Waiting at Hayden's

by Riley Costello

  “We’re closed,” she said through the glass.

  “I left my phone,” he said.

  The Blackberry.

  Gianna held up one finger and went to the windowsill to get it. He could wait in the cold. He deserved some punishment for what he’d done, didn’t he?

  When she opened the door and gave it to him, he thanked her.

  Yeah, yeah, whatever, she thought. She started to close the door again, but he pushed it back open.

  “Wait, I want to apologize for earlier.”

  You shouldn’t be apologizing to me, Gianna wanted to say. Some poor woman was probably sitting on her bed with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s right now bawling her eyes out because of him. She was who he needed to apologize to.

  “I didn’t mean to shatter the wineglass.”

  Gianna blinked. He’d shattered it? Hadn’t his girlfriend?

  “That was my girlfriend I was with, and she told me when we sat down that she’s been sleeping with my best friend.”

  She’d slept with someone else. He hadn’t been the one who messed up?

  “I got so upset that I threw my napkin down on the table and it knocked the wine glass off. I’d like to pay for it. I would have offered earlier, but I wasn’t thinking straight.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet.

  Gianna was so thrown off by her misconception that it took her a moment to find her voice.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she finally said. “We drop plates and glasses all the time.” She would have felt weird taking his money given that she’d judged him so hard. It just seemed like men were always the ones screwing relationships up—at least in her dating experience before she’d met Peter.

  “Oh no. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t pay for it,” he said. “Here, do you want ten? Twenty?” He extended some bills.

  “Really. It’s fine.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Use the money to go buy a stiff drink. There’s a great bar one block down called Neiman’s that’s open for another forty-five minutes.”

  He nodded, obviously realizing she wasn’t going to budge. Putting the money back in his wallet, he closed it. “Thank you, Miss . . . ?”

  “Gianna,” she told him.

  “Thank you, Gianna. For bringing out my phone. And for cleaning up the glass. And for not charging me for it. It’s nice to know that not all women are complete bitches—excuse my language.”

  Gianna couldn’t help but smile. It’s nice to know that not all men you peg as assholes actually are, she thought but bit her tongue.

  “Don’t worry about it. And if it makes you feel any better, the little scene you two caused was far from the big drama of the evening.”

  “Really?” He raised a curious eyebrow.

  Gianna leaned a little closer to him, hanging on the door. “It’s a very long story. A good one, but too long to tell you while you’re standing on my doorstep in the cold.”

  He took his keys from his pocket. “Maybe some other time then.” Smiling, he turned to go, but then he spun back around. “Tell me this: does it have a happy ending or a bad ending like mine tonight?”

  “A happy ending,” Gianna said. “And I guess a bad ending too. It’s a great love story though.”

  “Really?” He looked even more intrigued.

  “Yes.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “I know I may not look it, but I’m a total sap for a good love story. Like The Notebook—I completely bawled at the end.”

  “You’re kidding?” Gianna said, feeling herself smile.

  “Nope, I’m not,” he said. “I used to be an editor for the ‘Modern Love’ column in The New York Times. Have you read it?”

  Gianna grinned. “That’s the first thing I read on Sunday mornings.” This guy was getting more interesting by the minute.

  “This love story stuff kind of pulls at my heartstrings. It’s what I’m into.”

  Gianna was impressed. “Then you’ll definitely have to come back in to get this one. But if you do turn it into a book or something and make millions, you better share half the profits with me.”

  “Deal,” he said, turning his lips up slightly.

  Although Gianna had noted his attractiveness when he first came in earlier, now, seeing him underneath the security light—and in a completely different light, one where he wasn’t a jackass—it was even more noticeable. His long hair had a nice wave to it, his eyes were a mix of black and brown, and he radiated an intense energy that made Gianna, for some reason, fantasize about seeing him naked. She couldn’t believe it, but she was picturing the tattoos she was sure he had on his chest or his shoulders—a peace sign and something meaningful—a poem he’d written or the lyrics to his favorite hard rock song. He definitely listened to hard rock.

