a proposal like that.
But it wasn't the answer I gave.
I slipped the ring off my finger, set it back in the box, and
closed the lid.
In reality, the ring wasn't important to me. It was just the
sentiment I liked, the fantasy of being marked as his in a public way. The only
reason a ring would be nice was because it would keep me from having to
constantly pinch myself.
Of course, I hadn't said yes yet, and even though I wasn't sure I
felt ready, at least I knew I didn't want to say no.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd choked, that letting the
man of my dreams propose to me- twice!- and then walk out of my apartment
without a smile on his face was up there with the cruelest things I'd ever
done.
Of course, he was the one that walked out. I didn't ask him to
leave. In fact, I couldn't imagine ever asking him to leave. He was by far the
best company of anyone I'd ever met and even though I hadn’t known him long, I
knew in my guts that I would never get sick of him.
Not his jokes, not the way it felt to be around him, and not his
body.
And not his face. Never his face. I could've stared at that face all
day every day and hung on its every movement.
Speaking of which, I wondered what kind of face he was making now.
Hopefully he wasn't angry with me. Hopefully he understood.
Hopefully, when I finally gave him my answer, we could celebrate just as fully
as if I'd gotten it right the first time around.
But only time would tell.
I looked at the clock. It was over six hours since he'd left.
Did my asking for time mean we couldn't have dinner again?
Perhaps.
After all, his question would be like an elephant in the room. It
would have to be addressed or dealt with or kept at bay somehow.
I tried to imagine myself in his shoes.
I was glad I wasn't in them. If I asked someone to marry me and
they didn't say yes right away, I think I'd feel an overwhelming urge to be
sick more than anything. In fact, that urge probably wouldn't go away until the
situation was sorted.
And I hated the thought that I might have hurt his feelings or
made him doubt my feelings for him.
Especially because I didn't doubt them. It was my ability to make
decisions that I doubted, the quality of my judgement that worried me.
Follow your heart.
Every time the thought crossed my mind I realized that if I
followed my heart, it would lead me straight back into Jack's arms. That was
the place where I felt safest, happiest, and most optimistic.
In fact, I wished I was wrapped in them right now.
And it was my fault that I wasn't.
I had to make things right.
The sooner I put us both out of our misery the sooner I could be
back at his side where I wanted to be, running my fingers through his coarse
blond hair and kissing him on that magic mouth of his.
I sighed.
Initially, I thought this was going to go down as the least
productive day of my adult life, but if coming to terms with my feelings for
Jack was all I got done, it was actually closer to being the most productive. Or
at least, the most important.
I slid behind my desk and did a quick search on my laptop for The
Drake. When the homepage popped up, I copied the number directly into my phone.
"Thank you for calling The Drake. How may I help you?" a
warm voice said.
"Hello," I said, clearing my throat. "I was
wondering if you could connect me with one of your guests."
"Certainly," she said. "What's the name?"
"Jack Quinn, please."
"One moment."
Her typing was so loud she must've set the phone down beside the
keyboard.
"I'm sorry," she said. "There doesn't appear to be
anyone by that name staying with us."
My brows clashed together. "I'm sure he's there," I
said. "He would've checked in yesterday. Would you mind checking
again?"
Her fingers punished the keyboard once more.
"Oh yes," she said. "You're right."
I let out the breath I was holding.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Quinn checked out
But it wasn't the answer I gave.
I slipped the ring off my finger, set it back in the box, and
closed the lid.
In reality, the ring wasn't important to me. It was just the
sentiment I liked, the fantasy of being marked as his in a public way. The only
reason a ring would be nice was because it would keep me from having to
constantly pinch myself.
Of course, I hadn't said yes yet, and even though I wasn't sure I
felt ready, at least I knew I didn't want to say no.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd choked, that letting the
man of my dreams propose to me- twice!- and then walk out of my apartment
without a smile on his face was up there with the cruelest things I'd ever
done.
Of course, he was the one that walked out. I didn't ask him to
leave. In fact, I couldn't imagine ever asking him to leave. He was by far the
best company of anyone I'd ever met and even though I hadn’t known him long, I
knew in my guts that I would never get sick of him.
Not his jokes, not the way it felt to be around him, and not his
body.
And not his face. Never his face. I could've stared at that face all
day every day and hung on its every movement.
Speaking of which, I wondered what kind of face he was making now.
Hopefully he wasn't angry with me. Hopefully he understood.
Hopefully, when I finally gave him my answer, we could celebrate just as fully
as if I'd gotten it right the first time around.
But only time would tell.
I looked at the clock. It was over six hours since he'd left.
Did my asking for time mean we couldn't have dinner again?
Perhaps.
After all, his question would be like an elephant in the room. It
would have to be addressed or dealt with or kept at bay somehow.
I tried to imagine myself in his shoes.
I was glad I wasn't in them. If I asked someone to marry me and
they didn't say yes right away, I think I'd feel an overwhelming urge to be
sick more than anything. In fact, that urge probably wouldn't go away until the
situation was sorted.
And I hated the thought that I might have hurt his feelings or
made him doubt my feelings for him.
Especially because I didn't doubt them. It was my ability to make
decisions that I doubted, the quality of my judgement that worried me.
Follow your heart.
Every time the thought crossed my mind I realized that if I
followed my heart, it would lead me straight back into Jack's arms. That was
the place where I felt safest, happiest, and most optimistic.
In fact, I wished I was wrapped in them right now.
And it was my fault that I wasn't.
I had to make things right.
The sooner I put us both out of our misery the sooner I could be
back at his side where I wanted to be, running my fingers through his coarse
blond hair and kissing him on that magic mouth of his.
I sighed.
Initially, I thought this was going to go down as the least
productive day of my adult life, but if coming to terms with my feelings for
Jack was all I got done, it was actually closer to being the most productive. Or
at least, the most important.
I slid behind my desk and did a quick search on my laptop for The
Drake. When the homepage popped up, I copied the number directly into my phone.
"Thank you for calling The Drake. How may I help you?" a
warm voice said.
"Hello," I said, clearing my throat. "I was
wondering if you could connect me with one of your guests."
"Certainly," she said. "What's the name?"
"Jack Quinn, please."
"One moment."
Her typing was so loud she must've set the phone down beside the
keyboard.
"I'm sorry," she said. "There doesn't appear to be
anyone by that name staying with us."
My brows clashed together. "I'm sure he's there," I
said. "He would've checked in yesterday. Would you mind checking
again?"
Her fingers punished the keyboard once more.
"Oh yes," she said. "You're right."
I let out the breath I was holding.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Quinn checked out
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