I relayed the details to Bridget over the phone later. “And that’s the story.” For the fiftieth time in as many minutes, I checked my phone, but so far, Nicholas hadn’t returned my text.
“I’m baffled,” Bridget said.
“Maybe I should have given in sooner.”
Raising her voice, Bridget said, “No way. Don’t make this your fault. You’re stronger than that.”
Up until then, I agreed with Bridget, but I wasn’t so sure anymore. “Even you tried to persuade me to forgive him after he sent the flowers.”
“I changed my mind once you explained things so clearly. You weren’t ready to give in before. If Nicholas loves you, he’ll do whatever it takes to prove his devotion to you and won’t give up so easily.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I said dully.
“What is?”
Placing my palm over my forehead and leaning over my desk, I whispered, “Maybe he doesn’t love me.”
“Of course he does.”
“Then how do you explain his behavior earlier today and his continued silence all afternoon?”
“He’s busy at work?”
I sat up. “So busy at work, he has no clue the wreck he’s made me? It’s like he’s the defense attorney and the star witness for the prosecution all at once.”
Bridget snorted. “Spare me the legal mumbo jumbo, please. Creative types like me don’t follow that jargon.”
I sighed.
“Let’s do something fun tonight. Cocktails?”
“Maybe,” I said as I maximized the screen for my Gmail. There was an email from Hannah. As I clicked on the message, I seriously hoped she wasn’t nudging me for an expedited review of Tearing at the Seams. I had already pushed the book to the top of my TBR out of a sense of obligation, but if I had known accepting her proposition for an in with Felicia came with the unspoken cost of forever being her beck and call girl, I might have declined the offer. Or not. But I didn’t like the idea of Hannah taking advantage of the situation, even though it didn’t surprise me.
“A new gastropub opened up on the corner of 84th and Third,” Bridget was saying.
“One second, Bridget. I have to read something.”
“Okay, K.”
Kim,
A little birdie told me Felicia is submitting your book to Three Monkeys. My fingers are crossed for you. You couldn’t ask for a better home, as they are the premier press for romantic comedy and light women’s fiction.
Bonne Chance,
Hannah
P.S. The not-so-little birdie was your sister, Erin.
I couldn’t tell if Hannah’s use of “not-so-little” was a dig at Erin—whose frame was, admittedly, not so little—or at me since unlike me, my sister surpassed sixty inches and then some. Regardless, she had insulted either me or my sister, but I was too concerned with the implications of the email to feel the sting: Hannah knew Felicia had submitted A Blogger’s Life to Three Monkeys Press, which meant sooner or later she would find out they rejected it and, by extension, me.
To Bridget, I said, “This day couldn’t get any worse. Do you think any of Jonathan’s pot-dealing friends can get a hold of an IV so I can mainline alcohol? I don’t have the patience to drink it the old-fashioned way.”
Chapter 39
Two nights later, I still hadn’t heard a peep from Nicholas. In typical heartbroken fashion, I was curled on the corner of Bridget and Jonathan’s couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Spectacular Speculoos. “I suppose I’ll need to find a new apartment now.” Too bad I hadn’t insisted on keeping my studio in order to maintain my independence like Carrie Bradshaw. Then again, even though Nicholas made a good living, it didn’t compare to the likes of Big or Petrovsky. Who was I kidding? My life would never resemble an episode of Sex and the City. Except the really sad episodes, like when Big told Carrie he was marrying Natasha or when Berger broke up with Carrie on a Post-it note. And, unlike Carrie, I wasn’t a published author. I shoved another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and shivered as a cold rush blasted through my head. “Ouch.” A little ice cream still in my mouth, I mumbled, “Brain freeze” in response to Bridget’s questioning gaze.
“Oh.” She giggled.
“Not funny.” I pouted.
“I’m sorry, K.” She frowned. “I wish I knew what to say.”
Bridget and Jonathan had been wonderful the last couple of days. They doted on me from the moment I walked in the door after work until we all retired for the night—making me dinner, giving me power over the remote control, plying me with cookies. I was almost afraid they would suggest I cuddle with them before bed, but more afraid I would take them up on their offer.
Even when I first expressed my need for time away from Nicholas—back in Florida—my heart ached at the thought of a permanent break, but I was prepared to go through with it if I didn’t see things getting better. But even then, I never imagined Nicholas would shut me out so harshly. No word from him for two days—not even a quick text in response to mine—shattered me to my core.
At the sound of my phone ringing, I practically flew off the couch to grab it from the coffee table. It had to be Nicholas. Although, unless he had a compelling reason for going AWOL on me, it might be too little too late.
Only it wasn’t Nicholas. It was Pia. “Hi,” I answered unenthusiastically as I settled my frame back into the indention it had left on the couch.
“Have you seen it?” she squealed.
