” I rub circles into my temples as if it’s equivalent to an effective yoga session. I’ve tried to produce an alternative solution but fall short each time. My gaze shifts from the bright diner sign to my salad. I stab at the lettuce before filling my mouth with greens and vegetables.

Claire, my other less sweet and more outspoken sister, chimes in. “You should still go to Tampa and force yourself on those assholes. Who are they to tell you no?” The skin next to her eyes crinkles, bringing light to the three years she has on me. When I glimpse her cocoa eyes, it’s like a sucker punch to the gut, and images of my dad’s face surface. I swallow down my food, pushing away the heartbreak that makes the muscle in my chest pump faster, knowing she’s the only one of the three Robinson children who inherited his eyes.

“It doesn’t really work that way, Claire. There’s a process. A whole shebang.” I stab at more lettuce, trying like hell not to let dad’s face carry me away. There was always a pureness in his stares, and he had the kindest smile—the same one Britney gave the other day before crushing me into a welcome-home hug. “Not like it matters. I already signed the contract with Regional. They’re expecting me come Monday morning.”

Britney, always so sympathetic, reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. Her tone soothing as she smiles sadly. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, Layla.”

After another bite of salad, I push my plate away and opt for one of the fried pickles Britney ordered, then change the subject back to my run-in with Luke even though we’ve already been over it. Even with distance between us, my sisters and I have always managed to stay close. “You should have seen his face.”

“Is he still hot as hell?” Claire grins, biting into one of the pickle spears and inspecting it like she always does with her food.

“Claire,” Britney scolds. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Oh, stop being so uptight, Britney. Layla knows I’m joking. Anyone with a brain can see he’s attractive. You’re lying to yourself if you don’t see it.”

Britney rolls her eyes, giving me an apologetic look before adding, “I’m with Rus, or have you forgotten?” Ah, yes, Rus, the mechanic who screwed up her car worse than how it arrived. Claire, nor I, mention that tidbit, knowing if we do, Brit will start in on how meeting him was some kind of fate. We, however, know differently. “So, no, I’m not looking at other men, much less those who have been with my sister.”

“It’s okay, Brit,” I say, holding a hand up to calm her before the two of them start bickering. Like any other sisters, Claire and Britney nitpick each other like no tomorrow. I’m used to Claire’s unique nature. Taking offense to her words would be silly because I know they’re only that—words. She’s a devoted and loyal sister, even if she thinks my ex is good-looking.

And I don’t disagree. Luke is effortlessly handsome, his charming smile enough to knock you off your feet, let alone his alluring personality. He’s the guy who you know is out of your league, but you’re still hopeful for a chance with anyway.

“I couldn’t see past his shitty attitude. I get that I went about things the wrong way, but he was cruel.” My chest tightens at the prospect of bumping into him. Quaint is a decent size, but it’s only a matter of time until our worlds collide.

“People change,” Brit says hopefully. “You managed it the best way you knew. You were going through so much. We all were, but he shouldn’t hold that against you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it right. I disappeared when I should’ve leaned on the man I agreed to marry.” With the look in his eyes at Lonestar, it’s clear he’ll never forgive me for it. But can I blame him? Figuratively speaking, I left him at the altar.

I sag back into the booth after taking one last fried pickle off the dish in the center of the table and blow out a breath. Like a storm cloud, all these emotions hover above my head and make themselves at home. I have a feeling it’ll be there for a while. At least until I work through being back. And until I see Luke for the first time. I mean, it’ll get better after that. The first time with anything is always the worst, and I hope the same rings true for my situation. It has to.

“How long are you going to mope?” Claire arches a brow. “Because the way I see it, you have two choices…you can get the fuck over it and move on, enjoy your life while you’re back. Lord knows Mom is going to flip shit when she realizes you’re finally here.”

“What’s the other choice?” I ask, moving on from the mention of my mom because Claire isn’t wrong. Cherie Robinson will cartwheel her way around my rental once I tell her I’m settled in. Was she destroyed when I packed up and left? Of course, but she understood, even through her own grief.

Britney sips her water, as interested in Claire’s answer as I am. At this point, we’re all invested in the shit luck I’ve had leading up to now.

“Let it consume you and feel like total dog shit the entire time you’re here. Which will it be, sister?”

I crack a grin at Claire’s choice of words and lean to rest my head on her shoulder. “I love you, Claire Bear.” Truly, I do. She and Britney are my two favorite people—they put up with me when I decided to travel and work through my grief on my own. I don’t know where I’d be without them, their support, and the bond we share. Without their understanding and pep talks. Without Claire’s raw advice.

“Call me that again, and I swear I’ll pluck out all of your eyelashes,” she warns, crunching through the last fried pickle.

I fake gasp and curl my hand around her arm, looking up while feigning shock. “You wouldn’t dare. Do eyelashes even grow back? Are they like eyebrows?”

“You’re the nurse,” Claire reminds, “shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

I groan. “Maybe I would if I weren’t under so much stress.”

“She’s right,” Brit agrees. “Don’t let him ruin your time home.”

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