Page 7 of The Billionaire's Lover (Second Chance Romance 3)

Chapter 7

(Selah)

I should have called Jerry before putting my property up for sale. Had I known he wasn’t the one who sent the flowers, I would not have done it. Again, I had put too much faith in a man, and again, I was let down. Apparently, I was still stupid about love and relationships. The sex part, with Dawson’s help, I had conquered. But every time I thought someone knew me, I mean, really knew me, I was proven wrong.

As was normal for me, I had made a decision and would see it through. The property had been on the market for a month, and I was reconsidering selling. The day before I was going to go to the office and see Angela, my realtor, she called and left a message for me to call her back; there was a buyer.

I should have been happy, but I was saddened. Someone else would get that prime location, and probably make millions. The saddest thing for me was thinking that the lucky someone probably wouldn’t even be building a dream, they would most likely put in a chain B & B, or a fast food restaurant, or God-forbid, and time share condo complex.

Sick to my stomach, I climbed in my car and headed to CCA Realty. I sat in the car for the better part of an hour, delaying the inevitable, calling up my dream one memory bubble at a time, watching them burst and fly away.

Climbing out of the car, I held my head high. I had, after all, given it my best shot, hadn’t I? I thought so. Somehow, that knowledge didn’t lessen the impact as I signed the necessary paperwork.

I could go on kicking myself for selling, or I could use the money to help fund a better-planned future full of, ugh, stability and financial security. Hell, I thought I might look into buying a ranch up in San Antonio, after all. Suddenly, the Sparkling City by the Sea didn’t seem so sparkly and full of promise.

Returning home with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach, I found another bouquet of roses at my door. Looking down at them as if they might be something from a dream, I wondered who they were from. Again.

This time, there was a note.

Call me, please.

It was followed by a number I knew well. Dawson Bright.

My heart skipped a few beats and a tingling sensation crawled through my body. The last person I had thought would be sending me flowers was Dawson. Had he sent the others as well? Was he here? Obviously, he had tracked me down somehow, but I couldn’t think how.

I entered my place without a clue as to how I had gotten in. I didn’t remember unlocking or opening the door, but I had. Closing the door, I walked to the living room and dropped the tissue-wrapped flowers onto the coffee table, thinking of all the implications those flowers held.

I dropped my purse next to them and kicked off my shoes. Just as I started to flop in the chair, a knock sounded at my door.

Then, a voice I recognized as Dawson’s called through the door. “Selah? Can we talk?”

I froze. No, we most certainly could not talk. I had nothing to say to him.

He called out again. “Selah, please. I really need to speak with you.”

I looked from the flowers to the door and back again. Stepping closer to the door, I called to him. “Dawson, did you send me roses before these?”

“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. Yes, I did. There was a note.”

Flinging the door wide, I was consumed with anger toward him. “There was no note. Do you know what you caused? You caused me to sell my dream for what? For nothing!” I was furious.

“I don’t understand.” He stood just on the other side of the threshold, eyes wide, confused expression on his oh, so handsome face.

I had missed that face much more than I realized. Seeing him there tore at my heart, opened up all the old wounds I thought I had healed and sealed.

“I thought they were from someone else and I was totally willing to sell the land, forget my dream, give it all up and settle for a good life. Not extraordinary, not adventurous, just plain old good because good means stability and enough love to last until the end.” Seeing that none of this was registering with him, I clenched my fists at my sides, refrained from slamming the door in his face, and vocalized a low, short scream of frustration.

“Selah? I’m sorry but I’m completely lost. There was a note with the others, who else could you have thought they were from? How did that cause you to sell your property? Explain it to me and maybe we can fix it.” He smiled hopefully and nodded toward the living room.

“No! There was not a note, Dawson. I thought they were from Jerry. I thought he was giving me a second chance—you know what? That’s none of your damn business. I don’t have to explain anything to you.” I stormed over to the roses and took them to the door. Throwing them at him, I glared, full of anger. “Because of your stupid idea of a romantic notion, I sold the perfect property for my restaurant. I gave up my dream.” I did slam the door in his face then. “Leave and don’t come back, Dawson!”

Only silence answered me. He had left. I was glad. Pacing the length of the apartment for a full five minutes, I breathed deep and tried to calm myself. Maybe there was still a way. Maybe the new owner of the property would be interested in selling it back to me.

I knew better. Anyone would be stupid to sell that property. It was perfect for any business.

It had been perfect, and I had been perfectly stupid to sell it. I should have hung onto it until I could no longer afford the taxes or until my Seaside Savory was built.

Though it had been almost a year since I’d seen him last, Dawson was still just as sexy as when I’d first met him years ago. The man seemed changeless, timeless, and for lack of a better description, he was physically perfect. Sure, he had his glitches and imperfections when it came to relationships but even though I hate to admit it, so do I.

My emotions were scattered, my future uncertain as I sat through another sunset alone with only my fading dreams as company.

For the first time, I thought maybe I should have taken Dawson up on his offer back in Chicago. I wouldn’t be in any worse of a situation, if I had. And at least I would have still had Dawson.

---