Read That Girl's the One I Love for Free Online

see in her? She didn’t know what to say.
    As she struggled for a response, the seconds ticked by, blossomed into minutes. Finally words came up in his message box.
    Leyla, I’ve got an emergency here. I’m so sorry. Leave me your address and phone number. I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
    Then the little green dot in his message box disappeared, indicating he’d gone offline.
    She stared at the box for awhile, reading his request. Did she dare send her address? She thought not. Why open that can of worms again? She’d broken her heart on that particular set of jagged rocks before; she didn’t intend to do it again.
    She read everything on his page, noted his list of fifty-two friends, none of them she knew, none of them famous. She read that his constant companion was a spirited golden cocker spaniel, but that he was otherwise single. She devoured it all, then turned off her browser without leaving him any information and went back to her manuscript. But as much as she wanted her fictional story to distract her, she couldn’t make it work. She turned off the laptop and went to bed.
    ****
    Over the next several weeks, they had several disjointed conversations, left in messages on each other’s pages. The time difference and what was clearly his busy schedule still ate away at their ability to connect in real time. Leyla found herself disappointed, which indicated to her that her refusal to provide him with her personal information might be a mistake. She still cared about him. He was still wrapped inside her heartstrings.
    But I can’t build up what might be going on between us. We’re both older, we’ve moved on. Yes, we had a golden glowing moment, but that’s past. I have to be realistic. Anything else makes me a fool of the first degree.
    She tried to separate reality from dream, carrying on with her life one day at a time. She made her rounds, including dropping in at the paper every so often, since her editor insisted she liked to see Leyla’s face. But the next time she showed up, Milla called her in.
    When she sat down across from Milla, she studied the expression on the editor’s face, wondering if she was about to be fired. She didn’t get paid much, but everyone knew that papers were folding right and left across the country. Dressed in her usual casual sweater and worn jeans, with earrings that had to be cubic zirconia instead of real diamonds, Milla didn’t look angry or sad, though. Maybe things were going to be all right. “What’s up, Mill?”
    The editor handed an envelope across her cluttered desk. “This came for you.”
    Leyla frowned as she looked at the envelope. “No return address.”
    Milla nodded. “That’s why we opened it. We were a little concerned. But it seems legit.”
    Leyla took out the letter, a missive from Mike Chandler, a local radio station DJ she knew by reputation, a guy who liked to cultivate relationships with big stars, then name-drop everywhere he could. The release was for a concert coming one night only to Pittsburgh, ten days hence. But there was a contest, too, the prize being a chance to spend an evening with Arran Lake. A ticket for the venue and the night in question was enclosed, and a handwritten scrawl across the bottom of the page said, “Please come.”
    “This is legit?” Leyla asked, feeling the blood drain from her face. “You sure they meant me?” She looked at the envelope again, seeing her name there, over the address of the City Paper.
    “Looks like it.” Milla watched her, a curious expression on her face. “What’s going on? I can tell by your reaction there’s more to this story.”
    Leyla shook her head at first, but warring emotions shredded her reserve. Wanting to reassure herself she wasn’t crazy, she told Milla the whole story, from the first time she’d heard Arran sing in the Westville Pub, back in Asheville, to the most recent online message. “I’ve never seen him since then, Mill. I thought, you