  “Well, I’m here almost every day. I’m the owner,” she said, snapping out of her fantasy. “You should drop in sometime.”

  “The owner?” He looked impressed, not intimidated by the fact, which was a relief after dating Fred who’d felt the opposite. “I’d really like to,” he said, offering her a slightly crooked, definitely flirtatious smile.

  In all her time dating Peter—all of it, the beginning included—she had never felt even an inkling of what was going on here, and suddenly she was overcome with relief and reassurance that her decision had been the right one. Even if she never saw this guy again.

  “What was your name?” She was desperate to know it. Desperate to know more about this stranger.

  He extended his hand. “Luke.”

  He looked like a Luke. In fact, that was the name she would have probably given him if she hadn’t asked, and she were, say, relaying the details of their encounter to Mary Pat, something she definitely planned to do tomorrow morning.

  “Nice to meet you, Luke.”

  “You too, Gianna.” He sounded sincere when he said it, like he really meant it, and when he finally let go of her hand, he looked as disappointed as she felt that it meant their conversation was coming to a close. “I look forward to seeing you soon then.”

  “Me too,” Gianna said.

  He smiled, nodded, and with nothing left to say, turned and started to walk across the street. Gianna stared after him in the doorway, mesmerized by the sight of him—his head bowed down, his easy gait, the way his jeans hugged his legs. She had just reached into her pocket for her phone to text Mary Pat that they definitely needed to talk in the morning, when she noticed that he’d turned around and was jogging back.

  She opened the door a little wider.

  “Okay, you know what, I’m just going to say it. Would you want to come and get a drink with me at that bar you mentioned? I’d love some company right now.”

  Gianna just stood there, shocked.

  “You don’t have to,” he said backpedaling, like he realized maybe that was the last thing she wanted to do after a busy day at work and that it was entirely possible she hadn’t been flirting with him; she’d just been trying to be nice because of what he’d been through.

  “Sure,” she finally said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, let me just go grab my jacket.”

  He broke into a grin. “All right then. I’ll wait.”

  She gestured for him to come inside, thinking how crazy it was that just a few minutes earlier she’d wanted to keep him out in the cold.

  He stepped in, his shoulder brushing hers as he walked past. She got a whiff of his scent when he was close—something spicy and rustic, and her stomach did a tiny flip.

  When he sat down on the black bench in the foyer, a couple of Gianna’s servers glanced over from their cleaning tasks and checked him out, speculating, Gianna assumed, about what he was doing in here after hours. Valerie, who knew that he wasn’t a friend of Gianna’s, looked especially confused.

  Gianna hurried over to her. She wasn’t sure how Valerie would respond to her taking up Luke’s drink offer, but she still wanted her to know. Valerie was her closest friend after all, a
nd she did need someone to take over cleaning up her section.

  “That’s the guy from your section earlier, isn’t it?” Valerie said.

  “Yeah,” Gianna said. “Walk with me.” She had Valerie follow her toward her section in the back, so they’d be out of Luke’s earshot.

  “I’m going to get a drink with him,” Gianna said after a few steps.

  “You’re what?” Valerie eyed Luke on the bench. “You just met the guy.”

  “I know, but it just . . . feels like something I want to do.”

  Valerie folded her arms over her chest. Gianna watched her, watching him, hoping that she’d come around. “Well . . . he is cute,” she finally said.

  “Oh, Valerie, thank you for understanding.” She drew her into a hug.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Valerie said.

  “You won’t mind finishing cleaning my section, will you?”

  “Doesn’t look like I have a choice, boss.”

  Gianna thanked her again.

  “Go on now. Don’t make him wait any longer. You’ve already blown one relationship tonight. Let’s not ruin another.”

