Chapter Three
801 Words
THE CALL
The office buzzed with quiet typing, distant phone calls, and the occasional clink of coffee mugs. Tamara sat at her desk, eyes fixed on her screen, editing a client proposal that refused to cooperate. Her head ached slightly maybe from stress, maybe from hunger, she couldn’t tell.
Her phone buzzed beside her. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed.
MOM.
She picked up quickly, forcing a smile into her voice.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Tammy baby!” her mother beamed through the line. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”
Tamara blinked. “Forgot what?”
“Our 30th wedding anniversary this weekend!” Her mother’s tone was playful, but there was a weight of expectation behind it. “Your father and I are hosting a little celebration in Charleston. We expect to see you there o. It’s been too long.”
Tamara’s heart dipped. Not because she didn’t want to go, she missed them terribly, but because her wallet told a different story. Her rent was due soon, and her last paycheck had already been chewed up by bills and that one stupid splurge at Zara.
She laughed nervously. “Ah, Mom... Charleston? That’s far. I might have work—”
Her mother cut in, cheerful but firm. “You have time to plan. You’re always working, Tammy. You need to come and enjoy with family. Even Tiffany can come. I’ll be expecting you.”
Before Tamara could invent a proper excuse, the line clicked. Her mom had hung up.
She stared at the phone, lips slightly parted. Her fingers hovered above her keyboard, and then she sighed deeply, sinking back into her chair. There was no way she could afford that trip. She didn’t even have groceries in the fridge.
For the rest of the day, she moved like a zombie replying to emails, fixing documents, but her thoughts were split between travel costs and her parents’ happy voices echoing in her head.
By the time she got home, the sun was almost gone, and the sky had taken on that hazy orange of late evening. Tiffany was curled up on the couch with a bowl of cereal and Netflix on autoplay.
“Hey,” Tamara mumbled, dropping her bag.
Tiffany glanced up. “Rough day?”
“Worse. My mom called.”
Tiffany raised a brow. “That bad?”
Tamara slumped beside her. “It’s their 30th anniversary this weekend. They’re having a celebration. In Charleston.”
“Ooooh.” Tiffany winced. “And you don’t want to go?”
“I want to. I really do. But I’m broke. Like, survive-on-instant-noodles broke.”
Tiffany gave her a sympathetic look. Then, without hesitation, she stood up and went to her purse. She pulled out her wallet and tossed a few folded bills onto the table.
“There. Take it. Book your trip.”
Tamara stared. “Tiff, I can’t—”
“You can,” Tiffany said. “And you will. You haven’t been home in almost a year, and you deserve a break.”
Tamara blinked, overwhelmed. “Thank you…”
Tiffany waved it off. “Just promise me you’ll take pictures. Especially if there’s an eligible cousin.”
Tamara laughed, finally allowing herself to exhale. “Deal.”
That night, Tamara packed slowly. Just a few outfits, her travel pouch, some makeup. Her mind was already visualizing Charleston’s calm streets, her mother’s cooking, and her father’s corny jokes. It felt good — grounding.
But when she eventually curled up in bed, the city already quieting outside her window, her thoughts strayed. Not to her family, or even the journey ahead.
But to him.
Jay.
Out of nowhere, she remembered the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes scanned her body bold, yet unhurried. His scent. His voice.
And as the silence deepened, she drifted off.
In her dream, she was back in that suite soft sheets, city lights spilling in through the windows, and Jay beside her, saying nothing, just looking.
He reached out, brushing a thumb over her lips. And just as he leaned in, she woke with a start.
Tamara sat up in bed, heart racing, breath shaky.
“Oh, come on!” she groaned, flopping back into the pillow. “Seriously?”
She covered her face, annoyed with herself. Weeks had passed. He was a stranger. A one-night stand. He wasn’t supposed to linger this long in her head. She didn’t even know his last name.
“God, be like Tiffany,” she muttered, glancing at the bedroom door. “She probably doesn’t even remember the guy she kissed last night let alone dream about him.”
But Tamara knew the truth.
She remembered.
Everything.
And something deep inside her whispered that this wasn’t over.
Not yet.
- Writer
