Page 70

From there, I hail a cab to Penn Station.
It’s time to go home.
The overnight train ride back to Maine feels like it takes way longer than eight hours. I can’t sleep the way the rest of the passengers do. My thoughts are too busy racing and my aching heart feels like it’s going to eat a hole through my chest and fall out onto the floor.
But as eager as I am to get back to my safe place, it’s good to have time to pull myself together.
And to figure out what I’m going to say to all the people in Sea Breeze who aren’t expecting me back from my “pastry course” for several more months…
Thankfully, Maya’s cottage at the edge of town is still empty. She hasn’t decided whether she wants to rent it out or sell it, and I know she won’t mind if I stay there until Kira is able to move out of my apartment. Looking back, I feel like an idiot for leasing my place, even for a few months. I should have known this wasn’t going to work out, and that I’d be heading home with my tail between my legs way before January.
Finally, just as the sun rises, the train cruises into my old stomping grounds, the familiar landscapes of Coastal Maine sending relief and disappointment rushing through my chest in equal measure.
I’m glad to be home.
And sad to be home.
I have no idea how to move forward from here, but I’m grateful to have a place to land, even if I know, deep down, that this is no longer where I’m meant to be.
When I arrive at the café just after the morning rush, Kira’s clearly surprised to see me, but one look at my face and she doesn’t ask questions. She just pulls me in for a hug and tells me how thrilled Captain Crunchypants will be that I’m home.
And he is. My ancient cat greets me with more energy than he’s shown in years, army-crawling across the floor at top speed. I scoop him up, burying my face in the soft fur at his neck as he begins to purr.
“He missed his mama,” Kira says. “He’ll be so glad to start sleeping upstairs again. I can move back in with my old roomie this afternoon, by the way. No worries at all. She told me I was welcome back anytime.”
“No,” I protest. “I can stay at Maya’s place until the end of the month, give you time to decide where you want to go next. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Oh, stop, you’re not,” Kira says, grinning as she grabs my suitcase, sliding it behind the curtain concealing the stairs leading to the second-floor apartment. “I love this place, but I’m looking forward to sleeping in once or twice a week again. That four thirty wake-up call gets brutal after a while.”
I force a smile. “Don’t I know it. Thank you so much for keeping things going while I was away.”
“Of course,” Kira says. “So glad you’re back.”
I try to agree with her, but the words won’t come.
I’mnotglad I’m back.
But I don’t think I’d be glad to be anywhere right now, not with grief sitting on my chest like a lead weight, threatening to drag me down to the bottom of the ocean.
The next two weeks pass with excruciating slowness. I throw myself into the café, mastering a recipe for dulce de leche medialunas for Maya, deep cleaning every surface, knitting string bikinis for the cats that I employ to create some social media content—anything to keep my mind off Hunter.
I don’t expect to hear from him, but Ifullyexpect to hear from his lawyer. I spend every afternoon waiting for the other shoe to drop, for my postman to deliver a fat manila envelope full of “you’re getting sued, dumbass” papers.
But day after day, the mail is lawsuit-free, and I finally start to relax a little.
Still, I do my best to avoid the phone. Sydney, Sully, and Maya have all respected my assertion that I don’t need to talk about the guy who sent me running home from New York, but a part of me is dying to tell them. Until that longing goes away, I can’t risk calling them after a glass or two of wine and spilling my guts about things I signed a contract to keep confidential.
Even my exchanges with Grace are few and far between.
She wants to be there for me, but a part of me is certain I don’t deserve comfort, not when I could have so easily avoided all this pain.
I should have told Hunter the truth the moment we got back from the theater that day. Looking back, it’s so obvious that was the right course of action.
But I didn’t, and now…
Now, I am the saddest dumb dumb in Dumb Dumb Ville.
Captain Crunchypants becomes my constant companion, sleeping on my chest at night and following me around the apartment during the day, seeming to sense that I need himmore than ever. His rumbling purr becomes the soundtrack to my recovery, his hair clinging to the black nightgown I’ve slept in for five nights proof that life goes on, even when your heart is shattered.