“Are you sure?” she asked. “Do you want me to drive you?”
“I’m fine. Easy come, easy go.” My throat constricted on the last word because it was exactly what I intended to do. “Don’t you have a date tonight?”
“I can cancel.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said. “He could be the one.”
Sloane narrowed her eyes at me, her delicate brows arching together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m good.” I shouldered my purse and started for the door.
“Don’t forget your book,” Sloane said, handing me my dog-eared copy ofHeaven on Earth.
Chapter 28
It rained on the drive back to my apartment. The desolate winter night was the perfect setting for a good cry—the ugly kind that would leave me with puffy eyes and pale cheeks.
But I felt too empty to cry.
An eerie sense of calm spread through me as I drove along the steep hills and winding roads back to my loft apartment. I pulled onto my street and passed the charming bungalows and cottages of Frog Level until I reached my place.
I was going to miss it when I left. I’d been lucky to find my apartment above the garage. The cost of living was low in Mossy Oak, and my rent was dirt cheap.
I climbed the stairs in the pouring rain. There was no overhang above my door, so I was soaked by the time I unlocked it. I wouldn’t miss getting soaked trying to unlock my door. Rain crept up quickly in the North Carolina mountains. The sky would be perfect one moment and black the next.
I went inside and tossed my wet hat on the breakfast table, shaking out my hair as I crossed straight to the sealed box by the wardrobe. Miranda Lockhart’s works had traveled with me everywhere. I had dreamed about one day having a shelf to display them, but now I never wanted to see them again. I opened the box and piled all her books together.
I’d never read an author who could transport me to another place like Miranda did. And the characters she created? They were so real, I could imagine grabbing a mocha latte with them and walking among the cherry trees at Ginger Cake Acres. I’d lived and breathed her books, but I couldn’t stand to look at them ever again.
I went into the kitchen and came back with a garbage bag. One by one, I tossed her masterpieces into the trash.
A sick feeling settled in my gut as I tied the trash bag. The feeling multiplied as I marched to the door, pulled it open, and threw the bag onto the stoop. I closed the door and leaned against it.
Tonight had been my best dream and my worst nightmare rolled into one. I’d met Miranda Lockhart, but the man I was falling for had betrayed me. He’d made me think about changing my ways and opening my heart to love again. I was glad I wasn’t completely under Beckett’s spell. It wasn’t too late to come to my senses.
My stomach clenched as I imagined the rain seeping into the trash bag, soaking the words and flooding Miranda’s imaginary towns. A storm of doubt swirled inside me until I pulled the door open, and grabbed the bag, and hauled it back inside.
Even though I knew I would never read another Miranda Lockhart novel again, I couldn’t bear to throw them away. No matter what a cold-hearted bitch she was, the woman could write a whole-hearted love story. Her words didn’t deserve to go in the trash.
I fished the books out and brushed them off. After thumbing through each of them one last time, I set them aside for donation.
Giving the books away was like breaking off a chunk of my soul. The tears I’d kept at bay finally fell down my cheeks. Saying good-bye to Miranda Lockhart was more painful than saying good-bye to Beckett.
Saying good-bye to Beckett would be a relief. I’d been dangerously close to falling in love with him. He’d saved us both a lot of trouble. Love in real life was messy and complicated. Love in a romance novel was much more ideal. When my emotions got too rough, I could always close the book.
My phone rang, and the happy ringtone startled me. It couldn’t have been more at odds with the way I felt. Swiping the tears from my cheeks, I saw Beckett’s name scroll across the screen. He must have finished his “meeting” with Miranda and was ready for me. Well, I wasn’t ready for him. I tossed the phone on the table and shrugged out of my wet coat, then hung it over the back of a chair.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text message. I ignored it and walked across the room to my bedroom. I would miss this bed, set in the loft’s alcove. It was cozy and bright with natural light, and the bed was big and soft. I’d fallen asleep here many nights with a book in my hands.
I went to the wardrobe that housed my clothes. Hopefully, my next apartment would have an actual closet. The thought brought a fresh crop of tears to my eyes. I’d lived in nearly a dozen places in the last seven years since graduating from high school, and none of them had felt like home as much as Mossy Oak. I’d loved it here, but it was ruined now. I didn’t want to be here without Beckett, and the town wasn’t big enough for both of us.
Text Messagefrom Beckett Vinroot to Lacey Donovan
Beckett (8:10pm): Answer your phone
Beckett (8:10pm): Did you forget to charge your phone again?
Beckett (8:11pm): I’m coming over
