Page 107 of A Not So Merry Rescue
I wave my arm over myself. “Why would I look like this? Why else would I be, in Autumn’s words, ‘a miserable fuck’?”
“Dude’s got a point. On Christmas Eve, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And he had the look. Like he would do anything for her.”
“Thanks?” I muse. Is that a compliment?
“Then call her. You have her number. Use it. Maybe she’s miserable, too. You can be miserable together instead of apart.”
“If we were together, I wouldn’t be miserable.”
She points a wooden spoon in my direction. “Even better.”
“What if she’s not miserable? What if she’s destined to find someone better than me?”
“You’re a pretty good catch, Becks. She’d be lucky to be on the receiving end of your affection.”
I’d like to think that’s true, and she’s not one to blow smoke up people’s asses.
“What if what we had wasn’t real? It’s not like our time together was ‘real life.’ She was on vacation, it was Christmas, I was on my best behavior, wanting to impress her.”
“Valid points.”
I wish she’d elaborate more, but she goes silent. I retreat into my head, thinking about Willa and how much I miss her.
“What if this is fate? Like you were destined to be on call that day she crashed?”
“Uh, I’m usually on call. Doesn’t seem very fateful to me.” Dax is supposed to share the duties, but nine times out of ten, calls default to me.
“What if it was fate that made her crash her car in Winterberry?” she tries.
It’s a theory I’ve worked through in my mind. She ended up here for a reason.
“What if it was only to give her the closure she needed?”
“What if you stop playing the ‘what if’ game and Call. Her?”
“I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady.”
“My tone of voice has nothing on your appearance, Elfie.”
I cringe at the nickname Autumn bestowed on me when I was a baby. Despite not wanting to go home, I stand up. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll see myself out.”
“Make yourself useful and take the trash out, would ya?” Heidi taunts.
“Bring me a plate later. I’ll be hungry then.” Not letting her argue, I pop a kiss on her cheek and take the bag out of the can, depositing it in the bin outside before getting into my truck.
Could it be as simple as “call her”?
What if she doesn’t answer?
What if she’s already forgotten about me?
What if . . .
I shake out of my stupor. “This is getting you nowhere. Man up and call her or let her go. What’ll it be, Beckett?”
Can’t wait to find out myself.
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