The diary is flicked out of my loose grip and falls to the table as the pages fan to equal sides of the binding. My chest is aching, and I feel breathless while sitting quietly at a table in the middle of Starbucks.

“I figured I’d find you here at some point today,” Mike says, hovering over the table with his arms folded across his chest.

It’s only been two days, yet it feels like a year since I’ve seen him last. During the last two days since I broke up with him, so much as changed. My life has spun into a maze that I’m not sure how to find a way out of. I don’t know which way is up or down, and everything is scattered in my head. “What are you doing here?” I can only hope he isn’t here to cause a scene.

Charlie was gone. Grams had lost everyone. How could life be so cruel?

Mike had been talking, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in a goodbye I wasn’t even part of. Her last words to Charlie were “goodbye.” He told her he loved her, and she couldn’t say it back even though she did love him. How terribly sad.

“Earth to Emma,” Mike says, waving his hand in front of my face. “What is that thing anyway?” He points to the diary as if it were today’s newspaper, full of nothing more than celebrity gossip.

“Nothing,” I tell him, removing the diary from the table.

“It sure doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask again.

“Did you get my note?”

“I did,” I answer cordially, ignoring his presence as I reorganize the belongings in my bag to make space for the diary.

“And?” he continues.

“Who wrote it for you?” I can’t believe I just asked him that. Not, that he doesn’t deserve it, but the thought did cross my mind earlier, and seeing how he’s acting now, I’m almost sure someone told him what to say. Either that or he Googled “how to win your ex back.”

“Really?” he counters.

“In six years, you never said something so full of thought, and then out of the blue, after I tell you I’m done, you leave me a note that sounds as if it came from a different person. Now, I’m supposed to fall to my knees and forget everything?” I was wondering when my anger and rage would catch up to me. It’s building inside, overflowing like hot lava on top of the millions of emotions Grams’s diary is stirring up.

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘You don’t know what you had until it’s gone?’” he has the nerve to ask me. I don’t know if he’s implying I should be thinking this, or he’s thinking this, but in any case, I don’t care.

“Yeah, Mike, and for some reason, I didn’t realize what I was missing until you were gone.” Witty comebacks aren’t my thing, but for once, the words come out when they should, rather than an hour later when I’m talking to myself, thinking of what I should have said.

He leans forward, pressing his palms onto the top of the table. “Six years, Emma. We can work this shit out.” That’s all I’ve ever been to him. Shit.

“Why do you want to be with me so badly, Mike? What is it about me that is so important to keep around?” I lean back into my chair, hugging my bag into my chest.

“I love you,” he says.

“You don’t know what love is,” I tell him.

“Oh, and you do?”

I squeeze my hands tighter around the bag. “Yeah, but not from my own experience.”

“Okay, okay, fine, what do you want from me? Want me to make a scene here? Get down on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness, beg for you to take me back?” The thought of him doing that sickens me. He’s such a loose cannon that I could see him doing something so stupid and pathetic. I shouldn’t be wondering why it took me so long to break up with him. I shouldn’t be having this conversation with him. I should have done the right thing years ago.

I take a sip of my now-lukewarm coffee to break up the conversation, giving me a moment to collect my next thoughts. “What I want from you…is to leave. I want you to forget about me. I want you to figure out what is going to make you happy in your life because it’s so, so clear that I’m not the person for you, and you’re definitely not the person for me.”

Mike presses his lips together and exhales sharply through his nose. “You’re wrong,” he grunts. “I want to be with you, Emma.”

I glance down at my cup, fixating on the recycled cardboard sleeve. Am I making a mistake? Is he my great challenge? Am I supposed to endure this, live through it, and dig until I find the good inside of him that gives us both a lifetime full of happiness? A relationship surely shouldn’t be this hard, but love knows no bounds.

“Emma,” he says again as his hand gently falls to my wrist. “Please, give me a chance to show you I can be a better man.”

I force myself to look up at him, staring into his dark eyes while trying to find the part of him I was once so deeply attracted to. I’m sure it must be there somewhere. His brows buckle, and his forehead crinkles with lines, pleading without words, causing me to feel guilty without cause.

As I take the extra few seconds to really look at him—the man I have told myself I loved—I can’t seem to find one single part of him that makes me feel any type of emotion, not even a twitch.

