The Wrong Goodbye Read online

  “No.” I shake my head. “I was just a one night stand to him. He didn’t care about me.”

  “I don’t think you can be totally sure of that,” she says, shaking her head. “He might be into you.”

  “He was into hooking up with me. That’s all.” I look out the window. “I just feel like such an idiot. I mean, I thought I could do this fun no-strings-attached thing, but I couldn’t. I ended up liking him like I’m some kind of stupid kid.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with liking someone,” Livi says. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  I know she’s just being nice, so I don’t argue. Soon, we’re back in town, and Livi drives to my apartment. When she parks next to my car, she turns to me. “Okay, I have an idea.”

  She takes her phone and types something. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She concentrates on her phone. “Gabe … in real estate … in Texas …” she says, typing it into her search bar.

  “No!” I say, trying to grab for the phone, but she pulls it away.

  “But you could find him!” she protests. “You could find him and email him or something, and then see if he really liked you. If he doesn’t, then who cares. But maybe he does.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No way. I can’t contact him after the way I left.”

  “How hard can it be?” she says, scrolling. Her face falls. “Oh. Well damn. The Texas real estate agents website lists over three hundred guys named Gabe and another two hundred named Gabriel.” She looks up at me and smiles. “Still, that won’t take too long to filter through. Most of them have pictures.”

  She holds up her phone and I shove it away. “I’m not looking him up.”

  “Okay, okay,” Livi says, shoving her phone into her purse. “I’ll let it go. Do you need help carrying your suitcase inside?”

  “No,” I say with a sigh. I open my truck door and then hesitate before I get out. That whole going back to the bakery thing sounds like a bad idea now. All I really want is ice cream, a soft blanket on the couch, and lots of movies I’ve seen a million times. “Hey, Livi?” I ask. “Will you hang out with me for a while?”

  Chapter 11

  It’s like the past version of myself knew I’d need this day because my freezer is already filled with ice cream. Nothing makes a day of wallowing in self-pity better than not having to go to the store to stock up on junk food.

  Livi is a great friend in so many ways. For one, she’s always here to listen to me whine and vent and complain, and she’s never judgmental about it. And, possibly the best part about her: she doesn’t judge me for eating my feelings. It seems like every girl friend I’ve ever had was constantly on a diet, forever counting calories and bitching if I wanted to bake cupcakes. Yes, baked goods are full of fat and sugar and calories, but that’s what makes them good. That’s what makes people happy. It’s literally my entire life’s work—baking to make people happy.

  I know I’m overweight. I know I have too much junk in the trunk, and that’s probably also why I don’t get many boyfriends. But I really don’t care. I’m happy with my body and my life and besides, some men think curves are attractive.

  Okay, Alexa. Time to change the subject. Now that I’m thinking about curves, I’m thinking about Gabe. Ugh! I wince and take a deep breath, grateful that Livi is currently fighting with a two-liter bottle of root beer and doesn’t see me.

  “Why is this so hard?” she asks, turning around with a grimace on her face. “It’s just plastic!”

  I laugh and take the bottle from her, and try to crack open the lid. It’s stuck on there pretty tightly, but eventually I get it open. Livi crosses her arms and pouts. “I need to workout more because it’s embarrassing to be this weak.”

  “Maybe it’s all those fifty pound bags of sugar and flour I haul around at the bakery,” I say with a chuckle. “It makes me Wonder Woman strong.”

  I scoop vanilla ice cream into large cups and Livi pours the root beer over them, and then we take our root beer floats over to my couch, where I’ve already laid out an assortment of my softest blankets. My couch is L-shaped, and Livi and I each take an arm rest to lean against while our feet face each other in the corner of the couch. It’s the perfect couch for relaxing, or wallowing in self-pity, and I’m excited to get started.

  We find some sappy chick flicks on TV and refill our floats twice. My stomach hurts from all of the sugar, but I don’t even care. This is the kind of girl time I needed when I asked Livi to stay with me. We’re chatting and making fun of the movie and having a good time. No boy talk is allowed, and we’re doing a good job of sticking to that unspoken rule.

