The man of her dreams. The man from her dreams.
Was he what compelled her to leave everything behind? Had he somehow influenced her decision? Was it he who filled her with hopefulness once she’d done the unthinkable?
Could it explain how the end of her residency represented nothing more than completion? Or why her restlessness ended when she purchased her airline ticket? Not the first one she’d booked to London. And not the second she’d booked to Paris. It was only when she’d changed her reservation to Scotland that she knew she’d made the right choice. Was she crazy?
Oh yeah.
“Gwen…Gwen?”
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“Tell me where you’re going tonight, and more importantly, tell me what you’re wearing.”
“A simple black dress and heels,” Gwen said in a rush.
“Liar!”
Gwen smiled again. “Does it really matter?”
“Is there a full-length mirror in your room?”
“They don’t have mirrors in Scotland,” Gwen snapped.
Sara laughed. “Shut up. Go stand in front of it.”
“Come on, Sara,” Gwen groaned. She wasn’t up for this.
“Go…now.” Sara paused and gave her time to get in front of the mirror. “Tell me what you see.”
“Someone who’s pathetic.”
“You’re far from pathetic,” Sara argued on her behalf. “You’re gorgeous, smart, and the best person I’ve ever known.”
“I’m not quite tall enough, my chest is too small, and I have no hips.”
“You’re perfectly tall enough, long on legs, and have a perfect handful. And just so you know, your jeans fit in a way people would die for.”
Gwen cupped her breast and frowned at her reflection as she listened to Sara. “The perfect handful, Sara, is my handful.”
Sara laughed. “Well, maybe if you let someone get close enough, it would be their perfect handful too.”
“I tried that.”
“Mark was an ass. I’m glad you came to your senses before it was too late.”
“Too late? I’m twenty-eight and for the first time in my life, I’m scared as hell.”
“You listen to me, Gwendolyn Reynolds. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I can’t think of anyone more deserving than you to find some happiness. Stop your little pity party and tell me what you’re wearing.”
“Tank top, capris, Lulu jacket, and running shoes,” Gwen muttered, knowing she should’ve lied again.
“Gwen…come on, it’s your birthday.”
“I’m just going to a pub a few miles from here, and I’m going alone. Besides, I plan on being back in my room early enough to enjoy a great bottle of wine.”
“No cocktails?”
Gwen laughed. “I have a stockpile of vodka in my bag. But wine sounds better. I can listen to music while I count the stars.”
“Ever the dreamer.”
“My one fault.” Gwen smiled, listening to Sara choke dramatically.
“One? Ah, Gwen…how about your temper?”
“Temper, schmemper.” Gwen scoffed. “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Sara asked seriously.
“I plead the fifth,” Gwen said with courtroom theatrics.
“Speaking of which, have you heard from your attorney?” Sara asked.