The Wrong Goodbye

by Amy Sparling

  Ugh.

  I’m so pathetic. He was just being friendly, and I was being friendly and that’s all it was. Nothing more. This is a business convention, not a singles bar.

  I tell myself, for the millionth time, to get it together. I stop trying to look for him as I walk through the aisles, or when I slip out of the main vendor room and check out another panel. I don’t scan the hallways for his Texas nametag, even though I want to.

  I spent the last several weeks telling myself that I’m a businesswoman who deserves to be taken seriously at this event, and I’ll be damned if I’ll suddenly revert to being a teenager again, swooning over a cute guy instead of keeping level-headed.

  I’m doing pretty good by the time dinner rolls around. My stomach growls and my fitness tracker says I’ve walked just over fourteen thousand steps today. Not bad. I deserve a huge meal.

  I don’t feel like getting a taxi or learning how Uber works, so I decide to eat in the hotel’s restaurant on the first floor. It calls itself a steakhouse, but it doesn’t look like the ones we have in Texas. This restaurant is fancy, modern, and has sharp stainless-steel decorations instead of taxidermy or fishing poles on the walls like the places back at home.

  I ask for a table for one, feeling like a total loser while I do it, but the waitress doesn’t seem to care. She leads me to a narrow two-person booth along the side of the restaurant and gives me a menu.

  I glance around and see tons of people with state-shaped nametags sitting together and eating. Most of them sit with people from their own state, which confirms my theory that people came here in groups. Some tables have a mixture of states, and I wonder if they all met each other today and decided to eat together. That thought bothers me a little.

  I should have tried to meet some people, too. Friendly people, not hot guys. Then maybe I wouldn’t be sitting alone.

  I order a fried chicken salad with extra ranch—the Texan way—and then when I think I’m going to go totally crazy being here by myself, I take out my phone and call Livi. She doesn’t answer, and I feel even more like a loser as I scroll through my phone wishing I had someone to keep me company while I sit here alone.

  My heart aches when I see my mom’s number in my contacts list. She died so very long ago, but I always kept her number just because it made me happy to have it there. Now, I wish I could talk to her again. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the heavy weight of her loss. My life has been so busy lately that I’m usually always happy and therefore don’t get sad often. But now, something about being alone is tearing at my seams. All around me people are eating and chatting and having a good time. I’m just sitting here with my sweet tea and phone, staring at my mom’s name and trying not to get emotional.

  I put the phone down and pretend to be interested in the dessert menu. The bad thing about being a baker is that you can’t enjoy crappy restaurant desserts because they’re never very good. The only desserts I can get excited about are from upscale bakeries where they have talented chefs. Places like this steakhouse just ship in frozen cheesecake and call it a day.

  My phone rings, and I’m delighted to see Livi’s name on the screen. Geez, I’m so bad at being an independent woman.

  “Hey,” I say as I answer the phone.

  “What’s up?” Livi says. “Sorry I missed your call, I was closing up the shop.”

  “How’d it go today?”

  “It was great. We sold out of everything twice, but luckily I’d already had stuff in the oven so we never had empty shelves.”

  “Wow, that’s awesome!” I say. We always sell out of the first batch of baked goods, but selling out of the second one is kind of a toss-up. “So everything went well?”

  “Yep,” Livi says cheerfully. “You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “Cool,” I say. I glance around, but no one is paying any attention to the girl who is sitting alone talking on the phone. “So, I’m having a good time, I guess.”

  “You guess?” Livi says. “What does that mean?”

  I sigh. “The information is great, and I found some cool new things for the shop, but I just feel so … I don’t know – alone.”

  “Want me to hop on the next plane to Phoenix?” Livi says. I can tell it’s mostly a joke, but I have no doubts that I if I said yes, she’d actually do it.

  “No, I’m okay. I just feel awkward because it seems like everyone else here brought co-workers with them, so I’m walking alone and sitting alone and eating alone.”

