Page 11 of Enemies, Lovers & A Valentine's Baby

Chapter 3

Eight Years Later

Lila

The shrill sound of the alarm clock I’ve had since I was a teenager pierces through the air, jolting me from my sleep and back into consciousness. A groan escapes my lips as I roll over, turning my body in the direction of my nightstand, where the alarm clock sits.

I’ve done this more than enough times to count, so without even cracking my eyes open, I feel around with my fingers until they graze the small knob that turns off the alarm.

I sigh contentedly, dropping my weight blissfully back into the bed. I can feel myself slowly drifting back to sleep when the offensive sound of the alarm starts blaring again. I sigh a second time, this time one of annoyance. I always forget that I settwo alarms, five minutes apart because the first one rarely ever wakes me.

With a huff, I drag my hand across my groggy eyes, finally cracking them open. A sliver of golden sunlight hits my eyes from my bedroom window with its curtains drawn back. Sitting up in bed, I glance around my room, eyes finally settling on the nightstand beside me.

6:10 A.M.

Another yawn and a long stretch later, I’m finally starting to come awake. The thought of a hot cup of coffee is the only thing strong enough to pull me from my cozy bed.

I risk a glance at myself in the full-length mirror next to my door just before I head downstairs to get started on it.

As I expected, my eyes look sleepy, and my hair looks like a rat’s nest. The only remedy for this is a very long, hot shower.

I make my way downstairs, heading straight for the kitchen, my footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space.

The last time I lived with anyone was with my best friend Sue, but I said goodbye to that life when I planned her wedding eight years ago.

We spend significantly less time together now that she’s married. She and her husband Greg are real estate agents and travel around a lot for work, but we try to get together at least once a week when she’s in home in Boston.

After what happened at her wedding, all I wanted to do was get away, and I even contemplated moving. I was this close to accepting a position from a company in Dallas that would have kept me busy traveling, but in the end I turned it down.

Boston’s home. My sister is here with her husband and kids, and my business is here.

Instead of running away, I doubled down and started my event planning business, and while some would argue that as a thirty-nine-year-old unmarried woman with no romantic prospects,I should have other priorities, It’s none of their business. I’m happy with my life.

Really I am.

I refuse to spend any time wondering why I keep feeling the need to convince myself more and more of this lately.

I turn on the coffee maker and rifle through the fridge, quickly whipping out some eggs and a pack of bacon to make breakfast. I have about an hour till I need to be in front of the computer for a meeting, then off to scheduling and making purchases for a project I’m currently working on.

With breakfast done, I pour a steaming cup of coffee and make my way to the table to enjoy life’s little moments. Nothing says good morning like coffee, bacon, and eggs.

Thirty minutes and a hot shower later, I’m standing in front of the mirror, brushing out my wavy, dark brown hair. I throw on a loose-fitting, cashmere lounger, another thing to add to my list of work from home perks.

I stare into my gray eyes in the mirror, trying not to focus on the dull look in them. I whisk on a coat of mascara, blush, and lip gloss and make my way to my office.

I’m seated in my office chair a minute before my call starts.

Time flies as I continue placing calls and double checking that the details of every event are going smoothly. I’m someone who prides myself on my work. Everything needs to be perfect.

By the time I glance at the clock that hangs on the wall just across from me, I realize just how much time has gone by. It’s almost 2:00 P.M. already.

I need to pick Sue up from the airport in an hour.

No matter how much she travels, she likes the idea of getting picked up from the airport when she comes home, even though she could just take an Uber like everyone else.

So, whenever her husband Greg is out of town, like now, I pick her up.

I don’t mind though; I treasure every minute I get to spend with her. Maybe we’ll do happy hour before circling back to her house.

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