Page 127 of The Secret

Kit

“Sweetie, can you stop crying please? You really don’t pull off the emo vibe, even with the mascara streaking down your face,” Payton whispered, but loud enough for me and anyone else to hear over the noisy chatter and thumping music in the bar she’d dragged me to.

Dragged being the operative word because I hadn’t wanted to come out, hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment where I’d holed myself up for the last five days waiting for my phone to ring, or buzz, or something.

But you know what they say; a watched phone never makes a fucking sound unless it’s from every single personexceptthe one you’re waiting for.

In the end, Payton had forced me to shower and get dressed, and even though I was trying to be happy and put on a brave face, less than an hour after we’d arrived, a man had walked past me who not only smelled like Murray, but looked like him – from the back anyway – and the pain in my heart had been so severe the tears burned within seconds, and now I couldn’t seem to stop them even if I wanted to.

This bar also seemed to be exclusively full of couples enjoying themselves, only reminding me of how a week ago, I’d been part of a couple, while now it was looking increasingly likely that relationship status was in the back of the ambulance on the way to the morgue, and probably wouldn’t be resurrected any time soon.

Since I’d fucked everything up.

Instead of sitting here with my margarita, growing saltier with every tear that dropped into it, all I wanted to do was go home, crawl back under the comforter, and lick my wounded heart until it was better, while trying to convince myself that everything would still be okay. Because the flip side of the card I’d dealt myself, was that I wasn’t about to cave to my belief of what we needed. I’d been right, and I stood by that.

“I’m trying, but…”

She peered round me. “Shhhh. Wipe your tears, there’s a super-hot guy coming over.”

I assumed she meant for her because I couldn’t give a single shit about any other guy whose name didn’t start with Murray and end with Williams. I also didn’t give a shit what I looked like right now, although I would try to be a good friend so it didn’t appear that she associated herself with unstable, weeping messes, such as me. I wiped my nose and attempted to blot my face, although given the look of horror on hers, I hadn’t done a very good job.

“Hello ladies…”

The deep baritone spread over me like the cooling breeze at the end of a scorching hot summer’s day, and I forgot about my appearance as my eyes snapped up into the emerald green pools I was so familiar with. For the second time since I’d arrived here, my heart nearly stopped. It had been five days since I’d seen him, and, somehow, he’d become even more handsome, even taller, even broader, his smile bigger and more beautiful.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. I saw you from across the bar,” I remained speechless as he nodded over, and we followed his line of sight to see Penn and Rafe sitting at the corner, both looking handsome, but less so in my opinion, waving emphatically, “and I wanted to come over and introduce myself. And, if I may be so bold, ask for your number.”

I know I blinked because I made myself do it, although for the life of me I couldn’t understand what was happening. He had my number. “Murray, what are you doing?”

His head tilted in confusion, although a ghost of a smirk coaxed his perfect lips. “How did you know my name? I don’t think we’ve met before, because I would have definitely remembered someone as beautiful as you. I would never be stupid enough to forget, or stupid enough to let you get away from me if we had.”

The tears pooled again, as I realized what he was saying.

His smile softened to the one I seen so many times when he held Bell, and he reached out, his thumb gently running under my eye to catch a tear before sweeping it away. “Is giving me your number really that terrible an idea?”

I felt fifty pounds lighter with the laugh I let out. “No, it isn’t. My number is 914-555-7867.

He punched it into his phone with a wide toothy smile.

“Thank you. Count on me calling you very soon.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek, his head resting on mine for the briefest of seconds before walking away and disappearing in the sea of people as quickly as he’d appeared.

I turned back to Payton, who was sitting opposite me with the type of grin that told me she’d known exactly what would happen tonight. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a game, young lady.”

My brow furrowed. “A game?”

“You wanted to know him in a normal setting, you wanted space, you wanted to date. He’s giving you what you asked for. And I have a feeling he’s about to hit a home run.”

If someone had cracked me open, a rainbow would have burst forth from the settling storm inside. I’d seen Murray, and he’d asked for my number so he could date me.

Payton knocked back the rest of her cocktail. “Come on. Let’s go home before you see what you look like.”

* * *

I’d never realized how much of dating was spent waiting. If I’d thought waiting the five days since he stormed out of the coffee shop was hard, waiting to find out when our first date was going to be was even harder. He left it twelve hours before my phone pinged, as loudly as my heart was thumping in expectation for it. His message was simple and to the point.

Murray:Are you free tomorrow? X

Even if I’d had any plans, I would have cleared my entire schedule for the month. He arrived on the dot of eleven a.m., and I’d opened the door to an even bigger bouquet of pink roses than the ones he’d brought home the day of our first kiss. After Payton had shooed me out, with the promise of putting them in water, I’d taken his hand and we’d wandered through the busy New York streets into the park, our conversations about family bringing an overpowering sense of déjà vu. When it dawned on me that he was recreating our first walk, my heart skipped several beats while the butterflies emerged from their chrysalis and fluttered, newly energized, in my belly. We walked with our coffees back to Payton’s, where he kissed me on the cheek and promised to make plans for our second date. And unlike every other first date I’d been on, there was zero shred of uncertainty that he wouldn’t keep it. Also unlike every other first date I’d been on was the immediate need to dissect every minute detail with Payton, over wine and ice cream, quite simply because it was unlike every other first date I’d been on.

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