Nights With Parker (23 page)

“Good job everyone. I’ll see you all Thursday,” the instructor calls out when the class comes to an end.

I don’t wait around to talk to anyone because I’m not in that kind of mood today. Grabbing my things, I rush to the parking lot and get in my car and out of there as quickly as possible.

These past months have been some of the hardest of my life. One minute, I was the happiest I’d ever been, and the next, the rug was pulled out from underneath me. A simple note left behind in a hotel room shattered my heart irrevocably. After searching for Oliver all over the hotel with no luck, I went back upstairs to the room we’d shared. I walked in to find a shattered lamp, his luggage gone, and a note that gave away nothing. No explanation and no clue as to why he would walk away from me the way he did. Just a half-assed and unnecessary apology.

I must have called him a hundred times that night. My heart pounding in my chest, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, and my silent prayers that it had all just been a misunderstanding. It wasn’t. And after spending hours in that empty room wondering what had gone wrong, all I could do was change out of my dress, grab my bags, and get as far away from that hotel as I could. I spent the entire night alone and crying in my room, thankful my mom happened to be out for the evening. I didn’t have it in me to give her any explanations, especially since I didn’t have them myself. When I finally did get around to telling her what had happened, it took a lot of convincing for her not to quit her job. She said she didn’t want to work for a man who could break my heart so easily.

Those first few days, I barely got out of my bed. I couldn’t. I was heartbroken, and that kind of despair is indescribable. It’s crippling, debilitating, and nothing and no one could have helped me through that. No one except for Oliver, the one person who had the power to make things right again. But it never happened. He didn’t come back, call, text, email, nothing. No contact, no real reason why.

Now, six months have passed, and though I’m functioning, the pain is still there. The hollow feeling that Oliver left behind hasn’t been filled. I don’t believe it ever will be. It’s just as real today as it was then. I had to move on, though; there was no other choice. After a week of crying, I got out of bed, went to the admissions office at the culinary school, and begged them to let me into an earlier session. I knew that the only way for me start to heal again would be to do something that would take my mind off Oliver. Now, the culinary program is about to end, and I’m still just as heartbroken as I was when I started.

Every day, I wonder about Oliver. Every. Single. Day. It takes all I have not to pick up the phone and try just one more time to call him, to get through to him, to find the closure that I’m sure I’ll never get. Did he go to London without me? Is he back in New York? Still working for his father? Is he in love with someone else? These types of questions that drive me crazy, they torment me and keep me awake at night. I’ll probably never find peace where Oliver Parker is concerned.

My phone chimes with the familiar sound of a text message coming through. I come to a red light and quickly check my phone.

Mom: Meet me for lunch at 125 East Broughton Street - 12:30

I glance at the clock on the dashboard and shake my head in annoyance. She gave me a whole ten minutes to get to a location that will probably take me twenty minutes to get to.

Me: On my way.

I head downtown, thankful traffic is light today, and I’m able to get to the address Mom gave me in under fifteen minutes. Parking my car around the corner, I walk up the street trying to find the restaurant. I look at the street numbers in confusion. There’s an old hotel on the corner, some eateries, and shops, but 125 looks empty. I send Mom a text to verify the address, and she confirms that I have the right place and instructs me to go inside.

What the hell?

I approach the building, pull the door open, and walk in. Taking a look around, I see that my suspicions are confirmed. It’s empty, no signs of life, nothing.

“Hello?” I call, taking a few steps in.

“Mom?” I call, but there’s no response. I turn around to face the exit, looking out on the street to see if maybe she’s outside, but there’s no sign of her.

“Riley.” At the sound of my name, my entire body freezes. The deep tone of his voice strikes me like lightning. I know it. I’d know it anywhere. I’ve been dreaming of this voice for six long months.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to become unstuck, slowly turning around until we’re face to face. He’s right there, within reaching distance. His hair is shorter than I remember, but he has the same soft stubble on his face and perfectly tailored suit. The only thing that’s missing is his confidence. He looks unsure of himself, nervous, scared even. I don’t worry about that, though, because I can’t get my thoughts in order.

For the briefest of moments, I’m happy to see him. He looks so good, and he appears to be okay. I want to run to him, throw myself into his arms, and pepper his perfect face with kisses. Then I realize that something’s not right, and it’s me, not him. My reaction is wrong. He’s standing there looking completely intact, handsome, and all right. The same man who left me with no word, and he’s standing across from me as if nothing ever happened.

That happiness is quickly replaced with fury, so much so that it’s nearly blinding. I will not stand here and break down for him to witness. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I just stare at him with what I’m sure is an obvious amount of loathing on my face. He gets it; I know he does because he looks down, breaks eye contact, and lets out a sigh.

“Say something,” he says when he finally looks up at me again.

“Blackmail any poor unsuspecting women lately?”

“Riley.” He says my name softly, remorsefully, but I don’t care. He hurt me, and now, I don’t really have it in me to spare his feelings.

“Did you fall and hit your head? Were you in a coma somewhere? Temporary amnesia? Catatonia?”

“I can see you’re angry,” he says, taking a step closer.

“You can see I’m angry? You can see that I’m fucking angry?” My voice rises with every word I speak. “Are you for real right now? Did you seriously just say that?” I’m rambling; I know I’m not making any sense right now. I’ve never felt so out of control in my whole life. I’m barely keeping it together.

“I just need a minute to talk to you. To explain I ...” he says, but I interrupt him not wanting to hear what he has to tell me.

“I don’t want your explanation. I don’t need your contrived and fucking false explanation. What I need you to do is disappear again because that’s what you’re good at, but this time, do me a favor and stay gone,” I yell, at the same time turning on the balls of my feet and marching toward the exit. I almost make it too. Almost. His strong hand grips my bicep pulling me with enough force to swing me back around to smack right into him. The feel of him against me, touching me, is too much for me; one touch is all it takes to muddle my head.