  I don’t even feel bad about keeping the bakery closed. I’d thought I would be nervous and stressed out knowing I’m losing money on sales, but it’s okay. Sometimes you just need a little self-care, and right now my sad heart needs mending.

  I can’t exactly say I have a broken heart because I only knew the guy for one day. But it’s definitely a sad heart. It’s a little bruised like an old apple, but unlike fruit, I know I can bounce back. I can heal and move on.

  Maybe this whole ordeal just had to happen to awaken something in me. I’ve spent so many years focusing on my business and letting my dating life fall by the wayside. Maybe I just needed to be reminded that dating is an option and that I should do it.

  Livi and I watch a few movies, and soon it’s after six in the evening and Mason’s calling her.

  “I should probably answer it,” Livi says, giving me an apologetic look. “Just so he knows I’m safe and with you, or else he’ll worry.”

  I wave my hand. “Girl, answer your boyfriend’s call. I don’t mind, really.”

  She gives me a smile that’s a little sad, like she feels guilty about it, but she answers the phone. “Hey, babe,” she says. “Oh, not much, just watching movies with Alexa.”

  Her eyes widen. “Uh,” she says, looking up at me. “Yeah, she’s home.”

  “I’m so sorry!” she whispers, her hand covering the phone. “I forgot we didn’t tell him you came home early.”

  I shrug. It’s not like he wouldn’t have found out eventually, when he didn’t have to pick me up from the airport tomorrow. “Tell him I didn’t feel well.”

  “She didn’t feel well,” Livi says into the phone. “Yeah, I got her. The shop is closed. It’s no big deal,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Your cousin is totally fine. I promise.”

  “Put him on speaker,” I say.

  She does, and then holds out the phone. “I’m fine, Mason,” I call out. “Stop worrying.”

  “I can’t believe you flew home early and didn’t tell me,” he says. “If anyone hurt you, I will kill them.”

  I laugh, and decide to lie a little bit. “I’m fine. It was just boring and stupid so I came home early. I didn’t like Arizona.”

  He’s quiet for a second, like he doesn’t believe me. “So what are ya’ll doing now?”

  “Watching movies,” I say.

  “Girl movies,” Livi says.

  “Boring,” Mason says. “Why don’t I come over and take ya’ll to dinner?”

  Livi looks up at me. “I’ll tell him no,” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “It could be fun,” I whisper back.

  “What are you two saying?” Mason asks.

  Livi gives me a look that says, are you sure?

  I nod. “Okay, but we’re picking the restaurant,” I say.

  “Be there in half an hour,” Mason says.

  We turn off the movie and I decide to get halfway dressed for dinner. Livi is still wearing her jeans and shirt that she wore to work and she looks cute, but I’m in pajamas. I throw on one of my favorite sundresses that’s long with a purple floral print, and then toss my hair in a messy bun. The great thing about going out with friends and family members is that you don’t have to look exceptionally nice to do it.

  But after Mason arrives and we pile int
o his shiny new truck, I’m starting to wonder if that’s a bad plan on my part. Shouldn’t I be dressing nicely and putting in some effort every time I go out? That way I might catch the eye of some attractive bachelor who would then ask me out. Then I’d finally have a relationship.

  Livi and I choose to eat at Sam’s Boat, a fun restaurant that’s right on the water of our local lake. They have a large deck and you can sit outside and watch the sailboats go by while you eat. Mason drops us off at the entrance and then goes to park since it’s busy and the parking lot is pretty full. While I’m alone with Livi, I tell her my theory about needing to dress nicer.

  “Oh hell no,” she says, stopping right in the middle of the sidewalk. A couple walking behind us startles, and has to walk around. “You did not just say that.”

  “What’s the big deal?” I ask.

