Page 40 of Forgetting Rafe Thomas
He’s lost two things—a woman he loved and a career he loves.
I can’t watch him do that, not again, so I send him some encouraging words. “It’s not over yet. Play this season to its fullest, and see what God has planned for you, big bro. You just never know.”
He’s silent for a while, then clears his throat. “I guess you’re right. I’ll see you at the gala?”
“For sure. Love you, Griff.”
“Love you, too, Rafe.”
I hang up the phone with more questions than answers, really, but another thing I know about Griffin? Pushing him won’t help. Not yet.
Chapter Seventeen
Luna
There really is noworld in which I don’t marry Rafe Thomas. It’s the logistics of it that need sorting out, and if there is anyone who can put my mind at ease and help me put everything into perspective, it’s Natasha. With separate flights, it gives Rafe and me time to think about everything that’s happened and everything that needs to happen for our happily ever after to fall into place.
Fortunately, there were no barefooted, privacy-invading men on my flight, so I wasn’t distracted while I processed everything that happened in such a short span of time. When I landed, I managed to lug my bag to my car, pay the parking fees, and head back to my boring, overpriced apartment where I knew Natasha would be waiting in the parking lot for all the details.
When I pulled into the lot, my suspicions were confirmed. Natasha hopped out of the car and practically clawed my door open to get all the juicy details. From her messages before I got on the flight, things at the museum had gone downhill fast.
Several hours later, I’ve finally managed to calm her down.
“I’m so sorry, Luna. You trusted me with everything, and I can’t believe that happened,” she says and eats another cookie.
“It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine and can be easily rectified.” All of this stress over improperly dated gala invitations. She was so unclear in her messages, I thought the entire exhibit had burned in a fire, been run over by a dump truck, or magically disappeared into thin air.
“I’m the one who sent them out. I should have caught that, and I didn’t. I’m a sucky coworker and a worse friend.” She pouts and again shoves a butter cookie in her mouth. I slowly slide the tray away from her, knowing well she’ll regret eating too many of them.
“Quite the contrary. I approved them and stuffed the envelopes. All you did was seal and address them for me. In fact, you saved my hide by catching it and ordering new ones right away. Everything can be amended. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, well, our boss isn’t thrilled.” She eyes the tray of cookies but doesn’t take another.
Yeah. That. “There isn’t much I can do about that, but I will make sure he knows it’s a me problem, not you.”
Natasha seems to relax a little and leans back into my sofa. “I cannot believe you came back early from Ireland. What is wrong with you? Did something happen?” Her rapid-fire questions hit me all at once while I try to manhandle my own cookie from the tin tray.
“Nothing is wrong with me. I already told you, we decided it was time to see how it works back in the real world where all our problems actually exist.” I finally manage to yank the cookie free and crumble it to bits in one go.
“Right, but how did it end otherwise? Are you two back together?” Cautious eyes rake over me.
“As Ialsotold you via text message earlier, yes, we are back together. The problem is, the logistics need sorting, and that’s where you come in. I need advice from someone who isn’t afraid to give it to me straight.”
“Perfect. We’ll have some tea while you spill the tea, because my throat is dry from all those cookies. Why’d you let me eat that many?”
“You’re a cookie fiend, and I did try. Besides, I’m not sure that’s what spilling the tea means, but sure, let’s do it anyway.” I stand and head to my kitchen and that’s when reality truly hits me. Inside is decorated in every way that matches my personality, my likes, my interests…and yet…it doesn’t feel like home. It feels empty, devoid of love and happiness that oozed out of every crack and crevice of the cottage in Ireland. My home hasn’t felt like home in a long, long time.
I stub my toe on the bag I carelessly left in the walkway and cover my yelp by slamming my keys onto the stovetop. Natasha startles and narrows her eyes at me. She stands and heads my way. “Okay, spill it now. One second, you were sweet and supportive, assuring me I didn’t ruin everything, and now you’re all kinds of dysregulated. It’s making me anxious.”
Without further prodding, I make a beeline directly for my tiny, boring, Rafe-less kitchen to make us tea and fish out whatever heathier snacks I can find in my pantry that haven’t gone stale while I’ve been gone.
“I guess I miss him already. The thing is, he said he’d pack up everything and move to Chatswain City if that’s what I want. We’d get married, live in the city, and he’d be happy. He can do his work anywhere, with a few flights here and there for specific meetings, which he has to do anyway.”
“But?” she asks, accepting a tin of chocolate chip cookies I’m pretty sure would survive a nuclear attack and stay fresh. She pops it open and snatches one before heading into the livingroom. My space has been her space for a long time, and she has no hesitations in my home.
“But I’m not sure if that’s what I want, you know? I got a little homesick for Coldstone Creek while I was in Ireland, and I can’t figure out if it was real homesickness or just nostalgia I’ll get over in a few days. What if my home is calling me back?”
Natasha shifts on the seat. “Wait, are you saying you’d quit working at the museum? Luna, that is your dream job. You’ve said that a dozen times a week since we first met.”
