He knew by her utter stillness she wasn’t going to give him any of it.
He huffed out a sigh. She’d told him it could only be one night. She wasn’t the one trying to change the parameters. He was.
“Fine,” he grumbled. Preston ran a hand through his hair, fighting back the rising rage. None of this was her fault. She’d been very honest with him about exactly how far this could go. She’d shown him the finish line and now they’d reached it.
While he wanted to fight her on this, wanted to demand more time, wanted to beg her to reconsider Paris, he wouldn’t do any of that. Because he didn’t want to ruin what had been the best night of his life with words he’d regret.
“I hate saying goodbye to you.”
The glassy sheen in her eyes let him know the feeling was mutual. He wasn’t sure why he took a modicum of comfort in the idea that she was as sad as he was. Maybe the old saying was true. Misery did love company.
“Preston, I can never thank you enough for last night or tell you just how much it meant to me.”
Her hand still rested on his, so he turned his wrist, clasping their palms together. “I’m never going to forget you, Chelsea.”
She smiled, blinking rapidly, beating back all but one tear that escaped, sliding down her cheek.
He reached out and brushed it away. “I hope you find happiness in Paris, my sweet Joy.”
She smiled sadly, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I hope you find your soul mate, my dear, wonderful, hopeful romantic.” She’d changed the descriptor, and while he liked it, he knew his own was more accurate.
Because he’d never felt more hopeless.
They pressed their foreheads together, soaking in these precious last few moments before…
Chelsea stepped away first, squeezing his hand. “Goodbye, BFG.”
He followed her to the door, holding it open as she gave him one last smile, then turned and walked away.
As the door closed, he leaned against it, closing his eyes as he whispered, “Goodbye, Chelsea.”
Chapter Five
One year later…
Preston tightened his jacket around him, cursing the cold wind that had kicked up since he’d decided to walk to the restaurant rather than drive. It was a pretty, if chilly morning, but it wasn’t like he was a stranger to the cold. Hell, after spending a lifetime playing on ice, it was rare that he even felt cold. But today’s biting wind—paired with his too-light jacket—was in danger of freezing his nuts off.
He should have driven, but he’d hoped a nice brisk walk outside might energize him. He’d been sluggish and…well, blue since Thanksgiving. For a few days, he wondered if he was coming down with something, but when the doldrums persisted, he realized his troubles were mental, not physical.
Preston was typically an upbeat guy, but this had been a tough year for him, starting with saying goodbye to Chelsea last December. While it had been hard to watch her walk away, he honestly thought he’d bounce back. That the memory of her would fade and he’d move on.
More the fool him.
The immediate attraction or infatuation or whatever the hell it was when he’d met her had only grown with each passing month, until he’d reached this point. This celibate, never-go-out-on-dates, lonely bachelor state that showed no signs of ending.
Possibly ever.
He crossed over a couple of blocks, hoping to find a side street that was less wind tunnel before continuing in the direction of the restaurant where he was meeting Victor for breakfast.
This new route was less familiar, the street one he never walked or drove down. After a few blocks, he slowed his pace, noticing several new businesses had sprung up in the area. They’d been gentrifying this street in stages over the past few years, but he’d missed the latest round of improvements to what was now a lovely tree-lined block. The storefronts advertised an array of shops and boutiques, offering everything from candles to Baltimore souvenirs to an Italian deli.
Halfway down the block, he paused when a sign across the street caught his eye.
“Sugar and Spice Bakery.” There was a cardboard sign tucked in the corner of the window that said, “Coming Valentine’s Day.”
Sugar and Spice was Chelsea’s dream bakery name. Just recalling it took him back to that night last year, the one he’d played over in his mind so many times, it was a wonder he hadn’t gone mad. While he knew this couldn’t be Chelsea’s bakery, given the fact she lived in Paris, he still couldn’t help but hope.
Then he shook himself. Even if Paris hadn’t worked out, she would have moved back to her hometown, to Philadelphia. The chances of her opening a bakery twelve blocks from his condo in Baltimore were zero to nil.