  She heaves a sigh. “Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t like go around looking like some gross slob or anything, but that’s not your personality anyhow. But you definitely do not need to fancy up your appearance just to make a guy happy. You need to be yourself, Alexa. Because you’re beautiful and amazing and fun just how you are.”

  I roll my eyes because that all sounds like such a line of bullshit. I know that if the tables were turned, I’d be telling Livi not to change for a guy but … it’s hard to tell yourself that. “I want to be attractive,” I say. “Otherwise guys aren’t going to approach me.”

  “A guy that doesn’t see how amazing you are when you’re being normal isn’t a guy you want anyway.”

  I guess I know she’s right. But it doesn’t matter because Mason is jogging up to us and I don’t want him to hear any of this embarrassing girl time. Any time in my life when I’ve criticized my looks, or my weight, he has stood up for me and demanded that I stop thinking poorly about myself. Mason actually hasn’t given that speech to me in years. I’ve been pretty comfortable in my own skin ever since I’ve started my bakery. But that’s because I wasn’t focusing on guys.

  I can’t stop thinking about how Gabe liked me when he saw me all dressed up for the convention. Would he have flirted with me if I had a bare face, a messy bun, and this dress?

  I guess I’ll never know.

  Now that I’m thinking about guys and dating, I start to notice little things I would normally ignore. Like how Mason holds the door open for Livi (and me, too, but he’d do it for her even if I wasn’t here) and how when she walks by him, his hand drifts to her lower back, a protective and sweet gesture. He keeps looking at her while we sit at our table and eat. He smiles at everything she says. He listens and asks questions and isn’t just some boring guy who’d rather check out the hot waitress as she walks by.

  My cousin is totally and completely in love with Livi, and he isn’t afraid to show it. After dinner, we decide to walk along the boardwalk, and Livi and Mason hold hands and it’s the cutest thing ever. Since they’re my best friends, I don’t feel like a third wheel, and they always include me in the conversation, so it’s all fine with me that they’re being all lovey-dovey. I keep watching the little bits of romance between them. How Mason grabs her elbow when she almost trips over a loose board. How he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a kiss when we stop to look out at the water.

  It’s all so romantic it makes my heart hurt. I want this. I want a man who looks at me the way Mason looks at Livi. I want a relationship, someone I can talk to and love and grow old with.

  I don’t just want it, I need it. It’s time in my life to move onto better things that are beyond just me and my bakery.

  When I get home, I’m laying in bed unable to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Gabe. Because although I’ve set my mind to the idea that I want a relationship, I’m still not ready to give up on the idea that maybe the guy I should be dating is the guy I already met. Is he thinking about me?

  Probably not. It’s Sunday night and he’s probably flying back home to Texas with his two cousins. They’re probably talking about the convention, not girls.

  I wonder how far away he lives from me. I wonder how many other guys are as handsome and sweet and good at making out, and what my odds are of meeting one.

  Then, because I’m completely unable to hold back any longer, I grab my tablet off the nightstand and go to Google. I type Gabe real estate agent and hit search.

  The results are in the millions, so I add Texas to the search bar and try again. I filter through pages, not really reading the words but more looking at the pictures. An hour goes by, and then two. Then it’s well after midnight and I haven’t found a single mention of the Gabe I met in Phoenix. Maybe that’s a sign, I tell myself.

  Maybe I’m not meant to find him again.

  Chapter 12

  Saturday goes by in a blur. I hit up all the panels I wanted to see, have a few meetings with potential clients, and wrangle my cousins every time they want to slip off to the bar instead of pay attention to the conference like I’m paying them to do. Just after lunch, there’s a slight crisis back home at the office, and my assistant Janie calls me freaking out because she can’t find a seller’s disclosure on a house she’s showing in my absence.

  I somehow get it all handled, and make some great new connections, and I look and act just like a normal guy who has his shit together. But I am so far from that.

  Every room I walk into, every hallway I turn down – I’m always looking for her. I’ve kept her nametag, not because I’m a creep, but because I can give it back to her when I find her again. I had wanted to go back to her hotel room this morning, under the lie that I was simply handing back her nametag and not trying to see her again, but I chickened out.

