Page 13 of Love Me Gently

Cole

Now

I hada view of the damn stadium. Of all the hotels, of all the event and conference centers, I got stuck waking up in the morning and going to bed for the last three nights with the Gators logo shoved in my face.

Thankfully, I was leaving tonight.

I shoved the curtains closed, the sadistic part of me compelled to open them every morning. Like I’d see her. Like in a city of a half million, people I’d somehow spy her on the street. I had no clue where she actually lived and had quit trying to follow up on her life hoping she’d come back to me after she got married.

Mostly.

Ihadstopped myself at seeking out Jonathan’s address. Knowing what I knew of him it was probably buried under a half-dozen LLCs to keep his residence hidden.

Not a bad idea considering the kind of man he was. The wealth he had.

I could still remember the day I ran into Trina’s parents at church, her mom crying, her dad angry. I’d tried to avoid them, but that didn’t stop me from overhearing their conversation. They’d just gone to New York, begged by Trina to go meet the new man in her life. At that time, she’d been on the cover of a teenage health and beauty magazine. She was the face of a drugstore skin care company.

The first time I’d seen her face since she left Deer Creek was while I was in the checkout line at a gas station with a Mountain Dew and a fistful of beef sticks. I’d been equal parts appalled, ecstatic, and mournful. All three hit hard and fast, and I spent the weekend in my apartment, blocking out the world around me.

So tight was the hold she still had on me years later when her parents mentioned that man during summer break and were devastated that they weren’t going to be invited to her wedding, I spiraled for weeks.

Wedding. At twenty-two years old, she was getting married.

I should have been able to let her go then, but it wasn’t until another year went by and I met Marie.

Now, I was in Trina’s city. Marie had given up and walked away from me and our family, and I couldn’t blame her. Twelve years since Trina walked away from me and as I stepped out of the hotel to head to a coffee shop before going to the conference center, I was scanning the streets like I’d actually get a glimpse of her.

What good would that do? Nothing.

Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was close. So much closer than she’d felt in years.

The fall sun hit me hard and fast in the eyes, and I squinted. It was early October, and days like this made me glad I lived in the mountains. Hopefully, we’d be getting snow by Thanksgiving. Down here in Atlanta, they’d be sweating hanging outdoor Christmas lights. Around me, people bustled in their rush to get to work. Men in suits and dress pants and polo shirts hurried to wherever they went with their faces tucked into phones, unaware of anything around them. Women in similar style dress rushed right along with them, heels either clicking the pavement or peeking out of their work bag, while they had AirPods shoved into their ears, phones in their hands. Scowls were tossed every which way as they focused on themselves.

This was only one of the few things I hated about cities. Everyone thinking the world revolved around them, day in and day out, expecting people to step out of their way and no short amount of rudeness given if that didn’t occur.

Manners were nonexistent. Thinking of your neighbor as your brother was gone. These days, people thought only of themselves. Their own worries and plans…

I couldn’t wait to get back to Deer Creek.

Only nine more hours and then I was on the road.

I pulled open the door to the coffee shop, unoriginally namedThe Coffee Shop,and took my place in line. Ten minutes later, I had my double shot Americano in hand, pushed open the door and stepped out.

Immediately, a flash of light pink slammed into my shoulder, making me jump back. My cup, on the other hand, flew in the other direction and landed on the woman’s shoulder that had barreled into me.

“Hey,” she called out and spun.

And the world stopped. Right there, in the middle of the bustling sidewalk, in the doorway of The Coffee Shop, my entire world stopped as the woman in pink opened her mouth to say something and then froze.

Gaped at me like she was looking at a ghost.

And I suppose she was — if I was the ghost of the past. Pretty sure I was doing the same, but since I’d been thinking of her, I recovered first.

“Trina,” I breathed, and had the wherewithal to step out of the doorway I was blocking. “I…”

“You spilled coffee on me,” she said.

“Trina,” I called her name again. Had to. Had to know this woman was who she appeared to be and wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

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