Page 81 of Building What's Meant to Be

Aiden sees me, and I don’t mind. I like it. He looks at me with...love. It’s real.

All too real.

But the lifetime achievement award from the deep sleep diva dream was not and it’s certainly not something I could claim in real life.

It’s been just over three weeks since I drove away from everything I knew. What do I have to show for myself?

Bangs I cut myself and freckles on my face from being outside most of the day.

Chipped nails and callouses that prove I’ve been working hard.

A few extra pounds and much stronger muscles.

But there’s more. The screen time on my phone is down and I’ve contemplated deleting my social media accounts. I’ve learned new skills, including beekeeping. Beatrice, Bubba’s mom, said I’m a natural. And there’s a certain guy who asked me to be his girlfriend. Who told me he loves me.

Who I love. But I’m afraid to say it. To make it real because what if I finally have what I want and it gets taken away? Aiden is a maverick, a gentleman, and a hard worker. But it’s like he still hides the essence of who he is behind those sparkly blue eyes.

My thoughts return to my dreams when I was a kid—I wanted to be a cowgirl but took dressage. I wanted to dance like the girls in the country music videos on television but took ballet lessons. That was my mother’s doing. When I finally cut myself loose, I didn’t choose much differently. I wanted to be free and ended up putting myself in a box by aspiring to become an actress, by fitting a mold of what I thought it took to “make it” and be seen and adored by the public and anyone who put up with my antics.

In my diva dream, the host of the awards show congratulated me on winning the award, saying I’d done so much to deserve it. His exact words return to me like a message from my past self, “You’ve enriched our communities, given selflessly to children and the least among us.”

I’ve done nothing of the sort. A yearning builds inside. I want to do something to deserve respect, make a difference, and not just parade around for my own sake.

Getting back in bed, my mind finally settles as I tuck away this new goal to be a better person, to be generous and giving, to be worthy of any kind of achievement award—not that I expect one, but I’d rather not earn a trophy for beingSociety’s Most Selfish Socialitewhich, looking back, was about all I qualified for.

Less than an hour later, my phone beeps. Startled from sleep, I check it to find a text from someone. Eyes bleary, I read it.

DO NOT CALL: Hey girl, I miss you. Finally out on bail. What a mess. Ready to pick up where we left off.

It takes my brain a few revolutions of thought to realize it’s from Puma. My breath catches in my chest.

I’m not sure what wasn’t clear about me being rudely awakened by federal agents and carted off for questioning that might indicate I’m interested in ever speaking to him again. Ignoring the message, I roll over and go back to sleep.

At dawn, my phone beeps again.

DO NOT CALL: Hey, thinking about you. Seriously, we need to get together. Where are u?

My eyes burn and I let out a long breath. My finger hovers over the keyboard, but I drop the phone onto the bed. No, I’m not going to dignify him with a response. I should change the contact label toDO NOT REPLY.

Even though I’m exhausted, I somehow make it through the morning at Sweethearts without setting anything on fire, messing up orders, or causing problems. I count that as a win. While I wait for Aiden to pick me up, I find about ten messages from Puma.

They continue with him wanting to get together then verge toward desperation before ending with a threat. He probablywants to talk to me to make sure I don’t know anything I shouldn’t.

DO NOT CALL: Tinsley, this is serious. Answer me or I’m coming to look for you. We have to talk.

My skin prickles and my upper lip beads with sweat. I brush my finger over the mole there, mostly having forgotten about it and all the little things that used to make me self-conscious. My morning routine is now under an hour. Earlier, I felt ready to take on the world. Now I feel like retreating into hiding.

---