Third Time's a Charm (Holland Springs #3)(42)

“Just this once,” she said to her reflection and smiled, taking off the necklace before she lost her nerve. After placing it in her jewelry box, she left her room.

She practically glided down the stairs and floated across the hardwood, ultimately deciding to wait for him in the small living room. She glanced at the clock over the mantle. Twenty minutes until seven. No reason to panic or get upset.

Seven was a lucky number and people went on dates at seven. Even Jason hadn’t picked her up until after seven.

She grabbed the remote and after turning on the television, clicked through all nine channels only to find nothing on. Blackbeard wandered in and out of the room, meowing plaintively until Rose took pity on him and picked him up. “I was trying to not get cat hair on me,” she scolded as the cat made himself at home in her lap and purred.

Minutes turned to half hours as Rose waited. Half hours to hours. Each subsequent tick of the clock making her heart beat faster until she had to stand up and pace the room. She carried Blackbeard in her arms, lowering her head and rubbing her cheek against his soft fur every so often.

By nine o’clock her stomach felt funny—not exactly butterflies and not exactly cramps. Maybe he’d gotten in a car accident. Maybe he’d gotten abducted by aliens. Maybe the aliens ran over him with their spaceship. She sat back down and checked the stations for any breaking news of a hot British guy being kidnapped by horny women.

Nothing.

Again she stood, dumping Blackbeard out of her lap, and started for the phone. Pride made her stop and sit back down. She apologized to the unforgiving cat who ran out of the room with his tail standing straight up.

At ten-fifteen, she thought she heard a car pull into the driveway and ran to the front door, flinging it wide open. A sharp retort and a kiss ready for her very fashionably late date. But the driveway was empty. Slowly, she shut the heavy door and locked it, trudging up the grand staircase. Her shoulders drooped and her eyes stung, but she refused to cry.

The words I told you so ran through her mind as the ghosts of every Poppy Holland before her watched with sympathetic eyes as she entered her bedroom.

Her earrings were the first to come off, making a little pinging noise as they hit the interior of the heart-shaped bowl. The boots were thrown into Summer’s old room as she made her way to the bathroom. She scrubbed at her face, removing all traces of date night Rose. All traces of an excited woman until nothing but plain humiliation remained.

Despite wanting to rip the dress to shreds, she carefully placed it into the back of the closet, where it couldn’t mock her. The never worn before turquoise satin bra and matching panties were traded for boy-cut briefs and a faded nightgown.

Saving her necklace for last, she opened her jewelry box and carefully pulled it out. It gleamed in the moonlight. As she fastened it around her neck, her throat thickened.

Walking over to the bed, she climbed on the mattress and curled into a little ball in the middle of her bed, staring at the night sky through the French doors. Her star winked as unchecked tears slid down her cheeks. She’d been so stupid to wish upon it last night. So childish.

So…hopeful.

With a heavy sigh, she reached down and tugged the quilts to her chest, and closed her eyes. Sleep couldn’t come fast enough.

***

In fact sleep didn’t come at all. So, she got up, changed her clothes and headed to the basement to begin filling the order for Barbara’s Bugs.

Around five in the morning, she trudged through the kitchen, flicking her sleepy eyes at the phone. He could have called while she’d been gone yesterday. Maybe she should’ve bought an answering machine, but for the odd telemarketer, her phone never rang. As for her cell, it was five years old with sketchy service, had no data plan and was for emergencies only. She’d never seen a reason to give him her number—not until now.

There was so much she still had to do. So many chores that needed to be done, but she was bone tired. Never had it taken so long to go up the stairs. Never had her house felt so empty, so quiet. She missed Ivy. She missed her sisters. She missed…Sasha.

Before she knew what she was doing, Rose found herself at his door. Pressing her hand against it, she closed her eyes and listened for the sounds of him breathing. Of him muttering in his sleep about people not listening to his fashion advice and Paula Dean’s cooking. But it was all in vain. He wasn’t here.

Blackbeard brushed her legs and rubbed against the door. It opened a crack and the cat slipped inside. She pushed it open further and watched the fickle creature jump on the bed, circle around twice and meow. The cat stretched, claws extended, and kneaded the bed covers before settling down in the middle. Rose wanted to crawl in there with him, breathe in the scent of Sasha’s ridiculously expensive cologne.

If Sasha came home today with a really good explanation (and some cheesecake), maybe just maybe she would forgive him. Maybe allow him to make it up to her. But after a nap and by six that afternoon, Rose knew he wasn’t coming back today either.

Rather than mope around, she threw herself into her work again, only stopping to eat and catch a few hours of sleep. With each label she printed out, her heart grew lighter. This was what she’d been taught to do since she was old enough to help out. This was going to let her keep her house and her business. Her life.

Twice Tempted, one read. Another, Four Ways to Keep Your Lover. Two silly little titles, but her customers loved them. Privately, she’d always thought they were sweet. After all, she’d been the one to make them up. Her absolute favorite was tucked away in an old spice chest, one that the first Poppy Holland had brought with her to the New World. Flowery script labeled the small crystal jar Third Time’s a Charm. Out of habit she dabbed the jasmine-scented fragrance behind her ears with the delicate stopper. Just as every Poppy Holland had done before her.