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Too bad I can’t cook. However, I would definitely learn to if it helped me get Bruce back.

I grab a bottle of flavored water and lean my head against the fridge, closing my eyes for a few seconds.

My heart pounds hard at the thought of Bruce.

What is he doing right now?

Is he missing me already?

Does he regret the situation I’m in?

Is he really back with his ex?

The last thought makes me angry.

I’m sure his ex Natalia is the one who instructed him to get a retraining order against me, which I might or might not have broken three times. But who’s counting?

There’s simply no way Bruce would ever think I’m suffering from an obsessive compulsive stalking disorder. Not my Bruce. After all, he loves me.

He went to great lengths to keep our relationship secret from his rich family when he could have given up on us and taken an easier path—go for someone his family would have agreed with. That in itself is all the proof I need that Bruce’s feelings for me are indeed real.

We had such a great time together.

The dates were awesome, but I still have no idea why he’s not returning any of my calls. He’s basically wiped me off the surface of his earth.

In reality, I know his family and friends are the ones to call all the shots and he’s not opposing them. I wish there was something I could do to make him realize we’d be happy together.

That we belong together.

That he doesn’t need to be afraid to entrust me with his love because I’d never break his heart.

The mere thought of Bruce Wallan has my entire being hurting.

I only arrived at my destination a few minutes ago, and already I’m fighting the urge to talk to him. If he were to step through the door this instant, the first thing I’d probably do is ask him if he loves me. Although theoretically, Iknowhe loves me even if he hasn’t said it. He might not be a man of many words, but a woman’s gut feeling is never wrong.

You just have to look at a guy’s body language.

And facts. Like the fact that he invited me over even after ending things with me, giving the excuse that he’s afraid of getting hurt. While I might not understand his motivations, I do believe his proclamation that someday we’ll have a future together.

As I return from the kitchen, I get confused in the apartment hallway. I still don’t know which one is my bedroom.

Why can’t the leaflet be a little more precise?

I continue down the hallway and try the handle of the next door.

It’s unlocked. I push it open.

My heart drops.

A scream escapes my chest.

My feet are frozen to the spot.

This isn’t my bedroom.

The person standing before me doesn’t look female.

It’s a guy.