“I can’t,” I tell him.

“Fuck, Emma,” he shouts boisterously, forcing his voice to echo off the walls within this small cafe. “Is there someone else, or something?”

“You’re asking me if there’s someone else when you admitted to cheating on me?”

“Yeah, I’m asking you if there’s someone else,” he repeats.

I’m not sure if Jackson’s short presence in my life can count as someone else, but in the time I’ve known him, he’s offered me more than Mike did in the six years we spent together. Jackson is someone good, and he’s opened my eyes to a world I didn’t know existed. “Yes, Mike, there’s someone else.” I take my phone from next to my leg and hit the display to check the time. “As a matter of fact, I need to get going so I can go shower and change for my date with him tonight.”

Mike looks around as if I told a joke others might have heard too. “A date?” he asks, laughing cynically.

“Yeah, I realize you’re unfamiliar with the concept of spending time alone with the person you supposedly love, but some people still practice the ancient method of courting.”

“Courting?” he questions while throwing his head back.

“Forget it.” I stand up with my bag and laptop, ready to get as far away from him as possible.

“So, this is seriously it?” he asks. Obviously, I haven’t been clear enough. There has always been one definitive line with me that can’t be crossed, and I was clear about it. I won’t put up with cheating. Dad cheated on Mom so many times before she called him out on it, and once she did, he disappeared from our lives as if we were never important to him. There is no way I’d put up with that for as long as she did, or at all for that matter.

“This is it,” I confirm. Mike’s shoulders slouch in defeat. “Next time you have a good girl to come home to, don’t cheat on her. Treat her like she’s important—like she matters to you.” I wrap my arms around his neck and offer him a quick hug. “Goodbye, Mike.” How could my last words to Mike be the same as Grams’s last words to Charlie, yet have such a different meaning? It couldn’t have been. There’s more of Charlie in this book. I know it.

I head toward the door, mortified from the scene Mike caused. “Bye, Em,” Chelsea shouts from behind the counter. I turn around, taking a couple of steps backward to the door as I wave goodbye. The look on her face tells me she heard everything that happened and my phone will most likely be buzzing in an hour when she gets out of work.

I haven’t been on an actual date where I’ve been given the opportunity to dress up my normal wardrobe, curl my hair, and put on a little makeup since college. I’ve missed that feeling of anticipation and excitement.

The drive back into Boston is quick and easy, and I find a nearly empty lot in front of the restaurant where Jackson said to meet him. I pull down the visor to check my reflection one last time, and when I see my face, I notice something I haven’t witnessed in a while: My cheeks are pink, and my eyes look brighter. I’ve lost that worn-out look I so often had when Mike and I were together. I feel different, too. I feel a sense of unfamiliar happiness.

I step out of the Jeep, balancing myself in a pair of heels I haven’t worn since a wedding I went to last year and head across the parking lot toward the street parallel to the restaurant.

Jackson is standing where he said he’d be waiting, and he’s smiling at me as if he hasn’t seen me in a month—as if he’s truly happy to see me.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” he says, shamelessly checking me out. My heart flops around in the bottom of my stomach, and my cheeks ache from the smile I’m trying to downplay. I’m forced to pinch my bottom lip between my front teeth as a rush of warmth reels through while I take in the sight of this amazing man in front of me. He’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans-ones that look like he was the one reason jeans were invented. In addition, his casual, blue-and-white plaid collared shirt is fitted, showing off a toned body he’s hidden beneath scrubs. I’m suddenly aware of the fact that he is even farther out of my league than I originally thought, and I don’t know how the heck I ended up here.

“Hi,” I offer in return as I come within an arm’s length of him. He doesn’t waste a second before stretching out his hand and taking hold of my elbow to pull me in toward him.

“The last few hours have been the longest hours of my entire life,” he says. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” I feel utterly speechless. No one has ever spoken to me this way before.

For most of my adult life, I have had the notion that some girls are the type that men woo over, and others, like me, are the ones men settle for when they’re looking for simplicity. Jackson’s making me feel like I’m on a whole other level than I thought I was.

“Me?” I question. I can’t help wondering what it is about me he couldn’t stop thinking about.

