CHAPTER
1
Dillon Michaels was fed up—but it wasn’t with dinner. In fact, she was ravenous. And Brandon was late. Again. Dillon hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but her appetite wasn’t simply a desire for food. Despite the tantalizing aroma of mussels and garlic from her favorite house special, cozze in padella, Dillon realized she longed for something more . . . something intangible.
“Will your date be here soon?” the waiter asked—for the third time.
“I hope so.” Dillon forced a smile while she reached for her phone. As the waiter refilled her water glass, Dillon grimaced to see the time. “I’ll text him again,” she muttered. Too embarrassed to look up, she shot Brandon her fifth message.
WHERE R U?
But what she really wanted to say was, Why are you ALWAYS late?
Of course, that raised another question: Why do I always put up with it? She set her phone down, trying to relax as she sipped her water. She was well aware that Brandon was a pro at concocting plausible excuses. But why did she automatically accept them? Why didn’t she believe she deserved better than this? Dillon glanced around the restaurant’s crowded patio. Other couples and families visited congenially, enjoying this unexpectedly warm evening in Colorado Springs. And seated among cheery flower boxes and merry strings of lights at DeMarco’s was the perfect place to celebrate the start of summer. Such a happy scene . . . but Dillon’s frustration was quickly turning to fury, bubbling straight to the surface.
She’d had enough. Snatching up her things, she stood and laid a small tip on the table, signaling the waiter that she was leaving. And seeing relief in his eyes, she ducked her head and hurried out of the popular Italian restaurant. She was nearly to the parking lot when she heard Brandon call her name. With her cheeks still warm from embarrassment, she turned to face him.
“Where are you going?” He frowned. “I thought you made the reservation for—”
“I made the reservation for 6:45,” she shot back. “It is now 7:35 and I am going home—thank you very much.”
“But what about our table, Dillon?” He gave her his feel-sorry-for-me look. “What about dinner? What about me?”
“What about you?” She glared back at him, bracing herself for a showdown. “I’ve had it, Brandon. I’m done waiting on you and—”
“But I couldn’t help it. I was—”
“Save your breath, Brandon. You know this happens all the time. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be the one waiting and waiting and waiting? Why is it that you are never on time? Never!”
“I’m really sorry, Dillon. But I was tied up with a client and we had to get the deal wrapped up before the weekend and it—”
“Yes, that’s what I thought you’d say.” She took a deep calming breath. “And I’m sorry for sounding so angry right now. But I just can’t do this anymore—”
“Do what?” he demanded.
“This.” She wildly waved her arms as if that explained everything. “I’m done, Brandon. I’m not going to keep waiting for you. I’m moving on. I’m finished with you.”
“Oh, Dillon.” His tone turned placating. “You’re hungry and tired. It’s been a long, hard week at work and you just need a nice evening of—”
“No!” She held her palms toward him. “I’m finished, Brandon. I mean it. Don’t try to talk me out of—”
“Fine,” he snapped. “If that’s how you want it. Fine!” He turned, and she could tell by the way he clomped the heels of his good calfskin loafers, he was vexed. But she really didn’t care. She’d meant what she said. She was done with him—finito!
But as she got into her car, she felt a mix of conflicting emotions. On one hand and to her surprise, she was relieved—how incredibly freeing to put an end to a two-year relationship that appeared to be destined for nowhere. On the other hand, she felt a shaky sense of uneasiness. What had she just done? What if she woke up tomorrow morning and regretted this? What if she had to eat her words? To beg his forgiveness . . .
As she drove home, Dillon had no doubts that multitudes of women would consider Brandon a great catch. And maybe he was—if anyone could actually catch him. Good luck! Sure, he was good-looking, had a decent job, was responsible, owned his condo unit, drove a nice car, and even went to church. But Mr. Perfect was afraid of commitment. How many times had he told her that very thing—acting as if she were the key to unlock that door? But she didn’t want to wait ten years for it!
Dillon would turn thirty-four this summer. And although she’d never confess it, she could hear her biological clock ticking faster and faster each year. She knew this was a by-product of being an only child with a single mom. Since girlhood, Dillon had dreamed of becoming a wife and mother . . . someday. But someday just got farther and farther away. And even if she couldn’t admit her outdated fantasy out loud, she couldn’t deny it either. Not to herself.
As Dillon parked in her apartment complex lot, she couldn’t help but notice how many spaces were vacant tonight. Tenants were probably relishing the beginning of a summery weekend. Maybe her roommates would be out too. Dillon hoped so. Right now she just wanted to be alone—a pity party of one. As she headed for the apartment, she realized Brandon had been right about a couple things. She was worn out from a long, hard week—and she was hungry too. Microwaved lasagna wasn’t the same as mussels and pesto pasta, but it would do in a pinch. Fortunately, she’d stocked up on Lean Cuisine a few days ago.
Dillon heard music as she unlocked the apartment door. That probably meant that Reba was home tonight. Hopefully her boyfriend wasn’t here too. Dillon never knew what to expect from her roommates. They were best friends and she was always the odd one out. It was a good setup a few years ago when she’d gotten a job with the software company. Cheap rent and close to work. But she’d never planned to stay this long.
“You’re home.” Reba sounded disappointed. “I thought you were on your standard Friday night date with Brandon Kranze.”
“I thought so too.” Dillon dumped her bags into a chair then quickly explained about the impromptu breakup.
“You’re kidding!” Reba’s eyes grew wide. “I thought you guys were about to get engaged.”
Dillon shrugged. “I guess I thought so too . . . or I used to. But I gave myself a serious reality check tonight. Brandon has no interest in marriage.”
Reba’s brows arched. “Well, I’m hoping that Jarrod does.” She pointed to the clock on the stove. “And he’ll be here in a few minutes. He’s bringing pizza and we planned to watch a movie.”
“Oh . . . nice.” Dillon opened the freezer part of the fridge. “I’ll just nuke some dinner and lay low in my room.” She poked around, looking for her frozen meals, but only saw a half-empty carton of licorice ice cream, a crusty bag of mixed vegetables, and a frost-covered guinea hen that had been there since Christmas. “Hey, what happened to my Lean Cuisine meals?” she asked Reba.
“Val started her swimsuit diet this week.” Reba chuckled. “She probably ate them.”