Page 20 of Under the Weatherman
In the smaller markets of Charlottesville and Ithaca, I’d still get recognized, but I’d already dealt with that level of minor celebrity. Both were gorgeous towns where I could build a life without working horrible hours or competing with other “personalities” jockeying for visibility. In a small town, I could lay down roots eventually.
All things considered, Charlottesville had the stronger pull, both emotionally and logically.
Financially, Shelby’s final offer had been more competitive—after I negotiated.
Not to mention, I already had friends here. Bas, now Kyan.
And Elizabeth.
Was I being honest about my rationale?
In the airport terminal, as I waited for my flight, I texted Bas to let him know I was heading out. That’s when I saw the notification: Liz Grant had accepted my friend request. I smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary.
And just like that, I made my decision.
I opened the chat window and wrote,Guess what? I’m taking a job in Charlottesville!
Three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared, then finally a short message popped up.What?
I bit my lip and responded,Right? I’m supposed to start in a few weeks.
I sighed, satisfied that things were finally going my way. When my phone vibrated, I fought a crazy grin, until I read the message:I’m not sure why you think I’d care.
I stared at my phone, blinking like it would clear my eyes enough to make sense of the words. Was this a joke?
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth
“Nothing can come of nothing.”
King Lear
“Once again: why don’t you just call him?” Chelsea asked, foaming milk while I sipped on the latte she’d slipped me gratis.
I glared at Chelsea, she who’d gotten me into this predicament, and considered her advice.
It wasn’t the first time she’d chided me over the past two weeks. Whenever I complained she’d pushed me too far out of my comfort zone, leaving me pining after a ghost—a self-inflicted wound—she’d urge me to at least text. But whenever I opened the text chain, I’d see my last message:I’d love to see you come one more time.
Then crickets.
Oh, God. Why had I sent that? Just because we’d had sex, it didn’t mean he was into dirty talk. Maybe I’d given him the ick.
If so, the ball was in his court. I didn’t want to chase after him. Hadn’t I already done that by coaxing him into my bed? It was all so mortifying.
“Well, why don’t you call Basil?” I countered, knowing she’d also heard nothing from the sexy Greek since her own romantic mishap.
“Not the same thing.” She rolled her eyes and added, “At all.”
I knew it wasn’t—for so many reasons. First of all, because she could find Basil at the organic market any day of the week, if she wanted to. But more importantly, because she didn’t want to. She always did this, shutting down all romantic interest, somehow thinking that by choosing to be alone, she was preempting unhappiness. It surprised me she’d even hooked up with a guy who lived here in town.
If only our situations were reversed.
Another wave of self-pity washed over me. “What was I thinking, letting you convince me to flirt with an absolute stranger at a bar?”
Why had she let me lure him home? Why had I seduced him? These questions had plagued me from the minute Evan turned the corner and drifted out of sight.
But not out of mind.