His thumb and forefinger gently pinch my chin as he leisurely—slowly—bends his neck down to kiss me so softly that my lips quiver as if they were touched by the tip of a feather. Oh, wow. I can’t think straight.

“Why did you want to meet me outside?” I ask him.

“I needed this moment before we were surrounded by people.”

My heart aches from beating so hard. I should not be falling for him so quickly. I could get hurt. I could fall in love. I can easily see myself intertwining my life with his—just the idea of being with him is compelling, and I’ve known him for less than a week. I don’t do this sort of thing. I take my time. I waste my time. I spent six years with a person only to realize I hate him.

I should stop following rules.

“How did your work go today?” Jackson asks while opening the heavy wooden door to the restaurant.

“Good. I got enough done to be somewhat caught up. I schedule projects in increments to try and maintain a somewhat normal schedule. It’s hard to stick to, but I’ve been working hard at cutting back for the whole work/life balance thing everyone is always talking about.” I chuckle at what I’m saying because I’m talking about a busy schedule to a doctor who most definitely works more hours in any given week than I do.

“It’s definitely a tricky accomplishment to find a balance like that, but I’ve seen my fair share of people going crazy from a lack of fresh air.”

“I can only imagine.”

“A table for two please, in the back if you have anything,” Jackson tells the hostess.

She takes two menus and heads toward the back of the restaurant where we’re brought to a round booth. We both slide in and sigh at the same time. “You too, huh?” I ask.

“You know, sometimes the day just gets away from me, and I realize I haven’t taken a full breath until the moment I sit down,” he says. I don’t know how he stays on his feet all day like that. I’m exhausted and I usually sit all day.

“So, do you mainly focus on cardiovascular health or do you practice any other type of specialty too...you know, besides comedy?”

He points at me and winks, appreciating my comedy joke, but then begins answering with a sense of seriousness. “Cardiology is about as much as I can handle for now. It’s a lot, and there is a constant influx of patients, so I’m never bored enough to look for more trouble.” He smirks as he hands me one of the menus while taking the one underneath for himself. “I have to say, I’m envious of you getting to change your scenery up whenever you want to. Is it nice working from different locations? It must be good inspiration, huh?”

“I suppose,” I tell him. Though, after days like today, I sometimes think I would be better off in an office than roaming around looking for a quiet place to sit.

It only takes him a minute to look over the menu before he places it back down and leans forward onto his elbows. “Can I admit to something that you might make fun of me for later?”

“Uh oh,” I joke. I shouldn’t be, but I’m a little worried about what he might say.

“I’ve caught myself daydreaming about you today, twice. Doctors can’t be doing that kind of thing,” he says as he places his palms on the sides of his face.

Impulsively, I cup my hand over my mouth because I’m not sure what to do with the amount of heat rushing through my face. “Well, I apologize for being such a distraction, but I can’t promise I’ll be going away anytime soon. My grandmother is in your hospital, after all.”

“Good,” he says, reaching across the table for my hand. “I mean, that you’re not going away...not that your grandmother is in the hospital.”

“I was going to say...wow, what kind of doctor are you?” I scoff with laughter.

“Emma, you are so distracting,” he continues.

I know I’m blushing. I take my menu and open it up, glancing up and down the list of options. I’m having a hard time focusing, but the chicken finger platter catches my eye.

“So, your grandmother was talking about Charlie some more this afternoon when I went in to check on her.”

The change of subject shifts my nerves from one distraction to another. “What was she saying about him?” The eagerness inside me is desperate for answers I know I haven’t gotten to in the book yet, but the suspense is killing me.

“She asked if you had gone to look for him and was telling me what he might look like now. Then she said the sweetest thing.” Jackson chuckles with his breath at the recollection. “She said...and I’m quoting her, ‘But even if he were bald and covered in wrinkles, I’d still only see the blond-haired, blue-eyed soldier who had too much compassion for the world to have any space in his heart for the hatred he was forced to show.’”

“I think I know why she’s suddenly talking about him,” I tell Jackson.

“Did you find something out while you were reading today?”

“No, but she said when she—when her heart stopped for those few minutes, she was sure Charlie would be waiting for her, and he wasn’t there.”

“You know, what happens after death is all hearsay, right?” Jackson asks. I don’t think he’s trying to diminish Grams’s thought, but scientifically, he’s correct.

