Chapter 30. A Rush Hour

CHARLOTTE

“Good luck on your date, Olive,” I called.

“Thanks!!” she shouted from the bathroom.

I glanced at Angela, now pouting over her breakup. My heart ached for her.

“That bastard probably already has a new Valentine’s date. Idiot,” she muttered.

“He is an idiot. You deserve better, Angela. Trust me—you’re a kind, beautiful woman. You’re a ten. The standard. You could walk out right now and have plenty of men begging to be your date.”

She chuckled.

“You’re one of a kind, Charlotte. You don’t have a date either, do you? You care more about others than yourself. From the little I’ve known about you… you can’t stand seeing someone sad. You’re the kind one.”

Our eyes met, and I looked away, blinking back sudden tears.

“See you later, Angela,” I murmured, then quietly stepped out of the room.

Outside the hotel, I stood by the road clutching my bag with one hand. I hadn’t decided yet—whether to call a cab or press the remote