Page 80 of Meet Me in Tahiti
Someone who wasn’t her.
It seemed she’d been right, after all. That this had just been a blip on the radar of her life. A moment. A love story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. And now, it felt almost like a dream.
Paradise. She’d found it. And she’d lost it.
Tessa was working hard—taking on new clients, growing her portfolio, keeping herself booked solid. Distraction was her best friend. The girls had helped too. Marin especially. They’d had movie nights, gone to dinner—all of them, spent hours at the beach on the weekends, helping her mend her broken heart. But it never really took the edge off.
Because everything reminded her of Russ.
He hadn’t just been some boyfriend. He was the one who’d made her see things differently. Who’d made her want to try harder, live braver. Who’d opened her world up instead of shrinking it down to something safe and small.
How did someone go back to indifference after that?
She stood in her bedroom now, tying her sneakers. Her gaze landed on the dresser.
Two tropical-themed picture frames stood side by side.
In one: the girls on the boat, all smiles and sunsets behind them. That had been her thirtieth birthday. She could still hear their laughter.
In the other: the group photo from the hike, all nine of them crowded together in front of the ridiculously green, lush mountains. Russ was in that one.
She hadn’t been able to display the photo of just the two of them at the dinner dance. That one stayed hidden—tucked behind the group shot, safe but out of sight.
The shell necklaces he’d given her were draped casually over the edge of the frame. She’d tried putting them in a drawer once, but it felt wrong. So they’d stayed there. Two bittersweet reminders that didn’t ache quite as much to look at as she thought they would.
She exhaled slowly.
No tears today. She didn’t cry anymore. Not really.
She tied the last loop on her sneaker and grabbed her keys.
She needed air.
Running helped. Exercise helped. It wasn’t magic, but it kept her moving. And movement, she hoped, would one day mean forward.
She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, locking it with a soft click.
The sun was low in the sky, but she still had some time before it dropped below the horizon.
Would he ever come back?
She didn’t know.
But she was doing her best to live like it wasn’t the only question that mattered?
That she was.
The forest-green Jeeprattled a little as Russ killed the engine. He gave the steering wheel one final pat—grateful the thing had made it from the Gulf Coast where his brother lived, to Miami, in one piece. After all these years, after all those miles, it was back in his hands because his brother was a stand-up guy who’d always promised to give it back if Russ ever came home to stay. The old Jeep had seen better days, for sure. But it was his again.
And so was the chance he wasn’t sure he deserved. Because, for all he knew, she might’ve taken comfort in the arms of her ex as soon as she’d returned from the trip. He was fully prepared for that possibility even as he gathered his things from the center console.
Russ slammed the door shut, locked the Jeep, then looked up at the building in front of him. Stuccoed and pale peach, with palms swaying lazily beside balconies wrapped in wrought iron. A narrow walkway lined with bougainvillea led to an open-air stairwell that branched toward quiet apartment doors. Neither high-end nor run-down—just… nice. Comfortable. Clean. It fit her.
He ran a hand over the back of his neck.
Four months and five days.
Not that he was counting.
