ISABELLE'S POINT OF VIEW
I stared at my phone for the tenth time that morning. Nathan's last text was from two days ago. Just a simple "Hope you're doing well." I'd replied with something equally generic. "You too."
That was it.
A week had passed since the kiss at his penthouse. A week of overthinking every word, every gesture, every possible meaning. Did he regret it? Was he being polite by texting? Did he actually want to see me again, or was he hoping I'd forget the whole thing had happened?
I threw my phone on the couch and stood up. This was driving me crazy. I needed to talk to someone. Someone who might understand.
Elena.
She was now home from the hospital, recovering. I could visit her, check how she was doing. And maybe, if it came up naturally, I could ask her about Nathan.
I grabbed my keys and a bouquet of flowers I'd picked up yesterday, just in case I worked up the courage to visit.
