Page 47 of Cluelessly Yours

Gavin’s called me at least three times, all of which I’ve sent straight to voice mail, and now he’s switched over to texts.

My phone pings so manically, it feels like my purse might explode if I allow it to continue.

Pausing in front of my workplace’s marquee, I slide my phone out of my purse and pause to read the message showing on the screen.

Gavin: Sammy, please call me back. I’m so sorry, and I don’t want to leave things like this. You’re important to me.

Regret and distrust war inside my chest as I consider the events that just transpired, concluding only that there’s no conclusion to be made at all.

I’m not going to know how to feel about any of this unless I give it some time to marinate, and the idea of going home to an empty apartment only makes everything seem worse.

I need some time to decompress first—some time to let the noise of the world wash out the voices in my head.

After placing Gavin’s message thread on Do Not Disturb,I tuck my phone back into my purse and start to walk again. I don’t know where I’m going, so I focus on the sound of my heels on the concrete until I figure it out.

It’s soothing and rhythmic and louder than any of the passing sounds around me.

I pace my heart against it until I feel like I can breathe again, coming to a stop right in front of the little bar where I ran into Noah the first time—Bailey’s.

I don’t even think about it before opening the door. Chatter fills the softly lit space as I step inside, and the change of pace from the deserted sidewalk makes my ears feel like they want to pop.

I head straight for the long mahogany bar that sits along the right side of the establishment. Only one bartender stands behind the massive structure highlighted by a cornucopia of liquor bottles shining in the overhead lighting, and I find myself hoping it doesn’t take forever for him to make it to me.

After the night I’ve had, I wouldn’t blame myself for starting with a shot of hard liquor. And if I didn’t know with absolute certainty that three a.m. would become a time of regret as a result, I would do it.

“What’s your poison?” the young blond asks when he finally makes his way over to me a few minutes later and tosses one of those cardboard coasters onto the surface of the bar.

“A glass of Chardonnay, please.”

His nod is all the confirmation I need as he moves away to fill my order.

Internally, I feel overstimulated and downright overwhelmed at how quickly I’ve found myself in the center of even more chaos. And regardless of the fact that I’m still wearing my coat, a sudden chill runs down my spine.

Living with my mom and dad postdivorce was traumatic in many—mostly comedic—ways, but life in New York is an entirely different beast. And at forty-one years old, I still feel like a child who’s been left alone to start over and find my way.

“A glass of Chardonnay for the pretty lady,” the bartender announces magnanimously, setting the glass on the previously placed coaster. “That’ll be $11.43. Do you want to open a tab?”

“Thank you.” I try my best to replace the current discomfort on my face with a half smile as I dig fifteen dollars from my bag and slide it over to him. “No tab but keep the change for your tip.”

“That’s appreciated.” He grins and turns on his heel to cash out my drink at the register, and I stare down at the ice-cold wine in front of me, more than ready to see if it helps take the edge off. And I’ve almost swallowed an entire gulp of the liquid when the sound of my name catches me off guard.

“Sammy.”

I jerk to look over my shoulder, almost certain I’ve conjured the man with my imagination.

With a pint of beer in front of him, Noah sits at a table by himself behind and to the left of me, and an exuberant smile is planted on his handsome face. At the sight of him, some small part of me has to wonder exactly how blindly I chose to come here.

Was I hoping he would be here too? Or was it just comfortable because I’d been here before?

Beer in hand, he stands from his chair and moves to sit on the barstool beside mine. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” The depths of his blue eyes glimmer like stars in the sky. “What are you doing here?”

“Just stopped by for a drink, I guess.” I shrug, pointedly avoiding telling him any of the events leading up to that decision. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same.” He runs a hand through his hair and offers a wry grin. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve kind of taken it upon myself to join you.”

“Of course not,” I say, and he reaches out with one hand to tug my barstool a little closer to his. It’s the second time tonight I’ve been relocated by a man, but for some reason, this feels different—safer.

“There.” He winks. “That’s much better.”

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