Chapter 6
Laine
The video of the guy lashing out at me has gone viral. Some woman trying to become an influencer on coffee spots was recording a segment about her order when it happened. She released the video, and it spiraled from there. It’s been two weeks, and it’s still all over the internet.
The company has paid me for the shifts I missed while I was out on medical leave, but I can’t wait to go back to work. The police reached out about pressing charges, but I declined. That might be a mistake, but I just want this all behind me. I already need something that gets me away from obsessing about this online, even if it is Steaming Mugs.
Trish: I found a new version of your incident. It’s set to music this time.
Me: Please don’t share it with me. I’m hearing from everyone I’ve ever known. Most people want to know if I’m working on an undercover story at Steaming Mugs. HR has called several times. They’re worried I’m going to sue.
Trish: You’re the woman of the week! I’m bringing chocolate over. And you should sue…
Me: I’m on my way to do something. Can I catch up with you tomorrow?
Trish: Sure.
Me: Never mind, Phillip is back, right? Next week definitely.
Trish: I can meet you tomorrow. I can’t be available to him all the time.
I roll my eyes. Phillip called Trish every day that week while he was out of town, and that made her so happy. I think they’ve been mostly inseparable since. She deserves this. And if Phillip is a jerk to her, Paisley has given me permission to cut his dick off. She’s also open to cutting Jack’s dick off if I give her the go-ahead.
Jack . I pull out my jewelry box again. The engagement ring sits in its original wooden box on a pillow of red velvet.
We flew in his plane up north and stayed at a friend’s cabin on a lake. A snowstorm came in, and we spent our time by the fire, away from our phones and email. We’d just made love, and I thought he was reaching for his water, but instead, he pulled this box out of his jacket pocket.
I remember exactly what he said. “ Laine, since we met, my life has been filled with an incredible joy. Your beauty, both inside and out, has captivated my heart.
“Laine, will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife? Will you join me on a lifelong journey of love, laughter, and shared dreams? I love you more than words can express. Will you make me the happiest person in the world and say yes?”
I put the engagement ring on again. I tried to give it back to him. “Keep it,” was all he said, and then I stared at his back as he walked away. But what am I going to do with an engagement ring? I have to stop getting it out and staring at it. He should have it back, whether he wants it or not. We’re done. There’s nothing left for us to share. I need to make sure I remember that always.
With a heavy heart, I walk over to Jack’s apartment and ring the bell. He usually plays golf with his friends on Friday afternoons, so I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. I pull my keys from my coat pocket and use my old key to open the door to his apartment.
When I’m standing inside, I try not to realize how much I miss this place. The framed photos of us and our adventures are gone. I need to remember why I’ve come and get this over with. The only way I’m going to put Jack Drake in my rearview mirror is to give him back his ring.
Last night, I wrote a bunch of different notes to leave with the ring, but they all sounded optimistic, like I wanted him back. A part of me may want those things, but he’s not the man I thought he was. If we can’t even talk when something goes wrong between us, what kind of life would we have together? It makes me so sad.
I draw in a deep breath. This place smells like him—orange spice and sandalwood. His house is spotless, as it always was. I walk into his room, and the bed is made. The only proof that he lives here is his open closet door. I can see an overflowing laundry basket. His housekeeper comes on Monday.
I admire the ring one last time and set it carefully on his bedside table. There’s no need for a note. He’ll know it’s from me.
Tears sting my eyes as I walk out of his apartment. I leave the key with the doorman and walk out of the building for the last time.
As I walk down the sidewalk to my afternoon/evening shift at Steaming Mugs, I really hope my return to work is uneventful. I should knock on wood or something because I believe the universe owes me. It’s kicked me in the teeth enough this month.
I arrive and get started on the register, and for the most part, my shift goes by without issue. My new teammates are excited that a video of our store has gone viral. It’s increased foot traffic, and the asshole who threw coffee at me has not returned for his “usual.”
After standing for eight hours, I walk home and crawl into bed, completely exhausted. Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, near midnight, my phone pings.
Jack: What the hell were you doing in my apartment? I have you on camera. I could take it to the police. The locks will be changed tomorrow. If I ever catch you in my apartment again, I will prosecute you for trespassing.
Me: Check your bedside table. Goodbye, Jack.
I turn my phone off and the tears fall. Every part of my life feels unstable. I can’t really call myself a reporter. I don’t have a fiancé. I’m not even sure who I am at this point.