  “Right,” Gianna said. She gave Valerie one last smile and then turned and hurried off into the kitchen to get her things.

  As she pulled her jacket and purse off the peg on the wall, she took her phone out of her pocket to text Mary Pat. She typed up something, quick.

  Lots to tell you. Charli and Jack came back. Said no to Peter. Just met someone else.

  But her words didn’t seem to do the night justice. So much more had happened than just that. She believed in something now. She was hopeful again.

  Before she could press “Send,” she ended up deleting the whole thing. She would fill Mary Pat in tomorrow over a cup of coffee in her kitchen. She could already see Mary Pat asking lots of questions, being her normal interested self, never admitting, even though it was probably the truth, that she knew from the start how the whole night would play out.

  When Luke saw her walk out of the kitchen, his face brightened, and he stood up. “You ready?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Let’s go.”

  He opened the door for her and followed Gianna out. A warmer breeze had started to blow, and there were a couple of stars peering out from the clearing clouds.

  “So,” Luke said, falling into step beside her. “That story you mentioned? How does it start?”

  Gianna looked up into his gleaming eyes for just a moment, wondering if this was how Charli felt the first time she ever realized she had feelings for Jack. “Well,” she said, turning her attention back to the dark crosswalk in front of her, “it began about five years ago on an evening when I took down a very unusual reservation . . . ”

  Acknowledgments

  THE IDEA FOR Waiting at Hayden’s was very loosely inspired by a pact I made with my first love, Josh. I want to thank him for all the wonderful memories we shared in high school and want to thank Papa Haydn’s restaurant in Portland, Oregon for inspiring the setting.

  I wrote the first draft of this novel in Charleston, South Carolina during a gap year in college. I found the college dating scene disheartening so I impulsively moved to the romantic setting of Nicholas Sparks’ novels to write about it. Thank you, Nicholas Sparks, for instilling in me, at a very early age, my love for the South and for love stories.

  Margaret Hayes, my Charleston roommate, and her wonderful family made my experience in South Carolina one of the best phases of my life. I can’t thank them enough for all their kindness and support.

  Christy Bittner was one of my very first readers of my very rough first draft and she told me she loved it. She has loved every draft since. Christy, I am so grateful for your encouragement since day one.

  Other early readers who gave me feedback that was invaluable were: Jordyn Prince, Steve Duin, Sarah Duwelius, Linda Hundhammer, and Christina Wieselman. Audra Iness and Banu Gumusoglu answered all my questions about PhD programs and Ben Swinford and Jim Goethals helped me with my questions regarding minor league baseball. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

  I’ve always been much more interested in writing books than reading textbooks, so I almost didn’t go back and finish school at Santa Clara University, but I am so grateful I did as my education broadened my mind and made me a better person and storyteller. I wish I could say that I had a feeling that would happen, and that it was that feeling which influenced my decision to re-enroll, but the truth is I went back solely because I saw a picture online of a law school student there who I had a sense I would really like. My sense was right. Corey, thank you for our wonderful relationship throughout our time at SCU. It will always hold such a special place in my heart.

  In recent years, I have Ryan Selewicz to thank for enthusiastically jumping on board as my photographer when I told him I wanted to start Sincerelyriley.com. Ryan, none of this would be possible without your help.

  The same can be said of Kelsey Jacobsen, who designed my website. Kelsey, you took a dream of mine and made it a beautiful reality. Thank you for your creativity and for your friendship all my life.

  Kyle St. James and George Kovacevich provided me with legal advice this past year as I branded shopfiction™. Thank you both for your willingness to help. Thank you to Formatting Experts for their guidance as the interior of the book became a reality. Also a shout-out to Randy Huft for his PR expertise.

  Chelsea Kovacevich, thank you for dreaming big with me every day on our morning walks. Francine Kovacevich, thank you for always believing in me and sending me encouraging text messages. And thank you Brittany Salemme and Robert Linggi for helping with blog shoots.

