July's heartbreak

The champagne was expensive. "Two hundred dollars a bottle," Peter had bragged. I held my glass and watched the bubbles rise to the top. They looked like tiny dreams, floating up and then disappearing into nothing, just like my dreams had disappeared over the past five years. "Smile, baby," Peter had whispered an hour ago, his hand tight on my waist. "Everyone's watching." Everyone was always watching. That was the point of being Peter Songs' fiancée. You had to look perfect. You had to be perfect. You had to shrink yourself down until you fit neatly into his shiny, expensive life. I smoothed down my silver dress. Peter had picked it out. He picked out everything now: my clothes, my hair, and my words. When had I stopped choosing things for myself? The Manhattan penthouse was packed with guests. Lawyers, bankers, and important people in important suits. I didn't know most of them. They were Peter's friends, Peter's colleagues, and Peter's world. "Have you seen Peter?" I asked a woman in red lipstick. The woman shrugged. "He went to the back rooms and said he had a phone call." I nodded and walked through the crowd. My feet hurt in my heels. Peter liked when I wore high heels, even though I was already so short that they barely made a difference. The hallway was quiet compared to the party. I could hear my own heartbeat. Something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong for months, actually. Peter coming home late, Peter's phone always face-down on the table, Peter looking at me like I was a stranger. I pushed open the bedroom door, and my whole world cracked in half. Peter was there, but he wasn't alone. Jane, my best friend, was wrapped around him like a vine. Her lipstick was smeared across his white collar, and his hand rested on her stomach. Her round, pregnant stomach. "July!" Jane jumped back, her eyes wide. Peter didn't even flinch. He just looked at me with those cold, handsome eyes and said the words that would haunt me forever. "The baby's mine." Like it was nothing. Like five years of my life meant nothing. Like I was nothing. My champagne glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. "How long?" My voice came out steady, which surprised me. Peter shrugged. "Does it matter?" "How long?" I repeated. Jane looked at the floor. "Two years." Two years. While I was planning Peter's birthday parties and hosting his dinner meetings and giving up my dream of opening a restaurant because Peter said it was silly, he was sleeping with my best friend. "July, let me explain," Peter started. But I was already walking away. I didn't run, I didn't cry, and I didn't scream; I just walked past the two hundred guests, past the expensive champagne, and past the life I had wasted five years building. I got in my car and drove. The highway stretched out before me, dark and endless. I drove for eight hours straight. I didn't stop for food or gas or sleep. I just kept going, putting miles between myself and the image of Jane's pregnant belly. My phone rang forty-seven times. Peter. Jane. Her mother. I turned it off and threw it in the backseat. When the sun started to rise, I saw the sign: Welcome to Savannah. Savannah. Where my grandmother had lived. Where my grandmother's restaurant still stood, half-finished and abandoned for two years. Peter had told me to sell it a hundred times. "It's a dump, July. Just get rid of it. You don't need some old building in the middle of nowhere." But I had kept it. I didn't know why, maybe because it was the only thing left that was truly mine. The restaurant was on Admiralty Road, a quiet street lined with oak trees and old brick buildings. I parked my car and stepped out into the warm morning air. The building looked worse than I remembered. The paint was peeling, and the windows were dusty. A "For Renovation" sign hung crooked on the door. When I looked at it, I didn't see a dump. I saw my grandmother's hands rolling dough, I saw her grandmother's smile when customers said her food was delicious, and I saw the dream that I had buried so deep I almost forgot it existed. "I'm going to fix you up," I whispered to the building. "I'm going to make you beautiful again." I walked up the front steps, ready to go inside. I stopped. Someone was sitting on the top step. A man. Tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair that was turning silver at the sides. He had gray eyes that looked like storm clouds and a jaw covered in stubble. He was possibly the most handsome man I had ever seen. "Who are you?" I asked, my heart beating fast. The man stood up slowly. He was even taller standing, at least six foot three. His eyes swept over my face, and I felt like he was seeing straight through me. "John Karma," he said. His voice was deep and quiet. "I own this building now." My stomach dropped. "You own it?" John nodded. "I bought all the buildings on this street last month." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "These were supposed to be delivered to you weeks ago. Sorry about that." I took the keys, my hand shaking slightly. "Are you here to kick me out?" John's gray eyes held hers for a long moment. "No," he said finally. "I'm here to tell you the roof leaks badly. You'll want to fix that first." Then he turned and walked away into the early morning light, leaving me standing on the steps with a thousand questions and a heart that wouldn't stop racing. What I didn't know, what I couldn't possibly know, was that John Karma had been waiting for me and the secrets buried in this old restaurant were about to change both our lives forever.