The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(94)

He was really gone.

He had actually left.

To everyone else in the bar it probably looked as though I had just bumped into a celebrity, and like any star-struck American obsessively continued to stare at him as he walked out. In fact, upon following my unwavering gaze, some of the other bar clientele turned curiously and watched Daniel leave as well, wondering why they hadn't recognized him as someone famous when he walked in.

But I knew quite well that Daniel Miller was nobody famous. You wouldn't see him on the front page of Us Weekly magazine, or even on some random page in the middle. You wouldn't catch a thirty-second blurb about him on the next edition of Access Hollywood, and you certainly wouldn't hear him plugging his latest album or blockbuster movie on one of L.A.'s top radio stations.

But after tonight, Daniel Miller would now and forever be a celebrity in my mind.



WHEN I got home the first thing I did was run to my nightstand. And when I say "run," I mean it. I literally threw my bag down on the sofa and raced across the living room and into the bedroom like a child running outside to catch the ice cream truck. I knelt down beside my nightstand, and with the same anticipation and excitement normally reserved for Christmas morning, I opened the bottom drawer and removed the box.

I held it in my hands, stroking the soft wood with my fingertips.

This was my timeless moment. The equivalent of hearing the song that's been stuck in your head all day suddenly come on the radio, your favorite food listed on the specials board of a restaurant, the accomplishment of fitting the last puzzle piece, the exhilaration of the first kiss, the smell and touch of hot laundry, fresh from the dryer, the quiet peacefulness of three A.M.... all wrapped up into this one little, seemingly insignificant box.

The only thing I held sacred.

I removed the key from the velvet lining in the drawer and turned the lock.

This time, I didn't just look. Because this time would be one of those rare moments when I would actually be able to do more than look.

When I would be able to contribute.

I reached inside the box and pulled out a small piece of paper and a black fountain pen.

This was my list.

It had exactly nine names on it. I read them aloud slowly one by one as I ran my fingertips over each. And then I rested the piece of paper against the top of the box, pulled the cap off the pen, and delicately wrote the name Daniel Miller at the bottom of the list.

Daniel was my number 10.

The tenth reason to believe that love is possible, despite everything else that goes on in the world.

Despite the thousands upon thousands of reasons not to.

And I had a feeling...it was exactly what I needed right now.

The pen had cost me five hundred dollars. I bought it in one of those fancy stores that sells pens to business executives who would later gift them to special clients and employees. I had never in a million years thought I would ever spend five hundred dollars on a pen. Or even step into a store like that. But I felt that it was appropriate, given the nature of this ceremony.

Needless to say, there was still a lot of ink left in it.

After taking a few moments to bask in the initial glory of the newest name that would now run through my head at least five times a day during my internal battle of good versus evil, I strolled back into the living room, giddy as a lovesick schoolgirl, and picked up my bag from the sofa where I had hastily flung it on my way in. I fished out my unused black inspection card and stared at it. If I were a lovesick schoolgirl, then this would be the forbidden love letter passed to me during second period.

I opened the trash compactor in the kitchen, took one last glance at the card, and silently ripped it into as many pieces as I physically could. And then I watched them fall gracefully into the garbage, like a rainstorm of broken doubt.

And in slow motion they came to rest on top of an empty cereal box and a banana peel.

Exactly where they belonged.

I slid the trash compactor closed and flipped the switch. It came to life with a soft hum as it started on its only quest in life – to compress all trash into one unrecognizable lump of waste.

I returned to my bedroom and changed out of my work attire and into the comfort of my Victoria's Secret pink silky pajamas. I liked the way they felt on my skin. And deep down inside, beneath the fear, beneath the anxiety, beneath all the other garbage I had compacted over the years, I suddenly felt very good about the world around me.





22

Do Over


IN MY adult life I could only recall a handful of times when I would actually go as far as to define my current state as one of "exhilaration." For me, that kind of euphoria was usually observed in others and not normally experienced firsthand.

This morning was one of those rare moments when I was... dare I say it... happy.

Daniel Miller was my first "pass" in over two months, and that was cause for celebration. Well, not a real celebration. Like with champagne and those little paper coil things that expand when you blow into them. A little personal celebration, in my head.

I poured myself a large bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and plopped down on the couch to enjoy my carb-o-licious breakfast. As I crunched on a spoonful of honey-sweetened Os, my feet on the coffee table, the bright, warm sunshine seeping in through my white satin curtains, I felt like I was in a cereal commercial.

With the help of this nutritious breakfast, I was ready to take on the world.