TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "STRONG" - MORE OF "THE ONE WHO GOT AWAY"

Howdy. Welcome. This week, I've posted the second, and alas, last, piece from "The One that got Away." This piece is almost finished and will be published soon, so it's got to go. I apologize for leaving with a bit of a cliff-hanger. You'll simply have to wait until it's published to find out what happens. 
Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and the excellent writers there. Thanks for coming! 

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Still, Mike had planned to move into Amy’s apartment. In three days strong men were coming to stuff his belongings into a storage locker. His place was pretty well packed up. He couldn’t move in with her without at least the promise of marriage, could he? A lot of men did, but not Mike. He didn’t roll that way. Still, marriage meant giving up his dream of Heather. Was he ready to do that? He pushed Heather out of his mind and crossed the street.

When he arrived, he had about a half hour wait. Her hair had to be perfect. Everything about Amy had to be perfect; her clothes, her house, he hesitated to put down a glass, even on a coaster, on the coffee table. So God damn perfect it made him nervous. That was about to come to an end, once he moved in. “Messy Mike” she’d nicknamed him. He hated it, but she was right.

Heather popped into his mind. Her shoulder-length light brown hair hadn’t been perfect. Wind-blown from the ocean breezes, it had whipped around her face before settling on her shoulders in loose, messy curls. She’d worn no makeup, except a little lipstick. Pages of articles and stories had littered her beach house. There had been nothing perfect about Heather, except that she’d been perfect for him.

Sitting back, he rummaged through the magazines until he found his favorite, Esquire. Glancing over the cover, he spied a small headline for an essay inside. It was titled, The One that Got Away. And it was written by a best-selling author named Heather Stone. He searched his brain, but couldn’t recall Heather’s last name, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t Stone.

Heather had been an aspiring writer when he knew her. But this couldn’t be her. Still, he thumbed through to the article, just to make sure. He read the opening sentence, and his mouth went dry.

“Mike, where are you?”

His eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be, she must be talking about someone else. But he read on anyway.

TUESDAY TALES

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