“I’m not sure you will, but it’s sweet of you to say.” I repeat myself, not sure what other way to express myself. “Well. I should get going. I’m sorry, David. Really.”
He leans across the console and brushes his lips against mine. “It’s okay. At least I got a chance to be with you. That’s all I ever wanted.”
With a tense smile, I exit the car. But David doesn’t make a move. He doesn’t drive off in a rush like I imagined he would. He waits until I’m safely inside the house like he always does.
David is a good guy, and somebody I could see a real future with, despite the fact that we’ll be across the country from one another. On paper, he’s everything I could ever hope for in a significant other.
But my heart belongs to somebody else. And while it might always, right now I can’t stay with somebody just because they’re there.
I may never end up with Trent again, but kind of like David said about me, I’ll always love Trent.
Chapter 22
Present Day
Bythetimeweget to the hotel, The Manor at Brighton Hill, the sun is starting to set. That’s what happens when you wait for your kids to get home from school and then they suddenly need a million things before going to Aunty Becca’s for the weekend.
I stare up at the building that’s basically an institution in this town. It’s no wonder the reunion is being held here. It’s the nicest hotel in town and has the fanciest ballroom. It’s also where prom is held year after year.
I’ve been here three times, but never spent the night, though the rooms are supposed to be beautiful. Trent wasn’t presumptuous enough to get us a room after his prom, which I appreciated at the time.
Plus it’s owned by one of my fellow classmates. Or at least his family.
I stand by the trunk of the car as Trent takes out our bags, absolutely mesmerized by the beautiful building. You’d think I was just seeing it for the first time instead of the several hundred times I’ve driven past it.
“Come on, Les.” He juts his chin toward the front door, and I shake my head to break me from my stupor.
Trent holds the door for me as I step under his arm and up to the front desk. Gladys is standing there, though I’d expect nothing less. She’s almost as much of an institution as the Inn itself.
A wide smile spans her face as we step up to the counter. “Well, hello there. Here for the reunion?”
“Yes. We’re Trent and Leslie Parker.” I try to keep my voice from having a waver to it as my nerves start to pick up.
Gladys takes the glasses from where they hang on a chain around her neck and moves them to the bridge of her nose as she looks down at the desk. Likely examining the reservation book. The Inn is old school.
While she looks through the book, I take in her dark hair streaked with gray. Not so different from when we were younger.
“Ah yes. I see you here. We have you set for room twenty-one. Let me just grab your key.” She turns around and walks to the wall where there’s several dozen keys. Like I said. Old school.
With a radiant smile, she turns back to us and extends the brass key. “I hope everything is to your liking, but if not, please don’t hesitate to call or come on down. We want your stay to be as wonderful as possible.”
“Thank you.” The corners of my lips perk up but it’s hardly even a grin. Now we’re actually here, in Brighton. Shit’s real now. We have to be at the high school in about an hour for the meet and greet.
We make our way up the stairs and down the hall, looking for room twenty-one. When we finally find it, I take a deep breath before swinging the door open.
It’s a quaint little room with light blue walls and floral curtains. The window is open, allowing the breeze to pour in. There’s a queen bed that juts into the center of the room and an armoire that’s opened to reveal a TV on the opposite wall.
The room itself isn’t all that different from any other hotel we’ve stayed in, except it has a more homey feel to it than the industrial sense I get from a big brand hotel.
“We should probably get ready to head over to the school.” Trent places the bags on the end of the bed.
“Uh-huh.” I’m too distracted by the thought of seeing my old classmates to think about what that actually requires.
“Les. You have nothing to be worried about.”
“I know.” I don’t know that. What if somebody asks what I do with my time? How am I supposed to answer in a way that doesn’t sound pathetic?
Trent just sighs and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I hear the water running and know he’s freshening up from the drive and likely fixing the spot of his hair that flattened from leaning against the headrest in the car.