  The waitress brings my salad and gives me a warm smile. I smile back, knowing it’s rude to be on my phone but it’s kind of too late now. The salad looks pretty damn good, and I take a bite.

  Livi says, “Well, look on the bright side. Aren’t business trips supposed to be boring? Think of it like an extra long work meeting and not like a vacation.”

  “Good advice,” I say, as I stab my fork into a piece of arugula lettuce. “I can’t believe I’m acting like this. I mean, normally I’m so great with stuff like this. But for some reason, I’m feeling incredibly alone and that’s not really like me.”

  I used the words for some reason, but I know the reason. The reason is that I had a flirty interaction with a gorgeous guy, and now he’s gone and my stupid heart won’t stop thinking about it and wondering what might have been if only I’d gotten his number. That one stupid coffee and conversation has totally screwed up my thought process. If I hadn’t met Gabe this morning, I’d probably be having a wonderful time on this trip.

  Livi and I talk a little more, and she tells me about how her scumbag of an uncle can’t keep a tenant in the house he’s renting out. It used to be Livi’s grandmother’s house, before she died and he inherited it. He doesn’t want to fix it up at all and is charging too much rent and people keep breaking their lease and leaving. We find this hilarious, because he’s an asshole. He’s the reason Livi was homeless when I first started hanging out with her.

  Then we talk about Gran a little, and how she would have loved the new strawberry shortcake cupcakes I recently made for the shop. Her grandma was such a sweet woman, and I regret not talking with her more before she passed.

  I’m starting to feel a whole lot better, thanks to talking to Livi. She lifts my spirits up and makes me forget all about Gabe. I’m about to tell her that, but then I hold my tongue. I never told her about meeting him in the first place, so I certainly can’t say, “Thanks for the chat. You’re making me forget about that hot guy I met earlier.”

  A shadow falls over my table, and I look up, expecting to see my waitress. I feel bad because I’m still on the phone which is totally a rude thing to do to your server. My voice catches in my throat.

  The person standing in front of me isn’t my waitress. It’s Gabe.

  His lips break into a grin. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I say.

  “Huh?” Livi says on the phone.

  “Um, I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ll call you later.”

  I hang up the phone and smile at Gabe, who has changed into dark wash jeans and a black shirt that confirms what I assumed earlier—that he’s completely jacked. And it works on him, the whole muscle guy look. He pulls it off gracefully and not like some big meat-head jock.

  My stomach tingles just looking at his budging shoulders.

  “Hi there,” I manage to say. And in another miracle, my voice actually sounds normal. Not like I’m a nervous freak.

  My waitress stops by and asks if he wants something to drink. He orders a Coke, then turns to me once she leaves. “How was your first day of the convention?” he asks.

  “It’s getting better,” I say.

  And then my heart races. That was an incredibly flirty, bold thing to say.

  And yet, I just said it.

  Chapter 6

  Gabe has this sexy five o’clock shadow covering his sharp jaw line. I am suddenly wondering why I ever had a crush on Chris Hemsworth when dark haired guys are clearly much h
otter.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” he says.

  I shrug his words away. “No worries. I was only on the phone so I wouldn’t be alone.”

  He grins, like he finds my confession sweet instead of pathetic. “I was actually planning to eat alone, and then I saw you and thought I’d take a chance.”

  “Where’s those guys you were with?” I ask. Our waitress asks if he’s ready to order, and he doesn’t bother looking at the menu. He just tells her he’ll have the same salad I’m having. Luckily, I’m a slow eater, so he has plenty of time to catch up to me.

  After our waitress leaves to fill his order, he turns back to me. “My cousins are hitting up a strip club,” he says with an extra dose of sarcasm. “Because clearly when you’re on a business trip, you’re supposed to act like a scumbag.”

  I laugh. “Something tells me you didn’t want them to go with you on this trip.”