“Of course, but we can have our own opinions on the matter.”

“You’re right about that. I also agree with the hearsay. Unfortunately, I’ve heard more than a few patients talking to loved ones while passing away.”

My chest tightens, considering the truth of it all. “If it’s true, maybe Charlie isn’t dead.”

“Who said he was?” Jackson asks, curiously.

“Well, I was rudely interrupted while reading the part where Charlie was deployed to the front lines and had to say goodbye to my grandmother.”

The waiter comes over with an order pad and greets us. “What can I get for you two?”

We place our drink and food orders, then the waiter leaves us to the cliffhanger of my story.

“You were saying you were rudely interrupted?” Jackson asks, eagerly.

I glance down at our intertwined hands, noting once again, how fast everything is moving in my life. “Evidently, Mike had spent the better half of his day hunting me down,” I tell him, worried about the reaction he might have.

He looks upset rather than angry. “Really? What did he want?” There’s a sense of apprehension laced between his words, but I’m sure he’s smart enough to know I wouldn’t be here with him if Mike was able to work me over.

“He wants things to work out with us,” I tell him.

“And what do you want?”

I appreciate his question and can’t stop the small smile from stretching across my mouth. “Well, I would like…to see how things work out between you and me.”

As much as I thought Jackson would eat up my words, he doesn’t smile in return. There’s a serious concern wavering through his mesmerizing eyes. “Take me out of the picture for a minute. If you hadn’t met me, would you have broken up with him, and if you had, would you have been persuaded to go back to him today?”

His questions cause me to consider the truth. “I can’t lie and tell you I know I would have been strong enough to do what needed to be done, but I can say that after knowing you for the short time I have, you gave me enough reason to see that there are people who are worth spending my time with, and people who are not.” I don’t know how I would feel if I were in Jackson’s shoes, or what I’d think if his ex-wife just showed up out of nowhere, begging for him to take her back, but I can’t lie about this. He knew this just happened, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has gone through the trials and tribulations of a breakup.

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re not going back to him because of me?”

I’m not sure there’s any other way to put it. “Would it cause you to get up and walk away if I said yes?”

“No,” he says with the slightest hint of accomplishment written into his grin. “It makes me want to pat myself on the back. I can now say I’ve saved over two hundred sick patients—and one healthy woman—from destructive heart conditions.”

“Aw, another doctor joke?” I jest.

“Kind of cheesy, huh?”

“Kind of adorable,” I tell him. I feel like I need to fan myself, but I settle for nervously brushing my hair behind my shoulder.

“So, after dinner, would you agree to come back to my place so we can—” he clears his throat, and my gosh that’s forward. I’m not complaining—not even a little—but wow. I wasn’t expecting him to just come right out and suggest it. “—read a little more of the diary. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With even more of a need to fan myself now, I struggle to catch my breath as uneasy laughter sings like an injured bird from my throat. “Yeah, wow, I—definitely.”

“Sorry, was that rude of me to ask?”

“No,” I reply in a high-pitched squeak, which only comes out when I’m uncomfortable about a topic or when I’m lying. “It’s way better reading it with someone than doing so alone.”

“You sure now?” he asks.

“I’d love to see where you live. Actually, where do you live?” Why has this question not come up yet? We started talking about it, and then we never finished that conversation.

“Brighton,” he says. “And you?”

“My mom lives in Needham, but it’s only temporary until I find my own place.”

“Oh nice, only a few minutes down the road.”

The small talk ensues, and I have a rough time eating while trying to get the food past the bundle of nerves expanding throughout my body. I forgot how awkward this dating thing could be. I know his intentions are true, but I suspect there’s more than my grandmother’s diary on his mind. There’s certainly more on mine.

Once our plates are cleared, the bill arrives, and Jackson snatches it up faster than I can reach for it. The time seemed to disappear, and I’m feeling a little panicky. I’m going to his apartment. I’ve only been with two men, and the first one was twelve years ago in college—not much to brag about there—then there was Mike, and I’d rather forget about him completely. I could be getting ahead of myself, though. Jackson might just be lonely and want a little female companionship, or maybe he is just interested in Grams’s diary, and I’m reading way too much into it.

