An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(77)

But, he does walk away.

He lets me go, his expression a mask of pain, and turns around to leave. Cal hops into the backseat of the Uber and slams the door without another glance in my direction. I watch the car pull away, the taillights curving around the corner and out of sight. My insides pitch.

I wipe more tears off my cheek with the sleeve of Cal’s jacket, then glance down at the pavement, spotting the dying cigarette. Bending over, I pick it up between my thumb and finger, noting the tiny trace of smoke rolling off the end.

Maybe Cal was right. I went about this all wrong, thinking I could keep him at arm’s length, thinking I could draw that line between friendship and something more, and neither of us would be tempted to cross it.

I was foolish and na?ve.

I was playing with fire.

And I realize now…

The hotter the flame, the faster it burns out.





Chapter 20





I wouldn’t say it’s strange to see Dante manning the front desk when I plod through the front door on Monday morning, but the sight of him, and only him, does raise an eyebrow or two. “Good morning,” I greet, hoping the forced cheer in my inflection matches the jingle of the holly berry bells above me. Glancing up at them, my heart sinks at the memory of Cal telling me of their true purpose.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Dante says, quirking a smile when his eyes lift to mine. “Do you always come in this early?”

“Usually, yes. I’m a morning person.”

“What’s that like?”

I flip my hair over my shoulder with a shrug. “Less preferable when sleep never came the night before.” I’m not a huge makeup wearer, but I’ll admit I used more than a few dabs of concealer when I woke up in order to camouflage the dark circles under my eyes. “Where’s Cal?”

“Sick,” he sniffs, leaning over the computer desk. “The flu or something.”

My insides swirl with dread. I’m more inclined to go with or something. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine. He texted me to come in early and take care of some things.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, in that flirty-but-still-professional way I’m all too familiar with.

“Oh.” The tone of my voice falters and dips, and I’m helpless to it. “I see.”

Dante’s eyes narrow studiously. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

“What?” The question takes me off guard, and my purse strap slips off my shoulder, making a clumsy trek to the lobby floor. I lean over to sweep my lip gloss and bobby pins back inside, then straighten with far less gumption. “What do you mean by that?”

“Pretty straightforward question.”

“We’re not…lovers. I’m hesitant to even call us friends,” I fluster as Cal’s tormented, betrayed expression flashes through my mind, just like it has over and over again for the past thirty-six hours. He hasn’t texted me, hasn’t called. I word-vomited a grand apology speech into his voicemail Sunday morning, but his only response was my loathsome foe: radio silence. I had to shut my phone off to avoid acting like an unhinged, jilted lover, and leaving him a thousand more messages. “Anyway, tell him I hope he feels better.”

“You can tell him, yourself,” Dante breezes, panning back to the computer screen. “I bet he’d love to hear from you.”

“I doubt that.”

He looks back up, knowingly. “I knew it. You’re fighting.” Straightening, Dante sucks on one of Ike’s lollipops that are strewn around the shop like we’re always journeying across a Candyland game board. “You sleep with him?” he inquires. “Wait, let me guess, he boned you, then didn’t call you, and now he’s too much of a pussy to face you. Fucker.”

My face flames. I start chewing on my thumbnail as I make every attempt to avoid eye contact on my way to the break room. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He’d definitely do that.”

I force back the sting of implication, sparing him a quick glance. Dante is leaning forward on his palms, his Cal’s Corner t-shirt chopped off at the sleeves, turning it into a tank. “Regardless, that’s not what happened. I’m sure he’s just sick.”

“Maybe. Weird that he’s never once called in sick to work, though. I figured it either had something to do with you, or the fact that Allanson is on the schedule today.”

I shrug. “Roy is just misunderstood.” As I move around the desk, I reach for the remote control and flip on the mini television I had Kenny install the month prior. Growing Pains shines back at me once I land on the channel I’m looking for, the laugh track posing as a jarring contrast to my mood. “I brought banana bread if you want some. It’s in the car.”

He claps his hands, swiping them together. “You’re a saint.”

After I clock in and put my purse away, I bring in the platter of banana bread and set it on the break room table. Chewing on my cheek, I whip out my cell phone and snap a picture.

Me:



Good morning. I brought you banana bread if you’re feeling better later. Get well soon :)





He reads it, and the three little dots bob to life.

Then, they vanish.

Cal never responds.