Page 28 of That's a Wrap

“Some of us have people depending on us and we can’t just do whatever we want, whenever we want.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” he placates, approaching me cautiously. “Listen, let’s just relax for the rest of the night and we can talk more in the morning, yeah?”

I hug my arms around myself and take a step away from him. Ignoring the way his face falls when I tell him, “No, I want to go home.Now.”

“What?” He looks so hurt and confused. “Ella Kate, can’t you just sleep on it? We can figure everything out in the morn?—“

I lift a hand and cut him off. “No, Peter. I want to go home.” I blink back the tears in my eyes. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He swallows hard before taking a step back. “If that’s what you want,” he whispers, then steps around the bed to get dressed.

It doesn’t need to be said, but the asshole part of my brain says it anyway. “Yes, that’s what I want.” I’m being mean and harsh for no reason, but I can’t seem to help myself.

Watching the man who has been nothing but sweet and kind and tender toward me—the man I’ve started to love—hang his head in immense sadness makes my chin wobble, and I press a hand to my mouth to choke back a sob. I feel terrible for making Peter feel this way, but I need to leave. I need to get back home. I’ve been living in this fantasy with this gorgeous and funny man, and now it’s time to get back to the real world. I need to screw my head on straight again and think about what’s best for my family and the business.

Within minutes, the two of us are packed and we head out of the room. When we make it to the lobby, Peter tells me to go to the car and he’ll deal with checking out. I simply nod and walk toward the parking lot, wrapping my sweater tightly around myself while I wait for him.

The drive home is tense and awkward, which feels so wrong because things with Peter have never been awkward. Not like this. He’s always making me laugh or pushing my buttons, so for the both of us to be sitting rigid in unfamiliar silence feels like a tragedy. He keeps his hands tightly on the wheel the entiretime while I keep mine clasped in my lap, desperately trying to remember the way his warm palm felt against mine as we held hands on the drive down.

After what feels like an eternity, Peter pulls in front of my house. “Can I see you in the morning?” he asks, breaking the silence that has settled between us ever since Savannah.

Gripping the door handle, I swallow and respond while looking straight ahead, “Actually, I think we should take a break for a bit.”

He starts, as if he’s about to protest, but then he sinks into his seat. “Is that really how you feel?” All the fight has disappeared from his voice and I hate it.

I’m still not looking at him, because I know if I do, I’ll want to take back everything I’ve said and throw myself at him. But even if that’s what Iwantto do, that’s not what Ishoulddo right now. So, instead, I simply mumble, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he sighs, running his hand through his thick hair. “If that’s really what you want, Ella Kate, then I’ll leave you alone.”

I nod and say, in a voice no louder than a church mouse, “Thank you, Peter.”

He sits up, preparing to get out of the car. “I’ll get your bag.”

“I got it,” I declare harsher than I intended, and his shoulder slump with disappointment.

There are a million unsaid words between us, as I step out of the car, grab my bag, and head to the house. But, because Peter is a gentleman, even when I’m treating him unfairly, he waits until I’m inside before he pulls out of his parking spot.

I press my back to the door and listen to the sound of his car engine as he drives away. When the rumble disappears, I slide to the floor and hug my knees to my chest. Finally alone, in the dark foyer of my home, the dam bursts and tears fall down my face as sobs rack my body.

I feel as though I’ve just made the biggest mistake, but I don’t know what else to do. I just can’t live that life. I have too many responsibilities to take care of here.

I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so very sorry.

12

ELLE

It’s been four days since Peter and I broke up. Well, technically, we’reon a break, but everyone knows what that means. We’ve all seen that episode ofFriends. And, as if the weather is magically connected to my mood, it’s been raining nonstop since we returned from Savannah. Although that’s probably a good thing, since I don’t want to go outside anyway. It feels like the universe has forsaken me and I don’t deserve to enjoy a nice, sunny day.

I’ve been on autopilot at work, which really isn’t like me. Yesterday, I gave a customer incorrect change, and the day before that, I completely messed up someone's sandwich order. Even now, as I squeeze mustard onto the sub loaf, I recognize that I’m not all here. I’m always on my game at the cafe, but no matter how hard I try to focus, my thoughts keep drifting back to Peter.

I miss him.

“Um, excuse me,” the customer in front of me says, raising his eyebrow. “I asked for light mustard, and that looks… heavy.”

I purse my lips. “Yes, sir. I’ll take some off.” Using my condiment spreader, I remove most of it.

“Umm… you practically left nothing there.” His voice is nasally and insufferable and getting on my nerves.

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