The moment we leave the restaurant, Jackson’s hand finds mine. It’s easy with him. There’s no thinking or planning. Everything just flows smoothly. He walks me to my car and leans over to kiss my cheek before I slide in. “Can I have your phone for a second?”

I reach for my phone, knocking over my sunglasses and lip gloss that are sitting on my middle console. He has me so flustered, and it’s making me clumsy. I hand him the phone, watching as he struggles not to laugh at me. “I’m just putting my number in here and plugging my address into your GPS in case you lose me in traffic.”

“You’re spoiling me,” I tell him.

“What in the world are you talking about, crazy girl?”

I realize how pathetic I just made myself sound, but I might have never known there was a thoughtful, decent man on this earth if I hadn’t met Jackson. Up until now, I have only met up with the ones who are clueless about life and being gentlemen. “Not everyone is as considerate as you are,” I tell him.

“It’s time you start interacting with some nicer people,” he says with a quick wink.

“It seems you’re taking care of that little problem.”

Jackson leans down and ducks into the Jeep. “If you think I’m being nice now, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispers before kissing away the chance of a response rolling off the tip of my tongue.

With his words being the last before my door closes, I watch him make his way over to his car across the lot.

The late-night hour makes traffic easy to navigate, so following him through Boston and into Brighton is quick and easy.

Apparently, Jackson has his own parking garage underground. How fancy! I didn’t know these existed here. I thought street parking was the only option in the outskirts of Boston. Shows what I know from living in the suburbs.

There’s a string of silence between us as I follow him to the elevator and up to the top floor of this apartment building. I’ve told myself many times before that I can learn about a man from the way he lives, and right now, I have no clue what I’m in for. The elevator brings us to a hotel-looking hallway, lined with bright white doors, fancy trim, and gold-plated numbers centered perfectly on each apartment door. “This is so nice,” I tell him.

“After I left my ex, Dana, I went on a bit of a spending spree,” he says. “It was my way of coping.”

“Hey, I can appreciate that.”

He unlocks his door, and it opens into endless square feet of dark brown hardwood floors and windows for walls across the back side. You can see the whole city from up here. In the kitchen, there are modern, stainless steel appliances surrounded by dark granite countertops and sharp contrasting gray cabinets. Everything else is white. The decor is very masculine but neat and trendy. The best part is, the entire place smells just like him. “I love your apartment. It’s so clean and new.”

A crooked smile perks to one side as he unbuttons the cuffs on his sleeves to roll them up. “It’s funny you say that. It’s exactly how I feel too, except I’d rather feel like I’m home, and it hasn’t exactly felt like that for me yet.” That breaks my heart because I think I know exactly how he’s feeling. I’m in the same boat, but I’m home, home, like my childhood bedroom home where my comforter is neon pink and blue with cheetah print patches. There’s got to be an in-between spot we’re both missing out on.

Jackson pulls me over to his couch and takes the bag from my grip. “White or red wine?”

“White, please.” The couch is plush and comfortable. It’s easy to tell this was one item where he went for comfort rather than style, although it looks nice too. “You really do have an amazing view from up here.”

“Yeah, it’s nice, but honestly, when I’m not working nights, I drag myself to bed and watch TV until I fall asleep.” I see another side of Jackson that I wasn’t aware of—there’s sadness in his voice, and I think I can tell he’s not the kind of person who likes to be alone. It’s the same thing that got me stuck in a relationship that went on for way too long.

“I think we have a lot in common,” I tell him. I don’t live in a place like this, but I think he’s already seen a hint of the common traits we share too.

He walks over with a bottle of wine and two glasses he’s already filled halfway. “Get that book out, Emma. It’s time.” After placing the glasses and bottle down, he rubs his hands together with excitement and sits down on the couch beside me.

“You’re really into this story?” I ask, needing more validation. Mike was never interested in any part of my life. This is all new to me.

“That woman knows what she is talking about, and I want to learn from that kind of wisdom. You don’t just find people walking around who have lived the kind of life she has lived. Her story is the type to change someone’s way of thinking, and from the parts I’ve heard, I’m already impressed with her strength and desire to push through a situation without hope—alone at that. I don’t think I could do something so heroic, and it amazes me to hear about those who can make it through hell and come back from it all.”

I get it. Her story is altering my entire view of the world. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at life the same way again.