Page 9 of When Forever Falls Apart

The familiar voice coming from the path near the boat brings a smile to my face. Ronald owns the boat beside the one I’m staying in. He’s a quirky old fella who lives with his pug, Margaret Anne. She was named after this woman he once knew who he claimed looked exactly like her. When he told me, I didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the woman.

I keep my eye on him since he lives alone, away from his family who rarely visit.

“Need more than a penny,” I jest, then lean down to rub Margaret Anne’s face. “What brings you out this late?”

“A late-night stroll just to keep my heart ticking along for a few more years,” Ronald quips. “Besides, this annoying young lady was getting antsy. I think we both needed a walk.”

“You’re so high maintenance,” I say to the chubby face staring wide-eyed at me.

“Anyway, you carry on with what you’re doing. I’ve got to head back and see if Gordon is going to lose his shit at those young chefs again. He’s got the mouth of a sailor, I tell ya.”

A small chuckle passes my lips. Ronald loves his reality shows and since I introduced him to Gordon Ramsay, he’s been binge-watching everything he’s in.

As Ronald and Margaret Anne head back home, I step inside the boat and stretch my arms to relieve the tension building up at the back of my neck.

I take a seat at the table and open my laptop. There, pinned in my inbox, is the email from Jacques Dupont offering me the head chef position for his new restaurant in Saint-Tropez. I’d be back in France, in my element, with everything at my fingertips.

I start typing, creating a list of my requirements. If I’m going to move back and start over, I want it to be on my terms, which includes a decent pay rise. After quickly reviewing the email, I hitsend.

It’s out there, in the universe, and if all roads lead back to France, I’ll pack my bags and be on the next flight.

Cinnamon Springs is nothing but a dead end.

For now, I play the waiting game.

And let the chips fall where they may.

CHAPTER 3Madelina

My determination to move forward with my life lasted all of five minutes.

Louis and Gabriel, Mr. and Mr. Eavesdropper, were given the whole story after the waiter served us a bottle of rosé, which I drank most of. Gabriel thought I did the right thing by ending it before it was too late. Louis, on the other hand, played devil’s advocate. It was fine until his opinion segued into a conversation about Louis’s ex. This was when things got heated. I didn’t expect to play the mediator in a lovers’ spat, but the spat became a problem when Gabriel stormed off, and Louis ran after him.

One would think my aura is toxic.

At this point, I would agree.

I chickened out of heading back home, instead booking a one-way ticket to Ibiza. It seemed like the solution to all my problems—party all night, sleep all day, and meet incredibly cute guys. The only way to get over your past mistakes is to make a new one, right?

I was too old for partying all night, though. By eleven in the evening, I retreated to my hotel for sleep and spent my days binge-reading instead of sleeping. I found myself in this small-town romance binge fest, which is ironic since I was avoiding going back to my own small town.

As I sat at Ibiza Airport waiting for my connecting flight back to New York, it officially marked the end of my European escape.

The moment the wheels touch down on the tarmac, a jolt races through my body. I continue to stare out the window, and soon JFK Airport looms into view as we slowly roll toward the terminal. The dreary skies hang low, hinting at an impending storm. I can already feel a pang of nostalgia wash over me, missing those blissful days spent lounging on sun-drenched beaches, where the warm rays kissed my skin and boredom was my companion.

That—and a smutty book.

“Welcome to New York,” the airhostess announces over the speaker. “The current time is eleven-fifty a.m. with a temperature of eighty degrees. If you’re visiting, we hope you enjoy your stay. For everyone else, welcome home.”

Around me, many people appear excited to have landed—I can only assume they’re tourists. The rest looked relieved to be home, as if the weight of their journeys has finally been lifted the moment they touched down on familiar ground.

As for me, I am neither.

I quickly text my brother to let him know I’ve landed. Aston suggested during our last conversation I stay with him at his loft before driving out to Cinnamon Springs. Knowing me and my so-called fragile state, he said it would be much better for me to ease myself back into my old life. I couldn’t be bothered arguing, so I agreed, since I knew jet lag would hit me. It’s the only thing I loathe about traveling because once it finds you, it’s like the foggiest of fogs where nothing in the world matters but sleep.

Me

You better not have one of those dumbass signs welcoming me home. I’ll kick your ass if you do.