My heart fell. I’d known that would probably happen, but I still felt let down. Immediately I looked at my phone. I wanted to call Nick so badly—he was the only one who’d understand why I was so sad about it. I bit my lip…should I do it? I’d have to call Sitty and get his number, which was pretty pathetic. She’d probably gloat. But the phone was in my hand before I decided against it.
No. He has to come to me. Flowers and lunch and whiskey and cinnamon buns (damn, the guy understood me) were all well and good, but I still needed more. What is essential is invisible to the eye.
Still, on Friday morning, I woke up excited, wondering what today’s surprise would be. And would he finally show up with it himself? The delivery guys were a nice touch and all, but I was ready to see him again, especially since I was leaving the following morning for France. Did he realize that? While I was in the shower, I tried to remember if I’d told him when I was going, and I wasn’t sure I had. What if he was planning some big romantic dinner or something to cap off the week? Should I somehow let him know I wouldn’t be around? Undecided, I left the house, half expecting to see a horse and carriage in the driveway ready to take me to work.
All day long I waited for the next offering. Each time the phone rang, I jumped. Each time I heard voices down the hall, my ears perked up. Every hour that passed had me scooting a little closer to the edge of my chair.
But the day passed, and nothing happened.
By five o’clock, I had to admit that he probably wasn’t coming here. Maybe he was planning to come by my house tonight? Or maybe he’d already left something for me there. Smiling, I set up an out-of- office auto reply for the next week, tidied up my desk, and locked the door.
When I got home, though, there was nothing waiting for me. No flowers, no meal, no Nick. Well, it’s early yet. And maybe he had to work all day so he could get tonight off.
I began packing for France, called Erin to remind her I’d pick her up at three tomorrow, and around eight, I gave in to my growling stomach and stuck a frozen pizza in the oven. Four slices and just as many glasses of wine later, I fell asleep on the family room couch with my phone clutched in my hand.
At some point, Sitty must have turned off the television, because the room was dark when I woke up. I checked the time—after two in the morning. Groaning at the crick in my neck, I stretched and rose to my feet. The wine had my head a little foggy, but as it cleared, I realized that Nick hadn’t called. Or come over. Or sent me anything.
Well, fuck. What an anti-climactic finish to the week. And I was leaving in twelve hours.
After taking some ibuprofen, I went upstairs, brushed my teeth and fell into bed, missing him beside me like I had every night this week. Where was he?
Was he thinking about me? Was this stupid of me to wait around when I wanted to see him so badly?
Maybe it was. The next week of my life was all about Mia, but when I returned I’d reach out to him, even if I had to deal with Smug Sitty.
I drifted back to sleep, content for the first time all week.
#
The next day, I woke up at eight and took a run.
My head ached from too much red wine the night before, but I made myself do it, thinking about all the tasty meals I’d eat in France this week. I hadn’t packed any running clothes, but I planned to eat ALL the things.
After a shower, I put on a simple white cotton sundress that would be comfortable to travel in and added the final items to my suitcase. Mia had made me a list, of course, and I dutifully crossed off each item listed as I surveyed the contents before latching it shut. I had everything I needed. When I was ready to go, I looked longingly at the roses I’d brought home from the office. Damn you, Nick. Why won’t you call? Did you learn your lesson or not?
I picked up Erin, grateful for her excited chatter about our trip and the wedding and the prospect of hot groomsmen or wedding guests. I needed the distraction. But eventually she asked, “How are things with Nick?”
“Fuck if I know.” I settled into a chair at our gate. “He said Sunday he was going to fight for me, and then after all the hoopla last week, nothing. No surprise yesterday, and no phone call.”
“Maybe he lost his phone,” she said, laughing as she patted my arm.
“Ha. Right.” I opened the bottle of water I’d just bought and guzzled it, still a little dehydrated from all the wine plus my morning workout. “Honestly, I have no idea what he’s thinking. Half of me likes the anticipation and the other half can’t stand the suspense. Are we back together or aren’t we?”
“So you do want him back.”
“Yeah. I do.” I glanced at her. “Crazy?”
“Not at all. Especially since he gave me this to give to you.” Pulling an envelope from her purse, she handed it to me and grinned. “I’m the messenger pigeon. He told me to say that.”
Jaw open in disbelief, I screwed the cap back on my water and stared at the envelope. “What is that?”
“I don’t know. But it’s for you. He got in touch with me earlier this week and asked when we were leaving. Then he dropped this off at my apartment yesterday and told me to say nothing to you until we were here.” Her green eyes lit up. “He’s gorgeous. Gor- geous. Now open it. I’m dying!”
“Me too.” Sliding my finger beneath the seal, I tore it open and pulled out a hand-written note.
Black ink on a white handkerchief.
I smiled as I began to read his small, neat printing.