  He nods and lets out an exhausted sigh. “I’d be thrilled to have two real business partners join me, but in this case … not so much. I thought they’d learn something, but they’re not even attempting to learn.”

  “Do you work with them?” I ask, even though I don’t really care. I want to move the conversation over to more interesting topics, like: girlfriends, and more specifically—does he have one.

  “Yeah, kind of. I hired them to work with me just to please my mom and aunt, but they’re complete screwups. I’m tempted to send them home now just so I can focus.”

  “That’s nice of you to hire them,” I say, staring at my fork. All that confidence I had a minute ago is getting hard to hold onto. I can feel my self-esteem struggling to keep a smile on my face. I like this talk. I like being around him. I can’t let my stupid emotions get in the way and make me ruin this.

  “We’re opposites that way,” I say with a smile. “I’m here alone and wishing I’d brought my friend who works with me. It’s boring being alone.”

  He rests on his elbows, and I notice how sexy his forearms are. The muscles bulge out from his sleeves, which he’s rolled halfway up his arm. Damn, this guy is hot. I wish I could sneak a picture of him to show Livi.

  “Well, I’m here all weekend,” he says with a grin. “If you get bored, feel free to grab me.”

  I nod toward where his nametag had been earlier, but he’s not wearing it now. “You’re in real estate, right? I doubt you’ll have fun in any of the panels I’m going to.”

  “I don’t know about that … real estate is similar to baking.”

  I take a sip of my tea and hold back my silly grin. “Oh yeah? How so?”

  He thinks about it a moment and then sits up straight in his chair. “Okay … well, I’ve got nothing. But that’s just because I can’t think properly when I’m dining with a gorgeous woman.”

  I swallow.

  Did he really just say that?

  Oh God, I’m so glad this stupid restaurant is dark in here, or else he’ll be able to see the embarrassingly deep red my cheeks are turning.

  He bites the bottom of his lip slightly. “Was that too much?”

  I shake my head and tell myself to talk. Words! They’re useful tools, so use them, Alexa!!

  “It’s totally fine,” I say.

  The way he’s staring at me makes my whole body burn with lust. I know guys and I know how they’re typically wired – sex is all they care about. But there’s something different about Gabe. He’s looking at me like he enjoys what he sees. Like, I don’t know—like he appreciates it. Like he appreciates me.

  The waitress brings his food out and we eat in silence for a little while, only talking randomly about small things. I’m dying to get back to that flirtatious banter, but it’s kind of weird to flirt when you’re eating a salad.

  “So how’d you get into baking?” he asks me. I’ve been asked this question a million times before, and most people just say it to be polite. But Gabe looks like he’s interested in my answer.

  “I’ve always loved baking,” I say, resting my fork on my plate because I’m done eating. “My grandma and mom used to bake all the time and they’d let me help, even when I was too young to be any good at it. Then, well I just never stopped. I got into culinary school and after I graduated, I knew I wanted to own my own bakery. I’ve never been so sure of anything else in my life.”

  Gabe’s eyes shine from the glow of the fancy amber lights overhead. “That’s really amazing. Now I feel stupid telling you about my job.”

  I laugh. “Tell me anyway.”

  I don’t tell him I’d listen to him recite the dictionary just to hear his gravely, masculine voice. When he talks, my skin prickles in delight.

  He tells me about how his grandfather started the real estate business back in the sixties, and then his dad took it over. But his dad is kind of an asshole and alcoholic, and ran the company into the ground, and it wasn’t until Gabe finished college and got his real estate license, that he decided to take over the crumbling family business and build it back up again. It’s really sweet listening to him talk about his grandfather and how much it meant to keep his company alive.

  “Do you sell houses or business properties?” I ask. A while back, the building I rent for my bakery went up for sale and I had wanted to purchase it, but it ended up being way too expensive. No mortgage company would even consider lending me that kind of money. As it is, some corporation bought it and continues to rent me the shop space for a whopping two grand a month.

