Page 25 of Rockstar Rescue
And just like that, the helicopter flies into the air and disappears from sight. I've only known Dylan a matter of hours.
It's too soon to call it love. How can you fall in love somebody in two hours?
How could I love Wyatt for five years now?
Love is such a relative thing.
I go back to the bed. Charlie Boy jumps in beside me.
“Hey pal,” I say, hugging him.“Looks like it’s just you and me now.”
EPILOGUE
GINNY
One Week Later
I never knew Whitefish could be so fancy.
The restaurant Dylan chose has crystal chandeliers that throw rainbow prisms across the white tablecloths.
Looking around, I see the faces of the muckety-mucks, rich folks usually seen in our newspapers society column.
Fresh roses sit in slim vases on every table, and the even the servers wear black bow ties that make me feel underdressed despite my nicest Christmas sweater.
Charlie Boy’s dressed up too, wearing the sparkly red collar Dylan just gave him as a doggy Christmas present. He doesn’t much like fancy places though. He rests his head against my shoes beneath the table.
A server comes by with the Champagne Dylan had ordered, and holds it up to him for inspection. I’ve seen that kind of thing happen in movies.
Never thought I would in real life. “Are you a wine expert?” I ask.
“I’m an expert in a lot of things,” says Dylan, as the server opens the Champagne bottle with a discreet popping sound.
“None for me,” I tell the server. “I don’t drink.”
"Just one glass," Dylan insists, indicating for the server to pour some into my tall flute-shaped glass.
"I can't drink this whole bottle myself." I watch, fascinated, as the bubbles rise like tiny diamonds.
“Here’s to Nurse Nancy, the woman who saved my life,” says Dylan, raising his glass in a toast. Go on. Taste it.”
I take a small sip and scrunch my nose. "It’s sour! This expensive liquid is what people pay hundreds of dollars for?” The fancy wine fizzes on my tongue, sharp, unfamiliar, and unwelcome.
Just then, a man almost as attractive as Dylan comes by our table.
He’s wearing jeans, but an expensive looking jacket over it and a confident smile.
“Dylan! Someone told me you’re in town.”
Dylan stands up. I watch the two men embrace.
“Ginny, I’d like you to meet my pal Slayer. He lives in my condominium building Manhattan. Slayer, meet Ginny.”
“Nice to meet you, Slayer. Would you like to join us,” I say to be polite.
“Can’t stay. Having lunch with family. But nice to meet you, Ginny. See you back in the Big Apple, Dylan.”
We watch Cameron join his group.
