She wasn’t cheesy, though. Or sentimental. Hell, she wasn’t even romantic.
But she was pragmatic, so she allowed herself a moment—just one quick moment—of asking herself, Are you sure?
Hell no, she wasn’t sure. But she’d always been a jump-in-with-two-feet kind of gal, so…
She stepped all the way inside and heard…silence?
Taylor set the champagne on the counter as she shrugged off her coat. “Bradley? Sorry I’m late. I stopped by Bed Bath and Beyond. Bought a new French press. Not because we need it, but it was gold and gorgeous, and I couldn’t resist.”
Still nothing. “Bradley?”
Taylor wandered into the master bedroom. The two-bedroom unit was huge by Manhattan standards—and so was the bedroom.
Where the hell was he?
He wasn’t in the bathroom. Not in the walk-in closet. He wasn’t in the second bedroom they planned to use as an office just as soon as they could decide on a furniture style they both liked, which might be never.
Taylor was annoyed but not surprised. Bradley had taken the morning off to let the movers in, and it wouldn’t be unlike him to head back into the Oxford offices for a couple of hours in the afternoon.
Taylor returned to the kitchen, intending to text him that she wasn’t above uncorking the champagne without him if he didn’t hurry home.
Then she saw the note on the counter.
She wasn’t alarmed. Not at first.
Sure, she and Bradley were usually more text/email people than handwritten-note people, but maybe he’d just jotted down that he’d gone to the gym. Or that he had to work late.
But…
She pursed her lips as she studied the fact that the note was in an envelope. Oddly formal. Still, her name scrawled across the front was undeniably in Bradley’s backward-slanted handwriting.
This wasn’t a note. This was a letter.
And this type of left-on-the-counter letter was something Taylor was all too familiar with, since she’d written more than a few herself.
Refusing to let her hands shake, Taylor carefully pulled the nondescript piece of paper out of the envelope. Regular old computer paper, probably swiped from his office. No, their office. The office where they’d met. Fallen in love. Agreed to move in together. Today.
Her eyes skimmed the contents, and she wondered how it was possible to be so thoroughly unsurprised and yet completely staggered by a few succinct sentences.
Taylor,
I’m sorry. You have to know how sorry I am. I can’t do this. I thought I could, but it’s too soon. And I know delivering the news this way is the worst kind of dick move, but I couldn’t face you. Not yet. I’ve been wrong about…things. I will explain everything soon, but please…don’t hate me, Taylor. I know my timing couldn’t be worse, but I will, of course, pay my half of the rent until you’re able to find a roommate. Or if you’d prefer to break the lease and move somewhere else, I’ll pay for that. All of it. Anything you need.
Forgive me, Taylor. Actually, scratch that. Go ahead, hate me. God knows I hate myself.
Bradley
For one long, bitterly painful moment, Taylor wished Karen were here. Not because her aunt was the comforting, maternal type, but because she wasn’t.
The woman who’d raised her would have known exactly what to say to push away the hurt—to remind Taylor that any problem could be solved just as long as you knew how to take emotion out of the equation.
Over the years, Taylor had gotten good at it. Nearly as good as Karen herself. Because she’d learned the hard way that there were some situations where emotion simply couldn’t be avoided—Karen’s death six months earlier had been one of them.
But this?
This Taylor could handle. She simply needed to reframe the situation. This wasn’t Bradley leaving her; this was Bradley being a guy and freaking out. This was fixable.
Taylor inhaled through her nose before giving a quick shake of her head and straightening her shoulders.
Okay.
Another deep breath.
It’s going to be okay.
So, yeah, this was a little setback to her happy ending. Or a big one. But she could handle it. Taylor handled everything.
Taylor very calmly, very deliberately opened the package of plastic cups she’d bought along with the champagne, having known that neither she nor Bradley would be in the mood to start unpacking her kitchen boxes in search of her champagne flutes.
She then moved on to the champagne, wrestling out the stubborn cork with the same relentless determination she applied to all areas of her life. It took several seconds, but she finally managed to get the damn thing to pop free….
Only to have it clip her squarely on the side of the jaw.
“Son of a—”
Taylor held on to the bottle of champagne with one hand, but the other flew to her face, which was already throbbing.
“I swear to God, if I get a bruise from a champagne cork, I will kill Bradley,” she muttered, going to the freezer for some ice.
There was none.
Brand-new appliances, but apparently nobody had turned on the icemaker.
She slammed the door shut and, still holding her hurting face, grabbed the champagne bottle with one hand and stalked into the master bathroom to turn on the faucet in the tub.
A bubble bath might not fix Bradley’s cold feet. But if experience was any indication, a long, relaxing soak would likely provide Taylor with plenty of inspiration for how she could fix his sudden onset of bacheloritis.
She wasn’t even mad. Not really. As someone who’d once been a dedicated “runner” from anything resembling commitment, stability, and loyalty, she understood where Bradley was coming from.
Moving in together was a big step—one she’d never taken before, and, to her knowledge, one Bradley hadn’t taken either. He was thinking it was all happening too fast, and that emotional entanglements could get messy, especially with a co-worker.
But what Bradley was apparently forgetting was that Taylor wasn’t interested in emotional entanglement. She just needed to remind Bradley of their initial conversation—that this was simply a mutual arrangement between two people who were perfectly suited to companionship.
She needed to remind him that she wasn’t sniffing for a ring and babies. She was just a little tired of being…alone.
He’d understand. She’d make sure of it.
But…
Taylor turned on the bathwater and surveyed the rather awesome, rather expensive master bathroom, as practicality kicked in.
If it took longer than anticipated to remind Bradley of their compatibility, Taylor would have to be sensible.
Shit. She hesitated only a fraction of a second before giving in to an urge that would have her aunt rolling in her grave.
She lifted the expensive champagne to her lips and took a swig, straight from the bottle, and accepted her new reality.
She needed to find a roommate.
Chapter 2