  “We do both,” he says. “Commercial properties bring in the most money, but people always need houses, so we sell those, too.”

  “Cool,” I say. There’s something else right on the tip of my tongue that I’m dying to ask. It’s just a few words but I can’t seem to manage to get them out.

  Where do you live?

  If I ask, and he tells me, then this night is over. He’ll obviously live too far away from Mable Falls, and all my dreams of living happily ever after with the man will shatter into a million pieces. Texas is a huge place. There’s no way he lives close to me. So instead of asking what I want to ask, I choose random questions about his job instead of his private life.

  Our waitress walks past us carrying a tray with two cocktails on it that are made of red white and blue liquids that rest on top of each other like some kind of high school chemistry project.

  “What is that?” I ask her.

  “It’s our signature cocktail,” she says with a smile.

  I look at Gabe and he grins. “Can we have two of those?”

  “Sure thing,” the waitress says.

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” I tell him as I take a sip of my sweet tea. “But those were just really cute.”

  “Ah yes, I always choose my liquor based on its cuteness,” Gabe teases.

  I throw my wadded up straw wrapper at him. With a swift motion, he catches it and throws it back at me.

  I lift my eyebrows. “Nice catch.”

  “Nice throw,” he says.

  Our drinks arrive, and soon our conversation feels easier. I don’t ever want this dinner to end, even though we both finished eating half an hour ago. One drink turns into two, and then a third. This red white and blue thing is delicious. I’m not a huge drinker, so I can’t tell what kind of liquor it is, but the red tastes like cherry, and the blue tastes like blueberry and when Gabe laughs, I can see his tongue is a little bit blue too. When I realize that I’ve been spending the last few minutes picturing his slightly blue tongue in my mouth instead of listening to the story he’s telling me, I blush.

  “Maybe three drinks is enough,” I say, pulling the straw out of my mouth. My third drink is mostly gone now, and his is empty as well.

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” he says, running his hand over his hair. I want to touch that hair so bad. He grins. “I might be more of a lightweight than you.”

  I smile. “Well, we can go out to the parking lot and give ourselves sobriety tests to see who walks in a straighter line.”

>   The parking lot is the last place I want to be, and for a split second, I think he might he thinking the same thing.

  And then our waitress comes and drops off two slips of paper. Our bills for the evening.

  Gabe swoops up both of them and places his credit card on top. “Dinner is on me tonight.”

  My mouth opens to object, but then I think better of it. If a guy wants to do something nice for me, who am I to stop him?

  “Thank you,” I say, hoping he knows I truly mean it. I’ve been single for so long, and the last time I went on a real date, the guy insisted that we pay for our own meals to keep it fair. It feels nice to be treated like someone special.

  “Thank you for having dinner with me,” he says.

  “You’re way better company than my phone,” I say playfully.

  After he pays, we get up to leave, and I realize the alcohol might have been too much for me. I stand up and feel shaky, like the floor is moving just a bit.

  “You okay?” Gabe asks, his voice soft. His eyes peer into mine as he puts a gentle hand on my lower back.

  “I’m a little drunk,” I admit, but I put on a smile so he knows it’s no big deal. “Do me a favor and don’t let me fall in front of all these people.”

  He chuckles and wraps an arm around me. I breathe in his delicious scent and secretly wish I was drunk all the time if it meant he’d hold me like this.

  We walk out of the restaurant and toward the elevators.

  “Which floor are you on?” he asks.

  A delightful tingle zips through my whole body as I look up at him after the elevator doors close, encasing us inside. God, he is so sexy. I could strip him naked right here in this elevator.

  “Ten,” I say, reaching into my back pocket for my hotel room key.

  “I’m on the tenth floor, too,” he says with a grin. “Must be where they put the cool people.”

  “It is,” I say, poking him in the stomach. “So how did you manage to get there?”

  “Oh, I see how it is,” he says playfully. “You don’t think I’m cool enough for the tenth floor?”