What happens when the star baseball player hits a home run into the art studio window?
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All Sadie Lane Garner needed to make herself happy was a canvas and paintbrush.
With copious projects due and little studio time, she volunteers to clean t...
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I CLIMBED INTO MY CAR and promised myself I would not overthink today, but my promise was short-lived once I turned down Elijah's street and spotted his house at the end of the cul-de-sac.
I could not stay long because I had a shift at Ruby's, but I needed to talk to him today and clear things up before his thoughts festered. His car wasn't in the driveway, but it could have been in the garage. So, I parked on the road and walked to the front of the house, holding my breath.
"Hey, Sadie," Aiden answered the door with a smile.
"Hi, Aiden. I was coming to see Elijah. Is he in his room?"
"He's not home, actually. He is visiting his parents in New York."
I rubbed my neck. Was he gone? I did not realize when the guys said he was busy last night; they meant busy in a different state. "Oh, I didn't know. Do you know when he will be back?"
He frowned. "He didn't say, I'm sorry. Want me to shoot him a text for you?"
"No, that's alright. Thanks, Aiden. Have a nice day!" I turned on my heel and hurried to my car. My forehead burned, and I felt those vile emotions crawling up my throat in an attempt to take over.
Do not cry, Sadie. He was not ghosting me. He was spending time with his family, probably because I said I was soul searching instead of conversing with him about my fucked-up feelings.
Fighting tears, I turned up the music in my car, put my windows down, and sped toward Ruby's.
My manager was confused when I arrived an hour early, but he did not complain when I started working right away. Reva texted asking how the conversation went, and I told her we didn't have one before shoving my phone in the break room locker because I did not want it near me.
Now, it made more sense why Elijah had not texted back. Though, I did not think a simple "Hey, I'm at my parents" was too much to ask for. But I had not been very forthcoming with my feelings.
I waited on tables, making small talk with customers and my co-workers, faking smiles, and trying to distract myself from this week's mess.
As clouds blew in from the ocean's horizon and no light was left in the sky, I realized I had twenty minutes left in my shift, and I didn't want to leave yet. Leaving meant I had to go back to the apartment, lie in my bed, and think about waking up in Elijah's arms.
Leaning over the table, I vigorously wiped the laminate with a rag, then swatted the crumbs off the booth seat.
"Are you picturing my face right now, Van Gogh?"
I spun around, and my back straightened.
There he was. Elijah. Fucking. Preston.
He was in the booth behind me, alone. The white of his tee-shirt spanned over his perfect muscles. He leaned against the cushions, legs spread with one hand resting on the table while the other laid across the top of the backrest. And he watched me as if he had not ignored me for the past couple of days.
