Page 125 of Surfer's Paradise

Not like that.

Not when he had so much to figure out.

And not when she had too much to lose.

Tonight, she was meeting Greg Taylor for dinner. He’d changed it from San Diego to L.A., close to his corporate offices, where they’d finally hammer out the details of his offer. Convenient for her anyway, since she needed to be far away from Isaac as possible.

Her stomach twisted with nerves, but she didn’t have time to indulge them.

She needed to clean up her life.

Prepare.

She was going all in on this career—no more distractions.

Rosie picked up her phone, flipping through her messages.

Isaac.

Again.

He had been checking in since she left. Not long messages. Just texts, here and there.

Isaac:

How are you?

How’s LA?

Still mad at me?

You sure you’re okay?

He never said it outright, but she could feel it in the space between his words—

He was upset she left. But she knew it was the right thing. For both of them.

She dropped the phone onto the table, rubbing her hands over her face. Greg’s dinner invitation was a turning point. A way to move forward. To carve out her own life, her own independence, to focus on her future.

She needed this.

And whatever was happening—or not happening—with Isaac? It had to stay in the past. She had to keep her eyes on what mattered.

Rosie smoothed her hands down her blouse, the fabric clinging just slightly to her skin, still warm from the heat of the day.

Her jeans were the same ones she’d worn two nights ago, and she hated that she could feel the looseness around her waist.

Stress. Hunger. Lack of sleep.

It was catching up to her.

But she refused to look like it.

Her makeup was flawless.

Thick, dark lashes.

Cherry-red lips, a little bolder than usual.

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