Coming Back (The Sarah Kinsely Story - Book #2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

to even notice me.
    It was a small victory, but I would take it.
    Since it was a Monday, the office was more busy than usual; especially Peyton.
    Another lucky break .
    I didn't see her emerge once from her office that entire morning. I was beginning to think I might just make it through my first real Monday since starting at Abraams and Snider unscathed.
    Then I saw Brandon.
    He was walking down the hall and heading straight for my desk.
    Oh shit . I looked around for something to throw over my head, hoping that if I just didn't move he somehow wouldn't see me. I had a copy of the latest People magazine and buried my face in it, pretending to look for good headlines to lift for my swipe file.
    "Hello Sarah. How are things this morning?"
    Damn . It hadn't worked.
    "Good Brandon. How are things in your neck of the woods?" I tried to create as much distance between us as possible and was hoping that coming off sounding like an 'ole chum would help that process.
    He seemed to notice and looked over his shoulder at the other copywriters, peering their noses over their cubicle, desperately hoping to get some face time with the boss.
    "Everything is great. I just wanted to check and see how you were holding up. Looks like you got everything under control. Well, have a good day."
    With that, he stuck out his hand for me to shake but decided against it last minute, instead shoving it in his pocket. He looked around again checking to make sure nobody saw him, and sulked away looking slightly embarrassed.
    For a brief moment I felt sorry for him. He looked almost pitiful sulking away like that, trying to find a legitimate excuse for making his way all the way down to copywriting from his office on the third floor. Luckily, the alcohol had long since warn off and my momentary feeling of pity quickly turned to disgust as I remembered Saturday night.
    Yuck. I suddenly felt like taking a shower.
    I threw the magazine down and cracked open my email. No new messages . I looked at the clock and was happily surprised to find that the morning had come and gone without my noticing. I snagged my rain coat and made a beeline for the front doors.
     
     
    During my week long mourning over Aiden, I had found some very interesting things out about Portland. Amongst my discoveries about this quirky little town were the parking lots dotting the city filled with permanently parked food carts.
    It was food from these delightfully quaint little samplings of culinary delights that had provided the sustenance I needed during my week of trying to pull myself back together. I would wake up at noon, throw some shoes on, venture down two blocks from my house in my pajamas, and spend $5 for some of the best food I had ever tasted.
    Then I would come home and sleep the rest of the day away.
    I found that one of the largest gatherings of these food trucks in the entire city was just blocks from my work, near Pioneer Square.
    I had promised myself that if I could make it through that first full Monday back I would treat myself to a food cart feast.
    I deserved it, dammit.
     
     
    After making a complete circle around the entire parking lot, looking for the right food cart to spend all my money on, I finally found the man I was looking for.
    Leaning outside the tiny cart window was a lean, tan, younger guy who wore some kind of hipster tank top for men. I don’t know if it was his tan skin or that his teeth were really that white, but every time he flashed a flirty grin towards the women passing his cart they all giggled. Some stopped, and a few ate.
    I was one of those that stopped and ate.
    His Cuban accent rolled off his tongue and for a moment I forgot why I had come to see him. He pointed to different items on his menu, describing each dish as if we were at a five start restaurant in Paris. At some point he stopped speaking and waited for me to answer a question I hadn’t heard him say.
    “What do you recommend?” Was all I could say.
    He recommended the