Page 77 of Kyle

“She must have had family somewhere. What did she tell you?” I press.

“I, uh, I don’t know. We never talked about it.”

My brows lift. “What do you mean you never talked about it?” I drag a hand through my hair at Rafe’s blank look.

“We just didn’t have that.” He gestures to me. “That easy way of laughing and talking. I mean, I guess we just didn’t click. So, no, we didn’t talk about shit like that.”

“I don’t get you, Rafe.” I slam the van door, lock up the trailer, and head to the cab of my pickup.

“Where’re you goin’?” my brother asks, following me.

“I’m taking the trailer home, then I’m going to find Sutton.”

I leave him standing in the road next to my driver’s door as I pull from the curb.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kyle—

I search Sutton’s social media, and message her friends. I make contact with one in Santa Cruz and another in Stockton. Neither have seen her. At least, that’s what they tell me. I plead my case, but it falls on deaf ears. When I get nowhere, I ask they pass on a message to please call me, but I don’t hold out much hope.

If she doesn’t want to be found, her friends aren’t going to give her up.

In desperation, I even make a post on the food truck page she started for me. Just four words.

Sutton, please call me.

So far, she hasn’t replied, so I do the only other thing I can think to do.

Taking my bike, I ride the hour to Santa Cruz and aimlessly look for her. The wharf is crowded, along with the restaurant where we ate. I stand at the railing for hours, watching people walk past, and all I can think about are all the good times we had together. How she made me laugh, how excited she got helping me with the food truck social media, how we lay on top of Green’s RV and watched the stars together, and how I told her about the restaurant I wanted someday, and she told me about the guy blackmailing her.

I long to tell her about Amy Armstrong and the money Channel Five News raised. Sutton was so much a part of everything that occurred to make that happen. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have gotten the attention of the food blogger, the Five Forks award, or the invitation to Tribe. If it wasn’t for herpicture, I’d never have gotten that check. Hell, if it wasn’t for Sutton, I probably would have ruined the chicken chili recipe in the first place, and the whole business would have been a failure before it even got off the ground.

But it’s more than working together. I look forward to being around her, and that has nothing to do with social media or any awards. It has to do with how happy she makes my day by just being with me.

The sun beats down, and I grab a beer to cool off. I stay until after the sun sets, then ride home once night falls.

As my bike eats up the miles, my mind keeps turning over ideas. I could hire a private detective, or rent a billboard. I could post on her social media every single day. I could do a lot of things, but I can’t make her come back to me, if it’s not what she wants.

By the time I reach San Jose, the air has turned chilly, and failure sinks into my bones. I have to accept the fact that maybe a relationship wasn’t what she wanted after all.

I can’t help feeling like I’ve failed. If only I had done things differently from the start. If only I had pursued her, pushed Rafe aside… she could be with me.

We could be happy.

If only.

Those two words eat at my soul until I want to punch a hole in the wall.

Days pass, and every single one I spend alone, managing the lunch rush, the dinner rush and then doing it all over the next day, working myself into exhaustion so that I fall into bed at night and don’t lie awake and stare at the ceiling and think about Sutton.

A week passes, and then a month, and I realize she may never come back.

I pester her friends until they block me.

I spend every free day driving to Santa Cruz and walking the wharf. In my head, I know it makes no sense. It’s such a long shot. But in my heart, I feel closer to her here, where we met. And I need to feel close to her.

I watch another sunset, then climb on my bike and ride home.

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