“Let me go,” I scream.

“No,” he barks through gritted teeth.

“Oliver, let me go before I scream.”

“You’re already fucking screaming. Calm down and let me talk to you,” he demands, his nostrils flaring. We’re in a standoff, and I hate him. I hate the way he’s looking at me, with anger, and remorse, with greed and lust. I know those looks on him, all of them. I’m familiar with every single one. “Please?” he asks softly, loosening his hold on me.

I slump my shoulders in defeat because I’m tired. I’m so exhausted from fighting. Fighting with Oliver, fighting with myself, trying to get my life back in order after he left it in upheaval. “Why are you here? What is it that you want?”

“Mostly, I want to show you this place.”

“Why?” I ask looking up and around again. For the first time, it registers in my mind that my mother is nowhere to be found. “Where’s my mom?”

I get a sheepish grin from him and a shrug. “I asked her if she’d get you here for me. I knew you wouldn’t come if I asked you.”

“What’d you do, threaten her job again?” I ask seriously.

“What? No.” He looks hurt that I would suggest it, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I know all too well that when Oliver wants something, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it. “I asked her, and she did it.”

“Well, then she’s a fucking traitor too.” I make a mental note to call my mother the minute I step foot outside of this building. We have to have a serious conversation about where her loyalties lie.

“She’s not—”

“Why am I here? What is this place?” I push. I need to get this over and done with; let Oliver say what he needs to say so that I can get as far away from him as possible.

“It’s yours,” he says, and my eyes go back to his in shock. I tilt my head in confusion. Did he just say that this place is mine? I couldn’t have heard him right. I must have misunderstood.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

“I said it’s yours, Riley. I bought it for you,” he confirms, and I’m momentarily at a loss for words. He’s sitting here after months of being absent from my life and acts as though he still has a place there.

“You did what? Why …”

“Because I thought it would be the perfect spot for your bakery.”

“I don’t have a bakery.”

“But you can,” he suggests hopefully. “You can have what you want; you should have what you want.”

“You have some nerve,” I say because the only thing I wanted was him. He had the power to make me happy, and he treated me like I didn’t matter. “You left me with no goodbye, no explanation, and cut off all contact with me for six months. And now you think you can come back here and offer me a fucking bakery as a what? A peace offering?”

“I can explain what happened if you’d just—”

“I’d tell you what you can do with your explanation,” I say, yanking my arm out of his hand, “but I’m a fucking lady.” With that, I turn around and head for the door again.

“Riley, please.” He calls after me, but I don’t stop. When I hit the street, I take off, running as quickly as I can and not stopping until I reach my car. Getting in, I turn on the ignition and check the mirrors for oncoming traffic. When the coast is clear, I pull out onto the road. I make it home in record time, not bothering to call my mother, not bothering to do anything except lock myself in my room and lose the little bit of control I had been holding onto.

OLIVER

That didn’t go over as well as I’d planned. I must have played that scenario out in my head one hundred times, and in the end, Riley always jumped into my arms, kissed me, and told me how much she’d missed me. I think I may have been a little too optimistic.

After being in London for a few weeks, alone and miserable, and a handful of in-depth conversations with my mom, I realized that I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I wanted to come back, I did, but I needed to get my head straight. So I focused on renovating the hotel in London and sought help from a therapist there to help me deal with some of the issues I had been struggling with. The pressure from my father to be more like him, the fear that his abusive tendencies were an inherited trait. It took me a while, but I finally started to understand that I am not another version of my father. I get to choose my own path in life, and I can break that pattern of violence that began with him.

I finished the London hotel in three months, and the minute I was done, I hopped the first plane to Savannah. I went to Riley’s house, but her mother answered the door when I showed up that day. She had a few choice words for me, and I stood there and listened to them all because I deserved them. Afterward, she let me explain to her what had happened. What had prompted me to walk away from Riley the way that I did? I told her about therapy, that I was in a much better place, and that I wanted to do right by her daughter.

She told me that Riley wasn’t in the best place emotionally because of me, that she took me leaving badly and was just starting to come out of it. After explaining to me that Riley was almost halfway done with her culinary program and that it might be detrimental to her if I came back at that point in time, she suggested that I give her some space to follow her dream and finish school. I could take that time and figure out if a life with Riley was what I really wanted, and if it was, then I should come back and set about proving that to her.

It wasn’t what I wanted to do, not by a long shot, but I felt that the advice she gave me was sound, even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I realized that I couldn’t just come back out of nowhere and expect Riley to come running. I had to have something to offer her, proof that I was serious about us and wouldn’t leave again. I spent the last three months working on doing just that.

With my own money and a small investment from my mom, I was able to acquire an old hotel here in Savannah. It needs work, but with a little time, I know I’ll be able to turn it into something great. I came back here to start work on it a little over three weeks ago, and while walking to my car one day, I came across a recently vacated storefront only a few doors down. I’ve never been a big believer in fate, but this felt exactly like that to me. The owner let it go for a lot less than I was willing to pay, which only made it more appealing. I bought it with the intent to let Riley have free rein to renovate and decorate it exactly the way she would like it. I took possession of it yesterday and called Riley’s mother to set things in motion for today. I thought that maybe once the bakery and hotel were established, Riley could place some of her baked goods on the menu at the hotel. It would be like both of us working toward our future as equals.

I knew that Riley would be mad at me, hurt, and confused, but I had hoped that she would at the very least let me explain what had happened. Now, I’m left wondering what to do next. How I can get Riley to talk to me and understand that I never meant to cause her pain. I pick up my cell phone and dial my mother’s number.