  To all the actors and friends who played the parts of my characters and helped bring this story to life in video form—thank you! Thanks, Brooke Thompson, for your help and support the week of the shoot. Thank you, also, to acting coach Karen LaVoie for helping connect me with several of the actors.

  Special thanks to my videographers at Define Motion, Francisca and Jason Andrus, for filming the video scenes in this book. They were absolutely wonderful to work with! And thank you, Olivia Ashton, for taking the beautiful photos of my characters for my lookbook.

  Moana Dherlin and her songwriting class at Los Alamitos High School came up with a beautiful, original song for the video clips. Thanks to all. Lizzy Land and Schier, thank you for the permission to use your song, “Holding out for You,” in one of the video clips as well.

  Thanks Brittany Brown co-founder of Winston White, Andrea Van De Vort, founder of Van De Vort, Amy Armstrong, founder of Ash and Ky, Terry Leon, founder of SAVI STYLE, and all the other entrepreneurs in the fashion world who sent me pieces from their collections for my characters to wear and for my readers to shop.

  To my editor, Kirsten Salyer, at Refine Editing, I can’t thank you enough for carefully editing these pages and for your thoughtful suggestions for how to improve this manuscript. You were terrific to work with! I sent my cover designer, Danielle Christopher, an elaborate Pinterest board filled with inspiration and she took it all in and created the cover of my dreams. Thank you, Danielle!

  I want to thank my seventh-grade language arts teacher, Suzanne Yost, for inspiring me to want to be a writer. Thank you, Amy Wang, for taking a chance and hiring me at The Oregonian in high school after I pitched the idea for an opinion column from the perspective of a teen. I loved writing for the paper and that job gave me confidence that I could one day be a published author.

  Some people have been a part of this journey since day one.

  Aunt Betsy, thank you for making me feel like anything is possible and for always reminding me that life is about love and following our hearts. My Aunt Gwen, who passed away, loved this story since I first dreamt it up. Aunt Gwen, I wish you were here for publication day but will be looking for a rainbow in your honor. Thanks Aunt Leslie, too, for always cheering me on and telling me to call you on days I doubted myself. And thank you Taylor Thompson, for listening to me read this story out loud du
ring our travels through Europe and encouraging me to stick with it.

  My siblings, Brady and Casey Costello, have not always understood the decisions I’ve made while pursuing this dream, but they have always supported me in making them. I’m so lucky to have you as my best friends (and I think publishing a book makes me Golden Child—at least for one day!).

  And last but not least, Mom and Dad (I cried just writing your names). This book would not have been written nor would it have been published without your endless love and support. Never once, in all these years, did you question my dream. And when I questioned my own dream you continued to believe for me. This has not been an easy journey—you two know this more than anyone—but it has been such a rewarding one. And I’m so glad we found a way to share this love story with the world. I won the jackpot in the parent lottery. I love you both so much.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  RILEY COSTELLO, an Oregon native, graduated with a degree in psychology from Santa Clara University. She is a former newspaper columnist for The Oregonian and worked for years as a social media manager for various companies. Costello currently writes the popular lifestyle and fashion blog, sincerelyriley.com. Waiting at Hayden’s is her first novel.

  Website: sincerelyriley.com

  Facebook: facebook.com/rileycostelloauthor

  Instagram: @rileycostello

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  one (NOW)

  two (NOW)

  three (THEN)

  four (THEN)

  five (NOW)

  six (THEN)

  seven (NOW)

  eight (NOW)

  nine (NOW)

  ten (THEN)

  eleven (THEN)

  twelve (THEN)

  thirteen (THEN)

  fourteen (NOW)

  fifteen (THEN)

  sixteen (NOW)

  seventeen (THEN)

  eighteen (THEN)

  nineteen (THEN)

  twenty (THEN)

  twenty-one (THEN)

  twenty-two (THEN)

  twenty-three (THEN)