Chapter 12

Saturday goes by in a blur. I hit up all the panels I wanted to see, have a few meetings with potential clients, and wrangle my cousins every time they want to slip off to the bar instead of pay attention to the conference like I’m paying them to do. Just after lunch, there’s a slight crisis back home at the office, and my assistant Janie calls me freaking out because she can’t find a seller’s disclosure on a house she’s showing in my absence.

I somehow get it all handled, and make some great new connections, and I look and act just like a normal guy who has his shit together. But I am so far from that.

Every room I walk into, every hallway I turn down – I’m always looking for her. I’ve kept her nametag, not because I’m a creep, but because I can give it back to her when I find her again. I had wanted to go back to her hotel room this morning, under the lie that I was simply handing back her nametag and not trying to see her again, but I chickened out.

The gorgeous woman I’d spent an amazing night with was gone when I woke up, and she didn’t leave a note, so I’m smart enough to know that she wouldn’t want me knocking on her hotel room door.

So instead, I hoped to run into her today. It didn’t happen. And I kept my eyes peeled. I’ve never been so observant in my life, and if Alexa had walked anywhere near me, I would have seen her.

Disappointed, dejected, and feeling a little bit heartbroken, I finally relent to my cousins and go to the hotel bar with them after Saturday’s convention comes to an end. This ache in my chest is persistent, and something I haven’t felt in years. But the feeling—the pain—is like riding a bike. You never forget it. It’s heartache, as stupid as it sounds.

I met her one day ago, hooked up with her last night, and yet I’m hurting. If any of my friends knew I’d let myself get hurt over a less than 24 hour fling, they’d be demanding to take my metaphorical “Man Card.” I tuck away the pain with a glass of whiskey and hide my thoughts with conversations about business instead.

My jackass cousins are doing better. They even –dare I say it—paid attention during some of the panels. Maybe there’s hope for them after all. There was a time when I thought their ineptitude didn’t matter, because their success at selling properties was their own issue, but now I realize it does matter. If they’re going to represent the brand my grandfather built, they’re going to respect it. I can’t have employees making us look bad. Legacies aren’t built on lazy frat boys who only got their jobs thanks to nepotism.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” I tell them. “I’m glad we can work together to help the company grow.”

“Sure beats having some stranger as a boss,” Jeremy says, taking a long sip of his Jack and Coke.

I chuckle. I still think they’re idiots, but they’re my idiots so I need to keep them on the right path.

A woman walks by in a maroon dress and my heart seizes up in my chest for the slightest second, until I realize it’s not her. It’s just some random woman, not the one I’ve been looking for all day. I finish my drink and tell the guys I’m heading to bed early.

My hotel room feels empty and sad without her in it. The pillow she slept on still smells like her, like summer and vanilla all wrapped up in one. But I do have some dignity left, so I don’t cuddle with the pillow or anything. I smell it once and then leave it alone and order pizza delivery while I watch TV until well past midnight.

I’m exhausted, but I’m hoping I’ll hear from her. I keep her nametag on my nightstand, ready for when she knocks on my door to ask if she accidentally left it here.

The knock never comes.

Sunday stretches by slower than ever. Something tells me she’s not even here anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from looking for her. She was the best night of my life. And now she’s a mystery.

I pretend to sleep on the flight home, just so everyone will leave me alone. In my mind, I relive those precious moments with the girl of my dreams. Her sexy curves and soft skin, the feel of her lips on mine. The way she grinned at me over dinner, that coy and playful light in her dark brown eyes.

Everything about this woman turned me on. She’s not like the typical woman I meet. They’re always needy and clingy and seem to be trying too hard. No guy wants to wait an hour for a woman to get ready for a date. No guy thinks it’s cute when they go through your phone and complain about the women in your contacts list. Alexa didn’t seem like that type of woman. She was sweet and kind and trusting. The kind of girl you’d never get tired of seeing every morning when you wake up and every night when you go to sleep.

My assistant manages my social media profiles for the real estate company, but I log onto them once I get back home. I check all the messages and comments and likes, hoping that maybe Alexa sought me out and tried to connect with me online.

There’s nothing.

I even check the trash folder in case something got deleted or marked as spam. It is clear that Alexa has not reached out to me. And although I left her nametag in my hotel room because I didn’t want to be weird and take it home like some kind of notch-on-my-bedpost souvenir, I still remember what it said.

Sweets Bakery

There can’t possibly be more than one Alexa who owns a place called Sweets Bakery and lives in Texas. I go to the search bar and type it in, and my suspicions are correct.

There’s just one Alexa and one Sweets Bakery in Texas.

She’s absolutely beautiful in the photo on her website. But I know she’s even more gorgeous in real life. I want to contact her so bad. There’s an email address and even social media icons. I click on the Instagram and look at all the photos of cakes and cupcakes and desserts that she’s handcrafted. They’re all amazing. This woman has talent, which shouldn’t surprise me because she’s already the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.

I scroll through the pictures, smiling at the ones that feature her wearing an apron and being in her element. There’s other girls in the photos who must be her coworkers, like that girl Livi she told me was her best friend. There’s also smiling customers and one picture of Alexa standing next to some guy who looks a like a younger Clint Eastwood. The photo makes my heart tighten when I see it. So maybe that’s why she ghosted me. She’s married. Or has a boyfriend.

My heart pounds as I read the caption:

My rock and my hero! I couldn’t have opened this bakery without him!

But then there’s a hashtag below it that makes all the air rush out of my lungs.

#loveyoucuz

So he’s her cousin? Thank God. There’s no other evidence that Alexa is in a relationship, and I scroll through the entire Instagram page. I feel like such a stalker, but I can’t help myself. I met the girl of my dreams and then she disappeared without a word. Shouldn’t I at least try to win her back?

I’m about to fall asleep when I suddenly remember a pressing question. I can’t believe I didn’t look it up sooner. If Alexa’s bakery is hundreds of miles away from me, that’ll make a relationship all the more complicated.

I go to the bakery’s website again and click on the location. I put it into Google maps because I’ve never heard of a place called Mable Falls. I hold my breath and click on the directions tab so it’ll tell me how far away my dream girl is from me.

I watch the screen populate the best route, and the map zooms out to show it all. My heart leaps. Forty-five minutes away.

That’s nothing.

We’re practically neighbors!

I drive that far to show houses all the time.

I am renewed with energy as I sit up in bed and stare at the Google map on my phone as if it’s some kind of holy grail. She’s closer than I thought. She’s just a short drive away.

My whole world would change if she decided to be my girlfriend. But as much as I’ve built this up in my mind, there’s still a very big problem standing in my way.

What if she doesn’t want me the way I want her?