Page 16 of If Tomorrow Never Comes

Just outside the window, cars traveled down Farnam Street toward Old Market, the entertainment district she’d thought about often over the last year. It was where she’d gone the night before her transplant, and the place she’d met Jamie. Annoyed that she was still thinking about him after her conversation with Yuka several days ago, Elliott tried to focus on something else.

Easier said than done, especially since memories of that night had gotten her through some of the worst days in the hospital room just a few blocks from where she currently sat. She knew it; Yuka knew it.

Tiffany knew it, though Tiffany had no idea who the guy was. The first few weeks after the transplant had been rough, Elliott’s body reeling from the chemotherapy and cell transfer, and she’d been half out of it from pain medication and nausea meds. Around four weeks in, she’d started to feel some semblance of normalcy, and one morning while hanging a bag of fluids, Tiffany had asked who Jeremy was.

Elliott had frowned, confused. “Jeremy?”

Tiffany lifted her brows. “You mumble a lot when you’re asleep. You keep talking about some guy named Jeremy. At least I think that’s what you’re saying.”

Elliott’s cheeks had gone hot. She’d remembered little of the prior few weeks, which was probably for the best, but she’d dreamed often of Jamie. Sick and drugged, Elliott must not have been the best enunciator.

“Oooh, you’re all flushed,” Tiffany had said with a grin. “Boyfriend?”

So Elliott had told her the whole story about the fun, kind, and handsome man she’d spent one magical evening with. She told Tiffany how Jamie made her feel, how perfect it was to kiss him, and the way she’d felt as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders during those hours they’d spent together.

She never corrected Tiffany on his name, though. Maybe she’d wanted to keep him all to herself, or maybe she’d had some tiny fear Tiffany might know him. Which wouldn’t have been a bad thing, necessarily ... But less than a month after her transplant wasn’t the time to attempt any reconnections with the guy, and it felt safer that way.

Nearly a year later, it was true she hadn’t come to Omaha for him, and she’d made her peace with the possibility she might never see him again. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been on the lookout for a tall, blond, hazel-eyed man with glasses since arriving almost a week ago.

How did he usually spend his Saturdays? Was he always outdoors, surrounded by the trees he loved so much, or did he occasionally settle into a place like this with an Andy Weir book under one arm and that dimple on display for all the world to see?

Had he ever been in this coffee shop? Sat in this exact chair? Ordered a drink and a pastry to go? Or was he so loyal to his sister’s business that he never stepped foot inside another place like hers?

Did he, like Elliott, ever find himself wide awake at three in the morning, unable to turn off the thoughts racing around his mind?

A hesitant voice broke through her thoughts. “Elliott?”

Elliott jerked her gaze from where she’d zoned out to find the woman she was meeting today. Her hair was a rich chestnut color and her eyes a dark brown. From the start Elliott figured her donor was around her age—she’d been told they tried to match donors to be as close to the same age as the recipients as possible—but had no idea how else to picture the woman who’d saved her life.

She was gorgeous in a simple white oxford shirt and jeans. Elliott shouldn’t have felt instantly frumpish in comparison, but somethingabout how this woman wore them reminded her of a pop star out for a weekend stroll, paparazzi lurking behind every corner to snap a candid.

“Carly?”

The woman smiled and nodded.

A wave of emotion suddenly crashed over Elliott, and tears abruptly pricked beneath her eyelids. Without conscious thought, she came to her feet and threw her arms around Carly’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she said on a quiet sob. “I thought I’d be cool, but ...”

Carly hugged her back, the intake of air through her nose sounding suspiciously like a sniffle. “You don’t have to be cool. I’m not gonna be cool.”

Elliott tightened her hold. “Thank you.”

Carly seemed to know Elliott was thanking her for more than excusing her show of emotion. “I’m happy I was a match.”

They separated and sat across from each other, wiping their eyes.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Elliott said. “I can’t imagine not being able to thank you in person.”

Carly shrugged. “It’s so weird—I don’t feel like I did anything. I told Tiffany the same thing when I donated. It was pretty simple, actually.” She winced. “Well, on my end. It was almost just like giving blood. I know it probably wasn’t the same for you.”

Elliott dropped her eyes to the table. “No, it wasn’t easy. But I got through it, and I’m here now. Because of you. So thank you.”

“That’s the last time you get to thank me, but you’re welcome.”

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

“I won’t say no to that.”

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