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Because he isn’t here. And he may not show up at all. There’s your clue, Amber. Open your damn eyes.
I glance again at my watch.
Kayla left an hour ago, and Ev is going with Micah. Stupid that I counted on Jesse to keep his word. A heartbreaker. A skirt chaser. Stupid that I counted on anyone at all.
Don’t rely on others. Stand on your own two feet. Don’t show weakness. How could I forget my lessons?
Be strong and face your fears. The wedding reception will suck, but you won’t die from it. And then it will be over, and you’ll have survived.
I wander away from the mirror, pushing back irritably a lock of dark hair that has escaped my chignon and is trailing on my cheek. Showing weakness is the best way to get hurt again. On top of that, I told him about my fears, touched him, kissed him, had sex with him.
Oh God… Haven’t I learned anything?
I grab the lion pendant from the wall and sink on my bed, letting it roll on my palm, cool and hard.
Embers. A lost toy. A lost childhood.
He should have this, I think, and the thought wheels through my mind, gathering momentum.
I’ll give it to him. Even if he never comes to pick me up, even if this was all we had. Because he’s still battling demons, and he should have something to hold on to, something to give him strength.
Yeah, if I see him again. Would passing by his apartment to drop the pendant off look weird?
I put the pendant into my purse, undecided. In any case, it’s way past time to leave, and he’s not here. Throttling the disappointment swelling in my chest, I make up my mind to stop wondering and waiting and fretting. I’ll grab a cab and go.
See? I’m a big girl.
I’m already on my feet, my purse slung over my shoulder and my wedding gift in my
hands—a set of cute baby clothes I bought for Asher’s and Audrey’s son—when the door buzzer goes off. It’s one of those annoying ding-dong sounds.
Frozen like a deer in headlights, I swallow hard.
Can’t be him. Maybe Kayla forgot something. Or it’s a mistake.
Don’t get your hopes up, girl. He isn’t coming.
And if it’s him?
Dropping my purse on the sofa, I walk as if through water to the door phone and press the button, excited and dreading.
“Who is it?”
“Embers, it’s me, Jesse,” his warm voice says over the speaker. “Look, I know I’m kinda late… There was something I had to take care of, but I’m here now. Let me in?”
Heat spreads down my neck, and I realize I’m smiling.
Oh dear baby Jesus. I need to stop this right now.
I buzz him up without answering, not trusting my voice. I pat my heated cheeks, wonder if I have time to splash some cold water on my face before he comes up—but he’s knocking on my door after what feels like a nanosecond.
Okay, here goes.
I open the door and find him lounging against the doorjamb, that familiar, sexy grin in place. He’s not wearing his baseball cap, and that’s my last conscious thought before my mind goes blank and heat seeps into every part of me.
Wow. Holy crap.
In his new metallic blue shirt that makes his eyes sparkle like shards of topaz, in dark pants and black shoes, he’s drop-dead gorgeous—more gorgeous than any guy has any right to be. So unfair. How can I keep my distance now?
