Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Well, if you’re looking for something to do while you’re in town, our town council created a brochure.” She tapped a display case near the register, sliding a brochure free and handing it over.
Welcome to Singer’s Ridge, the pamphlet read. Inside was information about restaurants, the local movie theater, and the high school football and drama schedules. I nearly laughed. Some things never changed.
“Thank you,” I said, gracefully removing myself from the premises.
It was late in the afternoon, and I realized I was hungry. Taking a stab in the dark, I angled toward the pizza shop, enjoying the walk. I was reminded of the last few weeks of Porter’s stay in the hospital; everywhere I looked, I was searching for him. I thought I saw him on the opposite side of the street, but when I squinted, I could see that man had broader shoulders. I thought I saw him in the five and dime, but when I peeked in the door, I realized that man was too young.
He wasn’t at the pizza shop either. By the time I ordered a slice and sat down to eat it, I wondered if I was on a fool’s errand. Maybe Porter hadn’t come back. Maybe he was traveling, or he had moved somewhere that didn’t remind him of his old life. There was one other place I knew I could check, but I was stalling. A visit to the lumberyard was my absolute last resort.
I finished my pizza and went back to the hotel. Singer’s Ridge hadn’t changed much since I’d moved to Nashville and I didn’t know if that made me feel warm and nostalgic, or anxious and hemmed in. I slumped in bed, picking up the remote and flicking through channels.
What was I doing here? Had I really thought I would magically run into Porter on the street? That he would be happy to see me? That we would instantly fall in love and get married and have children? It was a pipe dream, and I was a fool. I’d had my chance when he asked me for my number, and I blew it. I put my career above my happiness, and I was suffering the consequences.
Determined not to wallow in sadness, I tried to pay attention to a cooking show. There were three contestants racing around an industrial-sized kitchen, trying to outdo each other. I wondered how Evil was getting on and if she would ever forgive me. I should just give up and use the rest of my vacation to go sightseeing. Alone. With that horrible thought, I succumbed to my desperation, and the first of many tears slid down my face.
In the morning, I felt better, and I decided to give my mission one more try. I dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt and headed to the diner for coffee. Diners are great meeting places, and besides, they often boasted scrumptious breakfast items. It took me a few minutes to walk, but I enjoyed the exercise. Just like my commute, the walk gave me time to air out my feelings, to get a hold of myself and prepare for the coming day.
If I didn’t find Porter at the diner, I could always drive over to the lumberyard. I still wasn’t sure I wanted to risk it, but I had come all this way. It seemed a shame to leave without at least giving him a chance to reject me. The diner was across the street from the police station. I held my heart in my hand as I pushed through the door into the cheerful interior.
A breakfast bar ran across the length of the restaurant, booths on the opposite wall. The décor was the same as it had been for as long as I could remember. A young woman stood in the foyer, waiting to direct me to whichever seat I chose. I scanned the clientele, just as I had done yesterday, searching for familiar features. A spark of recognition hit me when I saw him, sitting at the counter, hunched over a cup of coffee. He didn’t see me at first, focused on his drink. I had a moment to decide whether I wanted to go through with this, a second to weigh my future against my pride. He looked so masculine out here in the real world. His shoulder muscles bunched beneath his work shirt, his hips square against the seat. My moment was up when he turned to face the door and saw me standing there, breathless.
I expected anger or elation, some raw emotion that would tell me whether I had done the right thing or not. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, his face a neutral mask. I could see him doing some calculation in his head, as if weighing my appearance against our last encounter. I stepped forward, eager to explain, but he shook his head.