As nine o’clock approaches, I dawdle about cleaning up, don’t bother to lock the door right away, don’t chase the last of our customers out on the dot like I usually do. The longer I wait, the more likely it seems that he’s not going to come. I’ll sleep alone tonight, and for the first time I can remember, that depresses the hell out of me.
Just as well. Delia was right, he was just passing through, it meant nothing to him and I shouldn’t have let it mean anything to me, either. Still, that doesn’t lessen the sting that pains my heart or the tears that burn my eyes and choke my throat when I put the key in the lock to close up for the night.
When I click off the neon Open sign, I hear the rugged whirl of a motorbike in the distance and hate the sudden surge of emotion that thrills throu
