Page 77 of That Stranded Feeling
“You want to borrow my truck?” She laughs and presses the back of her hand to my forehead to check my temperature. “Are you unwell?”
Elliot appears by his mother’s side.
My chest is so tight I can barely force out words. “Summer. She left. I need to go after her.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Maggie rubs my cheek. “I told you earlier, the truck’s in the shop for a new muffler.”
Max has come down the stairs behind me. “And by the look on Archie’s face when you guys headed to the front door, you should be chasing after a new investor, not a girl.”
He whips a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing server and strides off.
“Order a car service and a driver to come get you,” Elliot says, brushing soil from his fingers.
“Definitely not.” I rub my forehead. “I’m not showing up at Summer’s house in what looks like a chauffeur-driven car. That would do me no favors. You’ve no idea how much she’d hate that. I’ll have to call for a rental to be dropped off.”
“Well, there’s no way that will get here till tomorrow, my love,” Maggie says.
My shirt sticks to my back under my jacket. “Christ, I can’t believe this. First, I was stranded at Summer’s house, now I’m strandedhere.”
Maggie rubs my arm. “Give her a call. Apologize for whatever you did. Then go see her tomorrow once someone’s brought you a car.”
She smiles like that solves all the problems.
“I never got her number.”
28
SUMMER
Idrop my latest tear-soaked, snotty tissue into the fireplace, where it erupts in a burst of yellow flames. The flickering shadows dance on the walls, the warm glimmer of the fire the only light in the room.
When I trudged downstairs a few minutes ago, having given up hope of ever falling asleep, all I wanted was to sink into the darkness and stare at the burning logs.
It makes a change from staring at the images of Owen that played on a loop in my head as I tossed and turned for hours.
The nonstop action replay of the last three days kept pausing on his smile when he teased me about my socks, on his bare chest as he leaned over me on the sofa, and on the wonder in his eyes when he saw me at the top of the stairs at Blythe Manor just hours ago.
I pull my thick, plush, fleece bathrobe tighter, drop to the floor, and sit cross-legged facing the crackling flames.
I barely remember driving home. And with the combination of the black sky, snow swirling in my headlamps, and my emotions swinging between blind fury and wracking sobs, I’m lucky I got back in one piece.
Poor Elsa was subjected to a running commentary of how I always knew this is how it would turn out, and how stupid I was to think it might be different. But also how mind-bogglingly amazing those brief moments were when I had a taste that being with him could actually be better than being alone.
I’m lucky my stream of consciousness fell on literal deaf ears, or she might have asked to get out of the truck and walk. But she must have sensed something was extremely wrong because she clambered through from her usual spot in the back to sit on the passenger seat, and kept nuzzling my hair.
I close my eyes against the intense heat from the fire but can’t tear myself away.
At least it distracts from the pain in my heart, which couldn’t feel more bruised if it had been ripped out, used as a punching bag by a particularly vicious boxer, smashed by an angry chef armed with a meat tenderizer, then driven over multiple times by a monster truck loaded with rocks.
Until that awful, humiliating moment with Archie, I hadn’t realized how much I’d allowed myself to believe Owen might have changed after a few days with me—that my opinions had opened his eyes, and he might truly want to be with me. But, given how much it hurts now, I obviously had.
Underneath all the signs that he thought I was special, all the signs that it was safe to finally believe in someone, Owen was exactly who my gut told me he was the moment I read the business card he handed me through the front door. He really is cut from the same cloth as Alastair. He’s all about pandering to the rich and influential for the sake of money.
So stupid to let myself believe otherwise.
I know better than that.
I know that being here with Elsa, getting on with running my business, and not letting anyone get close, is the best way. And I never should have strayed from that path.
