Chapter 7
E mma
“You didn’t find anything? It’s in a pink case…” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice, and the waiter gives me a sympathetic look.
“No, sorry,” he says. “Wish I could help. The couple who were sitting there just left, and they didn’t say anything about a phone.”
“Do you mind if I take a look around the table?” I ask, glancing over at the booth where I’d approached Marcus—who may or may not be an asshole, depending on his true identity.
“Sure, go ahead,” the waiter says.
I walk over to the booth, trying not to think about the man who’d sat there, but I’m not entirely successful. For some reason, my skin feels uncomfortably warm, and my breathing picks up as I picture his cool blue eyes and big hands. And if his hands are that size, how big is his—
No, stop. Focus on the phone.
With effort, I push away the graphic images flooding my mind and crouch to peer under the table.
Nothing.
I look all over the seats next.
Nothing.
Disappointment presses down on me, making my empty stomach roil with anxiety.
I didn’t see the phone on the street as I was retracing my steps, and if it’s not in the restaurant, then it’s well and truly lost. Maybe even stolen—in which case the phone-tracking app on my computer, which I was planning to check as the next step, would not help either.
Exhausted and dispirited, I trudge back to the subway. At this point, I’m almost light-headed from hunger, so I buy a banana from a street vendor—I can still afford that —and munch on it as I go down the steps to the train.
All I want is to get home, take a hot shower, and curl up with my cats.
This day is officially a disaster.
I’m never, ever using a dating app again.