“Don’t get what?” I was going to be late for my meeting. I should tell this chick to hush it and to talk to Mitch if she wanted to know something. But she just. Kept. Talking.
“Why he loved you so much. There’s nothing much to you.” She sniffed again, looking confused but disgusted.
“Wow. Tell me what you really think,” I muttered.
“He was a mess after you left him. Did you know that?” she demanded, glaring at me with a heart full of hate. Man, this woman really didn’t like me. Not that I blamed her.
“I don’t see how this is any of your business. And I have to go. I’d love to stand here and chat about shit that doesn’t have to do with you, but I have places to be,” I replied flippantly, waving my hand in dismissal. I turned on my heel and started to walk away, proud of my super awesome exit when she stopped me again.
“Just leave him alone. He’s better off without you.”
Her words hit me right where it hurt. In the heart. Because they were the exact words I had told myself over and over again a million times before .
He’s better off without you.
I straightened my back and looked over my shoulder, flipping my hair behind me. I smirked; refusing to let her see how much she had gotten to me.
I may have believed those words at one time, but I was learning that I wasn’t that girl who had walked out on the man who loved her because she was desperate to self-destruct. I was re-building myself. My pride. My self-respect.
So I didn’t believe that anymore. I wouldn’t allow myself to.
I didn’t know where that left Mitch and me, or if it even mattered at this point. But I wouldn’t let this woman look down her nose at me.
I didn’t cower to anyone. Ever.
“Then maybe you should keep a better leash on your boyfriend.” I turned and walked off, my nerves stretched thin and my knees starting to shake.
I wanted to collapse, but I didn’t.
Those days were over.
Watch out world, the new Gracie Cook was here to stay.
Just great.
I had left my camera at home.
Damn it, where was my notebook and super professional looking pen?
Clearly not in my bag.
I looked around the library parking lot, trying to locate my car. And then I realized it wasn’t here. I had dropped it off at Bo’s auto repair this morning to have the tires replaced after listening to one too many comments about my car’s general state of disrepair. Now I was going to be $800 poorer, but at least I was handling it on my own instead of calling someone to take care of it for me.
And that was Gracie Cook’s idea of success.
But now I was sans car and I had to be at the Blue Ridge Botanical Gardens in twenty minutes for my first interview as a full-fledged staff writer for Southern Gardens magazine.
I was off to a hell of a start it seemed.
“Ugh!” I growled under my breath.
“Uh oh. You’ve got that Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein mad scientist look going on. That’s a sure sign of trouble. What did you forget at home this time?”
I watched as Mitch walked through the parking lot looking like walking, talking awesome. His hair had recently been cut and curled around his ears. He was wearing a faded green bomber jacket with old military patches on the sleeves that I had always loved. He must be going for the I-didn’t-feel-like-shaving-this-morning look because he had a day’s growth on his face that really worked for him. My stomach did a few flip-flops just to make sure I was paying attention.
“What makes you think I forgot something at home?” I put a hand on my hip and tried to be sassy. Like I would have been before I had lost my damn mind over this man.
“I’ve seen that expression enough times to know you’ve either a. left your phone somewhere. B. Forgotten your wallet. Or c. remembered you left the coffee machine on and are freaking out that the apartment is going to burn down.”