“Rachel?” I knock on the bathroom door. “You in there?”
Nothing. I open it to be sure, but she’s not inside. Nerves and a little shot of panic surge forward as I check the rest of the house. She’s not inside. Her purse is gone, so she must have stepped out. Still. There’s no note, or message, or anything. Maybe she left for work already. Without telling me? I always drive her.
Maybe she ran an errand? Took a walk?
I’m sure there’s a plausible explanation. She wouldn’t leave for the day without saying good-bye. Not after this weekend.
I call her phone, but there’s no answer. Where the hell is she? I head to the kitchen and brew coffee, knowing when she returns we won’t have much time to get her to the studio. Minutes tick by painfully slow, and I stare at the door expecting her to walk through it any second. I reach for my phone as it begins to buzz with alerts. But it’s not her.
Emails from vendors and clients fill my inbox, but I have trouble concentrating when Rachel isn’t here. I haven’t been putting in the hours I usually do, which is an adjustment to make. I never thought of myself as a workaholic, because I love what I do and I set my own schedule. But spending this week with Rachel has made me realize how good it feels to step away from the phone and live a life off the clock.
Walter emerges from the hall, stretching his little legs and standing at my feet to stare at the front door. He needs to go out.
My heart sinks as I check the time. She really left for work on her own. Damn. I can’t fathom why she would. Crazy as it is, I enjoyed playing chauffer. Not because I particularly love sitting in traffic, but because it was time with her. I looked forward to one last ride.
Heading back to my bedroom to pull on a T-shirt and athletic shorts, I try calling her cell again. After four rings it goes to voicemail.
“Rachel. It’s me. I must’ve missed you this morning. Anyway, give me a call when you get a chance. Or shoot me a text. I—” My voice strains as my brain stumbles over what to say. The need to know she’s okay, that we’re good, presses heavy on my chest in a way I can’t seem to shake. “I missed waking up with you. I’m not sure I can get through ten hours without your voice.” A chuckle escapes my lips because it’s the truth. “This weekend was incredible. You’re incredible. Have a great day, sweetheart.” God, I’d punch myself in the face for being such a mush, but I can’t help it. It’s how I feel.
In case she’s not able to check her voicemail, I fire off a text as well.
Me: Missed waking up with you in my bed. Have a beautiful day. See you tonight.
She’s most likely driving, or working. She won’t be able to answer my text or call.
So, she didn’t wake me first to tell me she was leaving. Knowing her, she probably didn’t want to disturb my sleep. She’s probably happily on her way to work this very moment, thinking of all the delicious and dirty things we did together this weekend. I should do the same. I shouldn’t be worried or obsessed about her exact location like some helicopter parent. Though, maybe I can convince her to install an app on her phone so I always know where she is.
Walter barks a hurry the hell up, I gotta go bark and I hustle to the entryway. His eyes bounce from me and the door, anxious to be walked and fed.
“Right,” I grumble, slipping on a pair of shoes before hooking him to his leash. He whines at the door, his little tail quivering with anticipation. As soon as I open it, he darts to the elevator. If he weighed more than ten pounds, he’d likely take my arm off.
Inside the elevator, I resume staring at my cell. The text I sent mocks me with her lack of reply. Nothing. A tinge of irritation crawls into my thoughts, mixing with worry. Something isn’t right. Why would she leave without saying good morning? Or good-bye. Or anything. This weekend was special, or so I thought. I met her physical needs, there’s no doubt. Was it something I said?
Did she wake up this morning and regret what we did?
My chest hurts, and an uneasiness settles into my bones. What if she doesn’t want more after this weekend? That what we shared was a fling, and one she’s not looking to repeat. Fuck. The idea never occurred to me. No, I was too busy making her come. But now, in the light of a new day, I regret that we didn’t have the conversation. The one that defines our desires, and labels our relationship.
What if, after everything we’ve shared, she doesn’t want to be together?
The fear of losing her sends my pulse flying. It’s taken me years to let anyone get close. But with Rachel, I couldn’t help myself. Before her, I’d never met anyone I’d wanted to date, let alone picture a life with. Equal parts infuriating, beautiful, kind, and talented, she worked her way into my heart from our first encounter. Not even two weeks later and I’m a fool in love, wondering and obsessing as to why she’s not in my bed.
As the elevator drops with each floor, clarity hits me square in the chest.
I love her. I am head over heels, out of my mind, can’t live without her, in love with Rachel Delgado.
I love Rachel.
I love her.
Does she feel the same? The urge to tell her this very second might be a warning that I’ve lost my mind. Love does that,
