Chapter 7 #2
I step back from the window, unsettled but trying not to spiral. Maybe it’s just a bar fight. Maybe someone got rowdy. That’s normal, right?
Two comes and goes. And no knock. No message.
Nothing.
By three, I’m pacing. My phone is still dark, and my robe feels less like lingerie and more like humiliation. I move to the window again, peeking out.
That’s when I see them. Will. And Missy. Inside his apartment. He’s holding her. Arms around her like she belongs there. Her head tilted up toward him. His lips are moving, like he's calming her down. Then, he crosses the room. And reaches for the curtains.
But not before his eyes meet mine. Just for a second.
Long enough to see me.
Long enough to know.
My heart cracks right in the center of my chest as his curtain slides shut, severing the moment, the connection, everything.
I stand there, frozen in the dark, wrapped in a robe meant for him, heart thudding in the hollow silence.
It wasn’t just the curtains he closed. It was the door. On me.
Slowly, I go back to my room, the silence pressing in around me like a second skin. I strip off the robe with shaking hands, folding it like it matters. Like pretending this night still had purpose will soften the sting.
I slip on my old nightshirt, the one with the worn collar and faded print, and scrub the makeup off my face. Each swipe of the cloth feels like erasing a different version of myself. The hopeful one, the daring one, the one who thought maybe this time Will would choose her.
By the time I run a brush through my hair, the tears are already falling. Not loud sobs. Nothing cinematic. Just silent, broken tears that won’t stop coming. Like grief without a name. Like mourning something that was never mine to begin with.
They soak into my pillow when I crawl into bed.
They dry in tight salt lines on my cheeks as I finally drift off, sleep offering no peace.
When I wake up, the sun is already slanting through the curtains, and my throat feels raw. My eyes are swollen. My chest still tight.
I reach for my phone without thinking.
No messages from Will.
No apology. No explanation.
Just a single message from someone else.
Trey
Hey! Want to grab dinner tonight at the bar?
I stare at it for a long time, my thumb hovering.
Can we go somewhere else? I feel like everyone was watching us last time.
The reply comes quickly.
That’s because you’re like royalty around here. But, sure! Want to go to Sheridan?
I exhale and type back.
Sheridan will be perfect.
Because it’s far enough away. Far enough that maybe, just for a little while, I can stop looking over my shoulder. Far enough to pretend I’m not still hoping for a message that isn’t coming.
I’ll pick you up at seven.
So now, my goal is simple. Avoid Will until seven. Easy-peasy.
Except by noon, I’m pacing in front of my closet, frustrated. I have clothes. Plenty, actually. But nothing I want to wear for a date. Nothing that feels like “forget-you-Will-I’m-glowing-up-and-moving-on” energy.
Which is how I find myself downstairs at Knot and Spur.
The bell jingles as I enter, and the smell of cedar and candle wax greets me like an old friend. Sherry’s behind the counter, arranging bracelets, and looks up with a bright smile.
“How’s the apartment?”
“Good,” I say, walking in. “I got the last piece of furniture delivered yesterday.”
I pause, then add carefully, “So, I’m going on a date tonight. With Trey Evans. In Sheridan.”
Her smile widens, knowing and warm. “Oh, honey. I have just the thing. Wait right here.”
She disappears into the storeroom like she’s been waiting for this moment. Like she’s got a secret stash marked for emergency heartbreaks and rebound magic only.
Just as the door swings shut behind her, the front bell jingles again.
I look up and my breath catches. Will. He looks like hell. Shirt wrinkled. Eyes shadowed. Like sleep was more of a suggestion than something he actually followed through on.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “Sherry around?”
“She’s in the back,” I manage, stiffening.
He nods, stepping inside and moving to the nearest rack, flipping through button-downs like it’s any normal day and like he didn’t pull the curtain shut on us less than twenty-four hours ago.
Part of me wants to ask if he’s looking for something for Missy. If he needs a nice shirt for whatever it is they’re pretending to be. But I don’t. Because I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Sherry returns, beaming, with a black dress draped over one arm. It’s sleek, elegant, with just enough edge to make a statement.
“Here you go, honey,” she says. “Go ahead and try it on.”
I take it, smiling. “It’s perfect, Sherry. Thanks.”
I don’t spare Will a glance.
I just turn, spine straight, and head for the dressing room. The curtain slides shut behind me with a quiet snick that somehow feels like drawing a line. Let him stand out there with his silence and his regret. Tonight, I’m putting on this dress and moving forward. Whether he watches or not.
I’ve just slipped off my clothes when the curtain slides open.
I gasp, scrambling to cover myself with the dress, but it’s too late. He’s already seen me.
Will stands frozen in the doorway, like his body moved before his brain could stop it. His eyes lock on mine, wide and full of something I don’t know how to name. Shock, regret, longing. Ruin.
My heart slams against my ribs.
“What are you doing in here?” I manage, voice barely above a whisper.
His throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes flick down for a second before jerking back up to my face, like he’s trying to undo what he saw but can’t.
“I—I didn’t mean—” he starts, but the words crumble.
And then, like a sudden shift in gravity, he takes a step back. And then another. Like the sight of me bare, vulnerable, trying to move on is too much.
“Will?” My voice cracks.
He pauses, hand tightening on the edge of the curtain. Doesn’t look at me. Just stares at the floor, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he’s drowning in something invisible.
“You’re going out with him,” he says. Not a question. Just a quiet observation, like the words themselves wound him.
“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin, even though my voice trembles. “I am.”
Silence stretches so tight I think it might snap.
“I shouldn’t have come in,” he says finally. His voice is rough. Frayed. Like he wants to say more but doesn’t trust himself to.
And then he steps back fully, the curtain falling closed between us.
I stand there, half-naked, heart racing, wondering if I just imagined the way he looked at me—
Like maybe he did want to stop me. But couldn’t.