Page 5 of The Billionaire's Lover (Second Chance Romance 3)

Chapter 5

(Selah)

One evening after work, I arrived at my apartment to find a bouquet of roses on my doorstep. There was no note, and no one seemed to know who put them there. I took them inside, hoping they weren’t accidentally left on my doorstep, and put them in a large vase. The shock of bright red in my living room was nice. Their scent mingled with the warm air from the open window, and I had the sudden memory of Dawson.

Back in Chicago, he had often given me single roses.

I dared to daydream that he had left them for me. I missed Dawson. I missed him more than I cared to admit these days. After all, I had been the one who had broken off the relationship.

I had met Jerry when I moved back to Corpus Christi. It had taken me a few months to warm up to him, though. I hadn’t been in the mood for another relationship so soon after Dawson. After a while, I realized that I was comparing every guy who asked me out to Dawson. None of them measured up—and it had nothing to do with money.

Jerry had softened me up with weeks of endless romantic gestures. He complimented me often, left little love notes for me to find on my door, at work, on my car; he sent me flowers at home and at work (never roses, though), and finally I had relented and gone out with him.

Back at his place afterward, though, it was a no-go. I apologized for leading him on, and I left. I went back to my apartment and cried. It seemed that I would never be able to be with another man. Dawson had ruined me for anyone else. Even when I was determined to get over him and under another man, if for no other reason than to break his hold on me, it failed.

After that, I avoided men. Surely the feeling would go away after a while. But somewhere deep in my heart, I knew I would never meet a man that I wouldn’t compare to Dawson. I would compare them and find them lacking. I just had to figure out how to accept that; accept that no man could measure up to Dawson Bright.

That night as I pulled back the covers on my bed, I was certain Jerry had sent the roses. If he was willing to give me a second chance after the way I left him hanging, then I should consider it. Maybe. I didn’t want to grow old alone. I also didn’t want to give up my dream, but the longer I worked at Gilly’s, the more I began to understand that I just didn’t have the finances to build my dream restaurant—no matter how hard I worked.

The next day was my off day at work, so I rolled out of bed around nine and toddled to the kitchen for my coffee. I passed the roses on my way and they brought a smile to my face. I thought of Jerry as the coffee brewed, its aroma overpowering the scent of the flowers.

Coffee in-hand, I sat down to go over my finances, budgets, and my options. I had a serious choice to make. I could either settle in and have a good life by selling the seaside property and working at Gilly’s, or I could keep working and saving up every dime, going to the banks every month and applying for loans that they would ultimately deny me, and keep feeling like shit about myself. If I sold the property and went back to Jerry, we could have a good life; not the one I imagined, but still a good life with stability and enough love to last us through to our golden years.

I suppose that’s how many dreams end up being shelved. One or the other of a couple decides that love and stability outweigh the so-far unrealized dream; and fear of being old and alone with no love and a failed dream just doesn’t seem to be on many people’s to-do list.

It wasn’t on my list. At thirty-two, soon to be thirty-three, I was definitely feeling the tick of the old biological clock. What if I said no to having a relationship and then my dream fell through because of shitty finances? Worse, what if that didn’t happen until I was in my forties or god-forbid, my fifties? The way I saw it, my chances of finding love at an advanced age were slim to none. And by then, the property might not be worth as much and I wouldn’t even be able to sell it and make back the taxes I’d paid in over the years, let alone the purchase price.

The pot of coffee disappeared quickly.

I called the realtor from whom I had purchased the land and told her that I wanted to put it back on the market as soon as possible. She didn’t even sound shocked as we discussed the particulars. I went to her office later that same day, signed papers, and that was that. The property was on the market again.

Feeling nauseous, I went back home. For hours, I bounced from being happy and feeling freer and lighter than I had in years, to being certain that I had just done the worst thing possible for my future.

I waited for Jerry’s call. If the roses had been from him, he would call.

But he did not call.

Just after sunset, I called him to thank him for the roses.

“I didn’t send you roses, Selah. I figured the way you cut out of here that night, you didn’t want anything to do with me again, so, I moved on. I’m sorry, but it really wasn’t me.” A woman giggled in the background and he covered the phone to tell her that he’d be right with her.

With my heart in my stomach, I said, “Sorry I bothered you, then. Bye, Jerry.” I disconnected and sank to the sofa, staring at roses and wondering who the hell could have sent them if not Jerry. I couldn’t think of anyone.

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