Page 51 of Snowbound

“I’ll be careful,” she promises. “I’ll even text you when I get there.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I say, even though we both know she won’t. She’s going to get to New York and get so busy that she’s not going to think of me ever again.

“Be safe,” I say one more time. She waves awkwardly at me, then rolls up the window.

I see her take a visible deep breath, and then she puts the car into drive and heads off into the snow. It’ll be dark before she gets home. I hope she’s making a stop on the way. Knowing her, she won’t.

She’s a crazy girl. She’s turned my world upside down, and just like that, she’s going away, taking it with her.

Leaving me… small and alone again.

CHAPTER28

CARLY

By the time I’m finally out of Ohio and into Pennsylvania, I call my client.

“Are you here?” Ellen demands.

“I’m just into Pennsylvania,” I say. “I’m going to have to meet with you tomorrow morning, I’m afraid. Even if I drive all the way to New York tonight, it’s going to be really late by the time I arrive, and I think it’s dangerous for me to keep going. I’ll stop at a motel, get up early and be in the city by nine o’clock to meet with you.”

Ellen hums uncertainly, but I hear mumbling in the background from someone who I can only assume is her groom. “I suppose that’s all right,” she says in the kind of tone that suggests it’s really not all right at all, but out of the goodness of her heart, she’s going to allow it. “We’ll expect you at nine o’clock sharp.”

She hangs up without so much as a goodbye, and I take a shaky breath. I hope I didn’t sound too much like I had been crying. Because I have. My head is pounding, and my eyes feel raw.

Even at the end, Gabe still managed to give me such mixed signals. His face was hard and cold, but his words screamed of caring. Almost sounded like he might even want me. But if he had wanted me so much, why didn’t he say? Why didn’t he tell me to call or ask me to stay?

When I pull over into a motel, it’s late, and all I want to do is sleep. But my mind is racing, so I pull out my phone and stare at Gabe’s contact. Gabe Mechanic. It’s so simple, makes it sound like such a business transaction. No emojis, no last name, just mechanic. Like that’s all I am to him. Like that’s all he is to me.

I toss and turn all night, and the snippets of sleep I do manage to get are punctuated by dreams of Gabe holding me. Every time I wake up to an empty bed, I’m disappointed.

I kept driving as late as I could manage, but I still have to be up early in order to make my nine o’clock deadline.

Just like that, I’ve been thrown back into the real world, launched into the land of brides who need the universe and people with more money than sense.

I should feel refreshed after a break from that, but all going back really does is fill my stomach with dread.

When I finally arrive in Manhattan, it takes me half an hour to find parking, and by the time I show up at the offices Ellen Sinclair directed me to, it’s nine o’clock on the dot.

I’m whisked up to an office room and deposited under the harsh fluorescent light like I’m about to be interviewed by the police for a crime I didn’t commit. It doesn’t do anything to stop my headache, and I really want a cup of coffee, but I don’t dare ask. Clients like this don’t tend to be too happy when you’re the one asking for things.

To them, I’m a robot who gives them what they want.

The woman waltzes into the room, her golden hair pinned on top of her head, her makeup sharp, her clothes perfectly tailored. She’s glamorous, like a model, but her dark eyes tell me everything I need to know about her.

She has money, and she wants a perfect wedding.

I stand up when she comes in and offer my hand. She doesn’t take it, but the man who follows does. This must be her fiancé, Nicholas Enkel. He is, as far as I could see when I did my research, a top city banker. And from the small amount of research I did on her, she was a model in her youth but is now chasing an acting career that isn’t going too well because she’s not that great.

I don’t say any of that out loud, of course.

“It’s Callie, isn’t it?” she says.

“Carly,” I correct her, but she keeps going like she wasn’t even listening to me.

“You’re supposed to be the best, so they tell us. What’s the best way to show everyone that our wedding is the greatest wedding that has ever happened?”

“Flowers are a good start,” I say. “Getting out-of-season blooms is a great way of making a statement.”

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