Page 38 of A Curvy Carol

“She let you in,” he said. “She got hurt. Now you need to find a way to make it right.” He sauntered off with the plates, and I was left there on my own.

I let out a frustrated sigh. I’d tried to make things right already.

But as I got up and left the diner, I wondered… was there another way?

23

CAROLYNN

My head was spinning with the conversation—or argument—I’d just had with Whit.

I had to get away from him, his eyes that saw too much, his cologne that scattered my brain cells, his explanations that made too much sense and frustrated me at the same time.

I had to think about it all. Or maybe put all thoughts of Whit out of my mind; I had no idea which would be better.

I wiped the tears streaming down my face. The cold weather instantly turned the hot salt water frigid as I walked down the sidewalk, trying not to make eye contact with anyone passing by. I still felt embarrassed, angry, and shocked. And now I was crying in public for the second time today.

He’d seemed genuine when he was talking to me just a few minutes ago, but it felt impossible to let go of the feelings of betrayal and humiliation.

I wasn’t sure I could ever live it down.

After everything I’d been through with my parents’ divorce, I’d already been skeptical of relationships. This seemed like the final nail in the coffin.

Maybe I could be happy with just my friends—forget about boys altogether. A swell of pain went through my chest as I realized just how much I missed them. I knew they’d have good advice for me.

I got out my phone and started a text in our group chat, only to delete it.

This was dumb. I felt dumb. It would be too embarrassing to admit what happened to them.

I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready to talk about this.

So I shoved my phone back in my pocket and kept walking.

Somehow, I ended up at my favorite spot in Garland, the bookstore. The smell of books mixed with soft music always had a way of making me feel better, even now.

I took a seat at the farthest chair in the back, surrounded by shelves with my back to the door. After several deep breaths, I dug out my new cross-stitch project. A few stitches in, I put it away again in frustration.

Even cross-stitching wasn’t helping me escape the madness that was my mind for a few minutes.

I took another deep breath, hoping it would dissolve the frog in my throat.

Then the sound of my name had me quickly wiping at my eyes and turning around.

“Carolynn, is that you?” I heard, trying to locate the source of the voice.

Then I spotted her. It was Mrs. Curran from Santa’s Bag winding around one of the shelves

“I thought I recognized those long blonde curls coming in here,” she said with a kind smile.

“Hi,” I mustered. If she noticed my tears, she didn’t say.

She stuck her hand into her tote bag, clearly looking for something. “I’m glad I ran into you.” She must’ve found what she was looking for before because she finally took her hand out of the bag and held something out to me.

Wait, it was a…

“Your snow globe,” she beamed. “It’s ready. I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”

I’d forgotten all about the custom snow globes she was making this year. “But I didn’t order one,” I said.

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