Page 106 of The One
“You’re …what?”
She shrugged. “Call me crazy.”
I laughed. “Hands down, the craziest thing you’ve ever said.” She went to voice something else, and I put my hand on her arm. “Some things are irreparable, and that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to be together. And just because I was in love in the past doesn’t mean I won’t find it in the future.”
“Have you found it?”
I rubbed my other hand over the couch. Its newness still making the fabric a little stiff, but the softness was there. So was the slickness of my skin that this conversation was creating. “No.”
“Exactly.”
“But I haven’t been looking.”
“But you kinda were during all those years abroad. Spain, Switzerland, until you settled in London.”
Those years. Fifteen of them. When I thought back, they’d gone by so quickly. The sights I’d seen. The friends I’d met along the way. A job that allowed me to work remotely, so it didn’tmatter if I was backpacking through Asia or standing outside the pyramids of Egypt; I could still support myself.
Until nothing was keeping me there. Until my fingers were tired of booking travel and my feet were exhausted from running. The walls of my flat in London had felt like they were closing in.
No one was my reason for staying.
“Regardless …” I exhaled. “I’m back. Probably for good. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find love at Whole Foods or something.”
“You’ll be reaching for a cheese sample, and so will he. Your fingers will briefly touch, and you’ll pull yours back first—with a smile, of course. You’ll live happily ever after.”
“Except the one thing I did get while I was in Europe was a dairy allergy.” I tilted my head while I took in her face. “I didn’t tell you?”
She slowly looked away from me and moved her legs out from beneath her, extending them on the ottoman, her bare feet crossing. “Love is what’s missing from your life.”
“There are a lot of things missing.”
“Like?”
I held her hand tighter. “Like?—”
I drew in a gasp, my entire body tensing right before my eyes flicked open.
They were closed?
While the light from the lamp beside me shone in my face, I quickly glanced around the room. The art on the walls, the pictures on top of the bookcase, the plants in the corner, a TV that I’d never even turned on.
My apartment in West Hollywood.
The back of my head was snuggled into a fluffy cream-colored square pillow, and I was cuddled into the couch.
I’d fallen asleep. It had all been a dream.
But there was a bottle of vodka on the tray that sat on the ottoman. There were two glasses next to it; one was full … the other was empty.
THIRTY-THREE
Lainey
Fifteen Years Ago
Cold.
That was how I felt. The hot water of a shower couldn’t warm me. The blasting heat from the vent on the passenger side of the car couldn’t dent my temperature.
