Page 14 of Building What's Meant to Be

Instead, I dig through my bag and pull out a sun hat and my sarong, intended for my day with Sienna. I’ll use it to attempt to be incognito so I can go inside without drawing attention to myself. A young couple stands in front of me in line. They hold hands as if they can’t bear to be apart while paying for their pretzels and sodas.

She stumbles slightly when they get to the register and he crouches down to tie her shoe. When he stands up, she rubs his nose with hers and then kisses him.

They’re as sweet as the cinnamon buns warming on the counter next to the hotdogs. Sadly, I’ve never had that kind of a relationship or a real boyfriend period. I’ve dated, but it’s never been official...and it’s been a long time since I’ve had a cinnamon roll.

When it’s my turn to pay for my water and a granola bar—the healthiest thing I could find in this place riddled with sugar-laden Big Gulps and pork rinds, which definitely come from questionable origins—I give into the temptation to get a cinnamon roll. I lost my social standing and probably can’t afford to gain weight given my drive to get to the top—I’ll make a comeback yet, I tell ya!—but if I can’t have true love, I’ll take something sweet all the same.

I slide my credit card and the machine beeps harshly. The wordDeclinedflashes on the screen. I try again.

After the third time, the clerk says, “Do you have another card?”

I pull out my wallet and try the other one my parents pay for. It doesn’t work either.

Apparently, I really can’t afford the cinnamon roll.

When I get back into the car with this useless plastic rectangle, the tears that pierced the corners of my eyes while in the store spill over.

This isn’t a Tinsley Tantrum. More like loss...and it’s my fault.

My parents don’t owe me anything especially when I’ve done nothing but take from them. Neither do my brothers and sister. As for my friends, what friends?

This is a good pity cry.

John was right. I had opportunities. What I lack is humility. But where can I find that?

Maybe in Miami. I’ll make a new life there. I have connections.

What I won’t do is cavort with people like Puma. I won’t flirt or catch a crush or have a fling.

I was with guys because they weresomeone, which was better than being with no one, making it so I was never alone. But here I am, driving solo anyway.

And away I go. I crank up the music and sing along, hardly noticing when lights spin and flash behind me. A siren blares. I don’t remember that being part of the song.

I glance in the rearview mirror. A police car tails me. I think I’m supposed to pull over to the side of the road.

Did the feds change their mind and catch up with me?

My breath freezes in my chest as I come to a stop. The officer takes a long time to come to the window.

“Sir, you really brought the club vibe.” I bop a little in my seat.

He peers into the car and his gaze is unamused like metal, like steel. “Miss, please turn off the radio.”

I swallow thickly and do as told.

“Do you realize you were going thirty miles over the speed limit?”

I shake my head, blurring the letters printed on his uniformOfficer Henley.

“Do you understand why legal rates of speed are posted?”

“So we follow the rules?”

Somehow his mustache frowns at my response. It’s more of a Robert Redford situation than the slick Clark Gable mustache from the gas station. “For public safety. I have to write you a speeding ticket and...” His words trail slowly from his lips. “And I have to place you under arrest.”

“Sir, I was cleared. I was not involved in the thing with Puma. I swear.”

He inclines his head. “Miss, have you been drinking? Are you under the influence of alcohol? Coming from the club by any chance?”

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