  The gorgeous woman I’d spent an amazing night with was gone when I woke up, and she didn’t leave a note, so I’m smart enough to know that she wouldn’t want me knocking on her hotel room door.

  So instead, I hoped to run into her today. It didn’t happen. And I kept my eyes peeled. I’ve never been so observant in my life, and if Alexa had walked anywhere near me, I would have seen her.

  Disappointed, dejected, and feeling a little bit heartbroken, I finally relent to my cousins and go to the hotel bar with them after Saturday’s convention comes to an end. This ache in my chest is persistent, and something I haven’t felt in years. But the feeling—the pain—is like riding a bike. You never forget it. It’s heartache, as stupid as it sounds.

  I met her one day ago, hooked up with her last night, and yet I’m hurting. If any of my friends knew I’d let myself get hurt over a less than 24 hour fling, they’d be demanding to take my metaphorical “Man Card.” I tuck away the pain with a glass of whiskey and hide my thoughts with conversations about business instead.

  My jackass cousins are doing better. They even –dare I say it—paid attention during some of the panels. Maybe there’s hope for them after all. There was a time when I thought their ineptitude didn’t matter, because their success at selling properties was their own issue, but now I realize it does matter. If they’re going to represent the brand my grandfather built, they’re going to respect it. I can’t have employees making us look bad. Legacies aren’t built on lazy frat boys who only got their jobs thanks to nepotism.

  “Thanks for coming, guys,” I tell them. “I’m glad we can work together to help the company grow.”

  “Sure beats having some stranger as a boss,” Jeremy says, taking a long sip of his Jack and Coke.

  I chuckle. I still think they’re idiots, but they’re my idiots so I need to keep them on the right path.

  A woman walks by in a maroon dress and my heart seizes up in my chest for the slightest second, until I realize it’s not her. It’s just some random woman, not the one I’ve been looking for all day. I finish my drink and tell the guys I’m heading to bed early.

  My hotel room feels empty and sad without her in it. The pillow she slept on still smells like her, like summer and vanilla all wrapped up in one. But I do have some dignity left, so I don’t cuddle with the pillow or anyth
ing. I smell it once and then leave it alone and order pizza delivery while I watch TV until well past midnight.

  I’m exhausted, but I’m hoping I’ll hear from her. I keep her nametag on my nightstand, ready for when she knocks on my door to ask if she accidentally left it here.

  The knock never comes.

  Sunday stretches by slower than ever. Something tells me she’s not even here anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from looking for her. She was the best night of my life. And now she’s a mystery.

  I pretend to sleep on the flight home, just so everyone will leave me alone. In my mind, I relive those precious moments with the girl of my dreams. Her sexy curves and soft skin, the feel of her lips on mine. The way she grinned at me over dinner, that coy and playful light in her dark brown eyes.

  Everything about this woman turned me on. She’s not like the typical woman I meet. They’re always needy and clingy and seem to be trying too hard. No guy wants to wait an hour for a woman to get ready for a date. No guy thinks it’s cute when they go through your phone and complain about the women in your contacts list. Alexa didn’t seem like that type of woman. She was sweet and kind and trusting. The kind of girl you’d never get tired of seeing every morning when you wake up and every night when you go to sleep.

  My assistant manages my social media profiles for the real estate company, but I log onto them once I get back home. I check all the messages and comments and likes, hoping that maybe Alexa sought me out and tried to connect with me online.

  There’s nothing.

  I even check the trash folder in case something got deleted or marked as spam. It is clear that Alexa has not reached out to me. And although I left her nametag in my hotel room because I didn’t want to be weird and take it home like some kind of notch-on-my-bedpost souvenir, I still remember what it said.

  Sweets Bakery

  There can’t possibly be more than one Alexa who owns a place called Sweets Bakery and lives in Texas. I go to the search bar and type it in, and my suspicions are correct.