Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Fuck.
I’m an idiot.
Not again, though. I’ll never leave myself open to being humiliated again. Feelings are for fools. I knew better than to trust someone I barely knew. Never again.
Just as the server begins to walk away, I stupidly hold on to one last thread of hope and ask, “Do you have another location?”
She shakes her head. “We used to have several around Austin, but only the original still stands.” Her gaze drops briefly, and she adds, “I like your tattoos.”
I glance down at my arms as if I could forget I had them. I can’t, just like the new one I’m sporting on my chest will now haunt me for-fucking-ever. It’s already a part of who I am, ready to torture me further. “Thanks.”
The bell above the door chimes, directing me to look up like Pavlov’s dog. Sitting here for over two hours has me well-trained. But like every other time, it’s not who I want it to be.
Poppy could have told me if she changed her mind or needed more time to think things through. I would have waited even longer than I already have. We would date long distance or when the tour ended. I’d have waited however long she needed me to. But to not show . . .
I push away the plate of pancakes I ordered for her, leaving them untouched as the realization finally sinks in. She’s not coming.
3
Poppy
Two years later . . .
“Orange or black?” I swap out the dress in front of my body. When Marina takes too long to decide, I swap them again. “Neither?”
Tapping her chin, she stares at the dresses. “I’m thinking.”
“Think much longer, and I’ll miss the luncheon.” Perking up at that idea, I add, “That might not be so bad.”
“Blue,” she says, resting her hands back on the bed. “Orange isn’t your color, and black feels too heavy for this time of year. It’s a wedding.”
I level my eyes on my best friend. “It’s my mom marrying my ex-boyfriend, Marina.”
She shrugs, sifting through the dresses on the bed next to her. Tugging an ice-blue dress from the pile, she holds it proudly. “Exactly, and blue’s your color.” While she goes on about how good it looks against my blond hair and the cut of the fabric, I get mesmerized by the shade.
I remember being instantly drawn to it when I saw it last year in the store. The dress is more traditional than I usually wear, with a rounded lace collar and looser fit. It was the color I loved. Still do.
“Why are you catering their wedding anyway? You can say no.”
“I don’t care about Trevor. She can have him.”
“But your mother—”
“I know,” I snap. “I don’t need the reminder.” Not all of us are as fortunate as she is to have doting parents, supportive brothers, a husband who adores her, and a baby and stepson who love her unconditionally. I take a breath to calm down. “I know you mean well. I just . . .” I sit in a chair near the window and stare as if the distant ocean view can compensate for the perpetual loss. “I just feel empty.”
She gets up and crosses the room. Kneeling beside me, she rests her hands on my leg. “You’re not alone, Poppy. Move back to the city. I’m there, Loch is there, even my mom visits all the time now that we have the baby. She considers you a daughter. And Cullen adores you. We’re your family. Let us be there for you.”
“You have Cash, and a career, and your sweet baby. I’m not going to crash into your perfect life.”
Standing, she pulls me to my feet. “I know it’s been difficult since the accident in Austin, but why do you stay in LA? It’s been two years, Pops. Come home.”
I take a deep breath, too in touch with my feelings these days. “I feel more myself out here than in New York City. I don’t know why. I just do. Maybe it’s the salty air and the spring breeze, seeing the Hollywood Hills while driving down the freeway, and living in the year-round sunshine. At night, I can see the stars—”
“Like your mysterious tattoo.”
I run my hand over my shorts, where the ink is engraved in my skin. “How can I remember everything but the weekend I got this tattoo?” A heavy sigh leaves my chest as I sit back down. “Why would I get a tattoo in Austin? We were there to watch Cash's race. That’s all. And why’d I pick a star with a yellow rose inside it? Who knows?”
“Still no memory? Nothing?”
I usually get too frustrated to dwell too long on my memory loss, but the questions still plague me. “That night is a blank space in my memories, the only thing I lost that weekend. None of it makes sense.”