The Long Walk by Jill Cox

Author:Jill Cox [Cox, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780998220031
Publisher: Tower 19 Press
Published: 2018-10-15T20:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

To say I was mortified the next day might be the understatement of the millennium. Not only had I boo-hooed uncontrollably in front of a virtual stranger, I realized as the day crept on that Jack had planned our little excursion to the beach not just for the winkles, but for the northern lights. During my lunch break at the pub, I saw on the news that the previous night’s aurora borealis activity had exceeded the meteorologists’ hype. Which meant that my snotty-nosed sobbing had ruined Jack’s well-staged romantic moment.

When he’d dropped me off around four a.m., Jack had handed me the binder holding my manuscript, and for the next couple of days, I pored over his margin notes. Not a single comment made me feel stupid, even though all of his suggestions for change were spot on. What an impressive skill.

Oh, who was I kidding? Everything about Jack Kelly impressed me.

But then he never called – not Wednesday, not Thursday. Weren’t we supposed to meet up to discuss our stories? Suddenly, every second of my sobfest felt even more cringeworthy than the high number of words Jack had found missing from my manuscript.

WHO LEAVES WORDS OUT OF THEIR OWN STORIES? This girl right here.

So when Jack stopped by O’Connor’s Pub on Friday night with three other guys, I went from dazed to confounded in a millisecond. After a brief European-style (read: meaningless) peck on the cheek and an even briefer introduction, Jack and his buddies carried on with their evening, laughing and holding court at the corner table, completely oblivious to my presence.

Same song, one millionth verse, right? Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Except I’d never been any good at The Game. I’d only had two (alleged) boyfriends, and both had grown out of friendships. So as I bussed tables and re-organized the already sorted silverware behind the bar, I rehashed the past week, overanalyzing the sudden stall in Jack’s attention.

Had I injured his ego when I caught so many periwinkles?

Should I have read more into that stick of gum he offered me?

Did I look stupid in Wellies?

Hey, it doesn’t take much to change a guy’s mind about you. Like, oh, I don’t know, when you neurotically obsess over every reason he hasn’t called you, maybe?

That’s right, Meredith Fiona Sullivan. Start using all three of your names. You are a relationship serial killer on two continents.

All night I’d ignored Kieran’s orders to take my legally-required fifteen-minute break. With Jack and his friends nearby, I could hardly do my normal break ritual: find an empty seat at a remote table, eat the soup of the day and peruse whatever tabloid Kieran’s wife had left in the office that week.

But at ten, Kieran finally laid down the law. So, without even grabbing my coat, I walked out the front door and turned right for a stroll up Fisherstreet along the River Aille.

The sky, which had been clear for days, picked that moment to spit tiny, cold droplets of misery on an already pitiful me.

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