Page 49 of Chasing You

All of a sudden, part of me dreads going back to the daily routine. Something about this place makes you want to forget jobs even exist, and just stay here indefinitely, soaking in the sun, fixing up your old truck, and eating pastries. But most people need to work to pay for said pastries.

I could do it though. I don’t have to work, at least for a little bit. I could do this every day. Sun, truck, pastries. What would happen? If I just took a break?

The thought feels dangerous. It feels eerily close to thoughts I was having four years ago, thoughts about leaving my career behind, leaving years of work behind to live out a fantasy with a beautiful woman in Italy.

“Here you go, darling.” The woman appears out of nowhere, placing a board down on the table in front of me, with what must be a piece of every single thing that was in that cabinet.

“Oh my god,” I mutter. “This looks delicious.”

She just smiles down at me, and as I take her in once more, I wonder if she was at Isla and Caio’s wedding, if that’s why I recognize her. But I don’t ask, in case she just has one of those faces—or is a movie star in hiding.

“Thank you…”

“Vanessa,” she says with another one of her bright smiles.

I hold my hand out to her. “I’m Miles.”

“Are you new to town, Miles?” she says, sitting down on the other chair at my table, but I have no complaints.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Just visiting some family.”Even if said familyisn’t actually here at the moment.As if they’re not on the other side of the world, spotting kookaburras and petting kangaroos.

“Hmm,” she nods, “how long are you staying for?”

“Only another week or so,” I say. “It kind of depends.”

Her brows pull together and she rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “On what?”

I mindlessly pick up something from the board, my eyes widening as soon as the taste of lemon hits my taste buds. It’s the perfect balance of sour and sweet. I look over to Vanessa and she’s just got this knowing smile on her face. I swallow it down, immediately craving more of whatever that was.

Something about her warm gaze makes me feel like I can tell her exactly what’s going on. Maybe telling a stranger, someone who knows nothing about me, Marina, or our situation, will help. “I’m kind of…trying to win someone back,” I say.

Vanessa leans forward in her seat. “Tell me more. I love a good love story.”

I chuckle. “Look, I don’t want to jinx it, and I honestly don’t think I have a chance. I think I messed it up too bad last time.”

“Did you cheat?” Her eyebrows raise to where her headband sits across her forehead.

My head rears back. “No. No, I—I just… I left. I left without saying goodbye.”

She frowns, her eyebrows pulling together as she looks at me in an assessing sort of way. “Well,” she readjusts herself in her seat. “You came back, didn’t you?”

“I think it’s too little, too late.” Every smile that is hidden and every frown directed toward me makes me feel less and less like I have any chance at getting Marina back.

I don’t know what it would look like to have her back in my life, but I know I want it.

I grab another piece from the board, distracting myself. Vanessa grabs my spare hand in hers. “Everyone deserves a second chance,bambino.”She pinches my cheek lightly with her fingers. “Don’t give up.”

The afternoon sunbeats down on my bare legs from where they stick out from underneath my truck. I went and picked up my blue beauty from the port this morning after my breakfast platter at The Sugared Plum, and after looking at it from the window in my room on the second floor for more than an hour, I decided today is as good a day as any to get working on her.

I’ve been tinkering around with this car since I got it as a little side project in college. I bought it off an old guy—Bert—in Florida. He loved her like she was his child, and made me promise to love her just the same, and I do. I have since that very first day my foot hit the gas pedal. But she’s old, which just means she needs some extra loving.

So that’s what I’m out here doing in the heat of the afternoon, replacing the worn-out shock absorbers with the new ones that have been sitting in the back of the truck for nearly six months. Until now, I couldn’t find the time. I didn’tmakethe time.

But I can hear mumbling and what might be giggling, making me slide out from my spot beneath the car. When I sit up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the T-shirt I ditched half an hour ago, I see Donna sitting with a few of the other ladies I’ve seen around the B&B the last few days.

“Uh, hi ladies,” I say, giving them a wave.

“Oh, carry on, sweetheart!” Donna yells from their spot on the deck chairs that I never noticed earlier. “We are just catching some of the afternoon rays.”

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