Free To See You by Rachel Blaufeld Page B

up.”
    He held his palms up in the air in mock surrender. “Okay, tough guy. Don’t shoot me for asking.”
    “Didn’t you hear me? Shut the fuck up.”
    I didn’t need any crap from Mr. Wonderful. All I wanted to do was eat some wings (because I was still hungry), play pool, and forget about earlier.
    I wasn’t having much success, though. The reel of Charli running out on me was stuck on replay in my head.

 
    L ike a fool, I hid in my hotel room after running out of the restaurant. I had to order room service because as it turned out, sushi wasn’t filling.
    The next morning, I took the first flight out, rushing back to the Big Apple as if something incredible was waiting for me. In fact, nothing but work was waiting.
    The premiere was on a Thursday and I was originally scheduled to stay in California until Saturday, so when I slipped back into the office late Friday afternoon, I was greeted by a lot of raised eyebrows.
    I didn’t let it bother me. Grabbing my messages and the proofs waiting for me on my desk, I turned right around and headed home for a lonely weekend, intending to fill it with work and exercise.
    When I got home that night and checked my messages like I usually do, I had an e-mail from him.
     
    FROM: [email protected]
    TO: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: Did you get home safely?
     
    Charli –
    I want to believe it was merely bad luck our evening was interrupted. Either way, I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.
    Can’t wait to read your review of the movie.
    —Layton
    P.S. Look what my dog did to my tuxedo loafers.
     
    Attached was a picture of a big, fuzzy golden retriever holding a half-chewed Ferragamo loafer in his or her mouth.
    I didn’t even know Layton had a dog. How could this mean anything between us if I didn’t know something like that?
    Well, for starters, you didn’t even give him a chance to say he had a dog.
    Janie had wanted to hang out that night, but I refused. Instead, I worked out and ate a quick dinner, then went through the rest of my work e-mails.
    For the rest of the weekend, I ran myself ragged, collapsing into bed each evening, crossing my fingers I was exhausted enough to ignore the e-mail sitting so innocently in my in-box.
    The one I didn’t respond to.

    Either way, I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.
    That sentence played on repeat in my head, plaguing me for five days until I finally gave in. By Tuesday, I couldn’t outrun or outspin my demons anymore.
     
    FROM: [email protected]
    TO: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: I’m back. Thanks. Thank you
     
    Thank you so much for your concern.
    Thanks for asking. I did get home in one piece, and have been swamped with deadlines.
    It’s been raining here all week and I miss the LA sun, but it’s good for my workload.
    Fondly,
    Charli
    P.S. Hope you made your dog pay for your shoes.
     
    I’d returned to hitting the backspace key more than any other, so I hit SEND before I mentioned anything but the weather or my work, and especially not the reason why I fled.
    He knew it was an excuse.
    Either way, I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.
    He definitely knew. My leaving was the proverbial elephant in the room, a big one growing by the minute.
    I went to bed that night without checking my e-mail again—an occupational hazard but an emotional safeguard.

    Ever since I got back to New York, when I thought back to our moments in the car or seated at Zao’s, I felt myself smiling, my chest warming, and my defense mechanisms melting. There was something about this guy. I liked him, but I shouldn’t.
    My mind ticked off all the reasons I shouldn’t like him as I slipped into a hot bath on Wednesday night, wanting to wash myself of my guilt and maybe relax a little while I was at it.
    First, I was a fitness editor in New York City. And Layton . . . well, he was anything but fit.
    Second, I had a big career ahead of me, something