Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Thank you, Mr. Falcon.
As I devour another bite, something shiny catches my eye across the room. There it is—my tiara—sitting neatly on the small couch, placed atop a royal blue Sea Dogs hoodie. Setting down the toast, I pick up the tiara, then the hoodie, feeling warm all over when I spot what’s beneath it: a pair of leggings, tags still attached. They’re clearly from the hotel gift shop. Pretty damn close to my size.
The thoughtfulness of it all makes my chest ache. Who does this? Nobody—not for me, at least. Not when I’ve actually needed it. And now here’s Tyler, being…well, perfect.
And what did I do? I threw myself at him.
Smooth move, Sabrina. I press my hands to my face, cringing as last night’s greatest hits flood back: public oversharing, drunk rambling, and—oh, yes—confessing every single one of my sex fantasies to the hot dad of one of my students.
He’ll probably fire me. Yup. I bet that’s what the note’s about. A polite, thanks, but your services are no longer needed. Of course, he’d do it nicely. While serving me breakfast.
With dread swirling in me, I grab the note from the nightstand and unfold it.
You deserve more than St. Bernards, sloppy kisses, and a guy who holds you back. You deserve someone who lets you shine. Glad you left him. Never second-guess that choice.
Just so you know, you conked out before I returned with your leggings. Figured you’d need something to wear today—you probably wouldn’t want to wear that dress again. There’s a hotel laundry bag for it, and I left toothpaste and a toothbrush on the sink.
Keep that tiara, Sabrina. It’s legend, like you.
I’ve got an early tee time, so I probably won’t see you. I arranged for a late checkout so stay as long as you need.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering, nothing happened last night. I promise. I slept on the couch.
—T
My throat tightens, and the dam breaks. This time, the tears are heavy, born of small acts of kindness rather than heartbreak. Despite the ache in my head, I feel…cared for. It’s a new feeling, but one I don’t dare get used to.
This isn’t how my world works.
I shimmy out of the dress, take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and pull on the fresh clothes. I turn my chin to my shoulder and inhale the hoodie, sneaking a hit of Tyler Falcon. He smells like woodsmoke—a cabin in the forest, guiding me home after a long, snowy trek.
I almost, almost, want to stay and thank him in person.
Instead, I grab a fork, stab a few blueberries, savor the tang of the fruit, then take a bite of a buttery scone, hearing my therapist’s voice telling me it’s okay to enjoy life’s small pleasures, even if they aren’t on your to-do list.
It feels a tiny bit wrong to enjoy anything today after yesterday’s disasters, but I’ve spent a long time learning how to savor little things. The race of my heart when I see a frozen lake, the taste of melting caramel, the warm sun on my shoulders when I’m outside in the garden in the summer. They all add up to free time. Something I was never encouraged to enjoy growing up.
I take one more bite, since that’s all I truly want—this taste of free time, in a way—then leave the rest on the plate.
Before I go though—and I really should take off before he returns—I jot a note:
I can’t thank you enough for being such a gentleman. Also, I love minty toothpaste, so thank you for that too. And everything.
-Sabrina
I place the note on top of his suitcase, then leave the room, ready to face the shambles that is my life when a notification pings on my phone for my next skating lesson with Luna Falcon. I gulp. The day after I was supposed to return from my honeymoon. Now it’ll just be a random weekday—one where I have to see the man I threw myself at.
I guess I’ve officially entered my hot mess phase.
Rhonda comes to the rescue, as advertised. I’m overcome with gratitude when she pulls up outside the Cozy Valley Inn in her black Prius, pineapple-shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror.
She leans across, shoves the passenger door open, and grins up at me. “Tell me everything.”
Her white hair blends seamlessly with her pale complexion, and there’s a grandmotherly vibe about her—if grandmothers wore purple sweatshirts featuring a cat riding a unicorn and brandishing a lightsaber. Below the graphic, it reads: Here I Come to Save the Day.
“Where do I even start?” I buckle my seatbelt and sigh. “Ever blowtorched your life and then woken up with a headache, no place to live, and the realization that you don’t make enough money to pay rent?”
She flashes me a smile. “Honey, you just described half of America—give or take the blowtorch.”