Page 116 of Perfectly Complicated
I follow his gesture and spot the massive truck idling on the shoulder.
He’s not just some kind stranger. He’sthetow truck. The one I thought wouldn’t come for hours.
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.” Then he grins. “Where are you headed?”
“Santaville. Could you take me there?”
He hooks his thumb toward the cab. “Grab your things and climb in.”
I glance at the ornament still dangling from the mirror. It spins once, catching the headlights behind us, like it’s giving me permission.
“Okay,” I whisper, unhooking it and slipping it into my pocket. “Let’s go find him.”
Aria and I slide into the blessedly warm tow truck while he works outside. By the time we’re back on the road, I’m spilling the whole ridiculous story—how I met Rourke, dragged him to Santaville for the first time, and ended up here, stranded on Christmas Eve.
By the time I finish, the twinkling lights of Santaville blink ahead and a small flicker of hope sparks inside me.
“There,” I say, pointing to the cabin rentals on the side of theroad. “Drop us off here. And then take my car to the mechanic in town.”
He bites his lip. “You sure about this?”
“Yep, positive.” I know this is crazy, especially since I don’t have a plan B if my guess is wrong. At this point, I don’t even have a ride home since I know the mechanic won’t be open tomorrow.
The driver helps me unload everything—my presents, bags, the Christmas plant, and a still sleeping baby. I give him every spare dollar I have and watch his taillights disappear down the road until the darkness swallows them whole.
Despite the late hour, I cross the path to theHoneymoon Havencabin. Something balloons inside me as I stand there, holding my daughter, surrounded by everything I could fit inside my car, betting on the biggest gamble of my life.
Then I take a deep breath and knock, excitement thrumming through my veins.
I’ve never been so ready to see anyone in my entire life. To jump into his arms and cover him with kisses. To finally let go and…just breatheagain.
But when the door opens, the air leaves my lungs.
An older lady in a red bathrobe blinks at me, clearly puzzled about why I’m on her stoop. “Are you lost, honey?”
Given the way I’m standing there with a baby on my hip and bags piled behind me, I probably do look like I’m auditioning for the part of the Virgin Mary in a live nativity scene.
I shake my head, swallowing hard, trying to stem the panic inside me.
Rourke’s not here.
He’s not here.
“I thought you were somebody else.” Then I back away from the door, my feet nearly tripping over the path. “Sorry to bother you.”
She closes the door, leaving me confused and alone, staring into the darkness. For a moment, I just stand there,unable to move. Then the weight of everything crashes over me, and I sink onto the ground with Aria in my arms.
I drop my head into my hand, fighting the truth I can’t outrun: I let myself believe in something again—and now I’m standing in the dark with nothing to show for it.
The tears come hot and fast, racing down my cheeks. Maybe it’s the exhaustion mixed with disappointment. Maybe it’s the sheer unfairness of chasing hope this far, only for it to vanish at the finish line.
Aria stirs, then lets out a sharp wail that echoes through the still night—an exact reflection of everything I’m feeling.
I hate that we came all this way for nothing.
I hate that it’s Christmas Eve and I still can’t find him.
