Page 72 of That Stranded Feeling
I hold it together for two minutes of something about “quarried stone” and “traditional mortar” before I finally extricate myself from what, under all other circumstances, would have been a charming and fascinating conversation.
I burst into the bedroom and drop to my knees beside Elsa, who’s still fast asleep in the same position as when I left. As I bury my face in her neck, she lifts her tail and thunks one hard wag on the blankets.
That’s the moment my heart cracks.
How could I let myself believe for even a second there was a chance for me and Owen? No matter how much he’s rocked my world, my mind, my body, and my soul in the last few days, I’ve always known it would never work. We live in different worlds. And Alastair and his family taught me those two worlds are completely incompatible.
Me and Elsa—that’s the way life works.
Today will be my last ever shitty Valentine’s Day. For Maggie and Jim, like my grandparents, this is the day they celebrate dedicating their lives to their true soulmates. For me, today is the day I vow never to let anyone get close again. I’m sticking with Elsa’s unconditional love.
Tears roll down my face. But I allow only two sobs to squeeze out before I give my ever-loving pooch a giant kiss on the head, stand up, and start tossing my things in my bag.
“Okay, Elsa. Time to go.”
25
OWEN
“What happened to Summer?” I ask Max as he shoves a glass of champagne at me like he has no idea why he’s holding it.
She’d looked like she was heading this way before she ran into Archie. The exact thing I didn’t want to happen. But as soon as I tried to make my way over to separate them, one of Maggie’s old friends stopped me, and I lost sight of her.
Archie sure as hell had better not have said something dickish. Jesus, why does the one investor who’d be happy for some of his cash to be used for the nonprofit have to exhibit all the billionaire asshole traits that Summer hates?
I lean around Max and peer over the heads of the happy, chatting partygoers to see the back of Summer’s curly blonde head disappearing out the door. My heart races. It’s all I can do to keep my feet rooted to the spot and not chase after her to find out what happened. That’ll have to wait till we’ve dealt with Archie.
“Said she had to go check on the dog,” Max says. “And asked me to give you this.” He points at the glass he’s still holding out to me.
I take it and knock back half of it in one go. “Was Archie talking to her? It looked like he was talking to her.”
“Think so, yeah.”
Elliot pats me on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I bet she’s fine. She’s probably just worried about the dog.”
I shake him off. “Christ, Max. What the fuck did Archie say?”
“What’s up with you? It looks like your head is about to explode,” Max says. “Not sure what he said. I only caught the end of it. Something about her top not being appropriate for the event, I think. But what does it matter?” Then a lightbulb turns on behind his eyes. “Oh, yeah. I think he said it was like a dishrag.”
Oh, holy fuck. For Summer, that’s history repeating itself. And proving her right while it’s at it. This is the worst possible thing that could have happened.
Archie’s blown all the effort it took for me to get her to come this evening to smithereens.
My pulse hammers inside my brain. “What does itmatter? Jesus Christ. Only every-fucking-thing.”
That’s it. I have to find her and try to repair this fucking disaster.
I move around Max to head after Summer, but he suddenly falls forward and steps on my foot. “Argh.”
And there, right behind him, is Archie who’s obviously just slapped Max on the back so hard he almost knocked him over.
Where the hell did Archie pop up from? That was a quick restroom visit.
And now he’s sniffing Max’s shoulder. “Ahh.” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “The unmistakable aroma of cash. You must be another Dashwood.”
Max turns to face him and squishes himself between me and Elliot to put as much distance between himself and Archie’s nostrils as is possible in our cramped corner.
“Good job Connor’s not here to sniff,” Max mutters under his breath. “You’d get a noseful of stale booze and women’s perfume.”
