Page 50 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
“I like parties fine,” Lane said, pouring a boatload of sugar into his coffee. His fingernails were perfect, clean, manicured, fancy. “Just not when my father is hosting them.”
“Scrooge McDuck,” she murmured, blowing on her coffee, then taking a sip.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Do you want to tell me why you were crying?”
She considered saying no, maybe telling him something obvious like her cat recently died. But the diner was practically empty, she’d likely never see Lane again, and she honestly had nothing to lose at this point.
“Where should I even begin? Let’s see, I recently got dumped, lost my job, took another job in another state without telling anyone—including my best friend who happened to find out when she overheard me shouting about it in the hallway outside of Trig’s room. And I was only shouting about it because I was trying to convince Trig that even though I’ve never felt anything even remotely close to the way I feel when I’m with him, we couldn’t actually be together because it would be breaking these stupid rules I made up to keep my life in order. To keep myself from getting hurt. Because I am a rule follower. A stuffed-shirt. A stickler.”
“A stickler,” Lane repeated thoughtfully. “I see.”
He sounded like a psychiatrist. Kissie expected him to start jotting down notes.
“Now my best friend is pissed at me, I’ve ruined things with Trig, and I’m about to take a bullshit corporate sellout job,” she swallowed hard, the truth hitting her like a snowball in the face, “that I don’t even think I want.”
“You don’t want it?”
She thunked her head down on the table and groaned, “I don’t know.”
“Well, whatdoyou want?” he asked, drawing Kissie’s head back up.
A life where I wake up in the arms of a gorgeous bearded man every morning, help him run a hot springs resort, write songs, finally feel like I belong somewhere.
“I don’t know that either,” Kissie lied.
“Hmm.” He sipped his coffee.
“I always thought I wanted big. Big cities, big jobs, a big name for myself. I grew up in a small town, smaller than Twin Hearts.”
“There’s a town smaller than Twin Hearts?”
She snorted. “Believe it or not. I thought all I wanted was to get out. But I don’t know anymore.”
Clenching his nut-cracking jaw, he pressed his lips into a grim line. “I thought I wanted to get out too.”
“Chicago, right?” Kissie said, remembering what he’d told them in Billy’s bakery.
“Right. And it was great at first, everything I thought I wanted. Bright lights, concerts, restaurants, culture. The Cubs. But something was missing. It wasn’t—”
“Home.”
He nodded. “I still haven’t decided if I’m going back or not.”
“Would you stay here if you didn’t?”
Leaning forward, resting on his elbows, he said, “Funny thing about this town, there’s something about it that makes it very hard to leave.”
An image of Trig flashed through her mind, followed by one of Ryan, Billy and Kathleen, Pudge and Grandma Betty… Of mulled wine, steamy water, and,oddly enough, that picture in the lodge of the bear scratching his back on a tree. “I’ve noticed. What’s that all about?”
Lane’s smile was back, rueful and Cary Grant-handsome. “I have no idea.”
Kissie considered all the paths set out before her, all the different directions she could point herself. She considered how hard Trig was fighting to stay put, to hang on to the people and places he loved while she was doing everything in her power to run away from hers. “What do I do now?”
“You’re asking me?”
