He Said Waiting Is Romantic But Not For Me Chapter 04

He Said Waiting Is Romantic But Not For Me Chapter 04

“What’s wrong? You don’t like them?”

Cole went to wash his hands, then came out drying them.

“Tessa said yellow roses stand for sunshine. Said you’ve been too gloomy lately and needed a little light. She picked them out for you, actually.”

I’m not allergic to pollen. But I absolutely hate yellow roses.

Because on the day my father was buried, my stepmother stood at his grave holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

I’d told Cole that. They were the flowers I hated most.

He’d clearly forgotten.

Or—anything Tessa picked was automatically good.

“Just put them over there.” I set the bouquet on the coffee table. No anger. No tears.

Cole seemed pleased by how calm I was.

He walked over, ruffled my hair, like he was rewarding a kid who’d finally learned to behave.

“That’s better. It was nothing, and you made a whole thing out of it.”

He sat down on the couch. “I’m not working this weekend. I’ll take you to get your phone fixed, then catch a movie. Consider it payback.”

“Okay,” I said.

He thought that “okay” meant forgiveness.

He didn’t know it was goodbye.

Sunday morning, eight o’clock.

I changed clothes and stuffed my last two jackets into the twenty-inch carry-on.

Three years. This tiny suitcase was all I was taking.

Cole was rushing to put his shoes on at the door, suit jacket over his arm.

“Elise, I might have to make a quick stop first.” His words came fast. “Tessa’s pipe burst at her new place. The super won’t come. She’s freaking out. I need to go help her.”

“I thought we were going to get my phone fixed and see a movie today.”

I stood in the living room, holding my suitcase.

He didn’t even notice it. His head was full of Tessa’s burst pipe.

“The repair shop’s not going anywhere! You can get your phone fixed tomorrow. A burst pipe can wreck a whole house! Why can’t you ever get your priorities straight?”

He finished tying his shoes and pulled the door open impatiently.

“Just go to the mall yourself. I’ll come find you after I deal with the pipe.”

“Cole,” I called out.

He stopped. Turned. Frowned. “What now?”

“Nothing.” I looked at this face—the face I’d loved for five years—and suddenly felt lighter than I had in ages.

“Go. Be careful.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected me to be so agreeable. Something flickered in his eyes, but then the urgency came back.

“Alright. Wait for me at the mall. I’ll take you to that sushi you love for lunch.”

The door shut.

He didn’t even know I’d gone off raw seafood a long time ago.

The house went completely quiet.

I pulled my suitcase over to the coffee table.

Set down the divorce papers, already signed.

No note. No last words.

Because I’d already said every disappointment over the past three years.

Ten in the morning. I got into a cab to the airport.

The plane accelerated down the runway. The heavy lift-off pressed against my chest.

My right wrist still hurt. But I knew eventually it would heal.

And I was never waiting for that man again.