I wiggled a finger in my ear. Not wanting Pia’s screaming to wreak permanent damage on my hearing abilities, I put more distance between the phone and my ear. “Seen what?” I wasn’t in the mood for Pia’s exuberance.
“Oh my God. You haven’t, have you?”
I sighed. “What are you talking about?”
Bridget muted the television, and she and Jonathan regarded me with curiosity. I shrugged and mouthed, “Pia.”
“Go on YouTube right now,” Pia demanded.
“I’m not online.” Sitting up, I said to Jonathan, “Can I borrow your computer for a second? Pia’s insisting I go on YouTube.”
Jonathan nodded and walked his laptop over to me.
“Okay. I’m on YouTube. What exactly am I looking for? Is it a book trailer or something?” I sometimes attached fan-created book trailers to my reviews.
Pia chuckled. “Not exactly. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. It’s on its way to going viral.”
I put my phone on speaker. “What’s it called?”
“Just search, ‘guy asks his girlfriend for a second chance.’”
My fingers reacted to her words before my brain could catch up, and it wasn’t until I was staring at a screenshot of Nicholas hovered over his piano that my mouth dropped open. The video already had more than 100,000 views since it was posted earlier in the day. “Oh my God!” I called out, prompting Bridget and Jonathan to race to my side. “Nicholas made a YouTube video,” I said, in a semi state of shock.
“I know. Play it!” Pia screeched, and I could visualize her dancing around her dorm room in excitement, her nonexistent hips shaking from side to side.
I exhaled a nervous laugh. “Okay. Okay.” I glanced at Bridget and Jonathan hesitantly, and they nodded their encouragement. I clicked “play” and held my breath.
Chapter 40
Nicholas gazed earnestly into the camera. “It’s been brought to my attention that, through no fault but my own, my girlfriend is under the misconception I enjoy my time at work more than my time with her.”
I pressed pause on the video. “Rob.” When Nicholas and Rob were behind closed doors, they must have been talking about me.
“Why are you stopping it?” Bridget yelled before practically throwing herself on my lap to gain access to the keyboard.
As instructed, I resumed the video. I wondered who was filming h
im. Or was it a selfie?
“Kim.” He paused. “There is nothing further from the truth.” He held up his hand. “If you’re watching, I know you’re thinking actions speaker louder than words.”
I glanced at Bridget and Jonathan and shrugged. It was precisely what I was thinking.
Nicholas continued, “I’m so sorry you thought for one minute there was anything in this world I would rather do than you.” He smiled. “Now you’re thinking it’s not all about sex.”
I rolled my eyes but let a small smile escape.
“I apologized for making you feel neglected without ever acknowledging that you were neglected.” He shook his head. “So much time I could have, no, should have, spent being accepted unconditionally by you was wasted seeking the elusive approval of someone whose opinion, quite honestly, doesn’t mean nearly as much to me. Yes, I love this person. But I don’t want to date this person. And when this person rides me hard, it doesn’t feel nearly as good as when you do.” He cracked up.
I clamped my hand to my mouth as my face warmed in embarrassment.
His expression serious again, Nicholas said, “My work is important to me and has been since well before you first walked into my law firm. You, with your smoking-hot pencil skirts and button-down tops I mentally unbuttoned each time we shared the same air space. You, whose eyes danced whenever the word ‘book’ was spoken within a mile radius. My ambition is not what changed. You did not change. We are not what changed. I alone am responsible for the near destruction of our relationship, and Rob made me understand what I risked losing if I didn’t get my priorities in order. I’m embarrassed I needed to be told, but I’m glad Rob pointed it out to me.”
Rob was so unresponsive when I confided in him, but he was secretly super concerned. What a faker. Oh, how I adored him. Bridget handed me a tissue, and I mouthed, “Thank you” before dabbing my eyes.
“There is not another person in this world I’d rather spend my time with than you, Kimmie Long, and it pains me to have you doubt my love for you for even a second. My negligence in letting it go on this long is something I’ll have to live with, but I hope I can make you forget—a little bit each day—if you’ll let me. The thing is, Kimmie, we’re both quite capable of achieving success in our professional endeavors without losing what makes us so damn great together, and I’m determined to prove it to you beginning now. My first order of business…” He grinned, his eyes shining with light. “…is to sing you a little ditty.”
I giggled. For Bridget and Jonathan’s benefit, I muttered, “Private joke.” On our first date, Nicholas demonstrated his immaturity by confusing my use of the term “ditty” to describe a short song with the slang term “diddies,” which means “breasts.”
Nicholas lowered his gaze toward the piano and started playing. Within the first few chords, I recognized the song: Player’s “Baby Come Back.” His song choice was as corny as mine the year before, but I choked up anyway as he sang, “I was wrong, and I just can’t live without you” in near-perfect pitch.
Nicholas didn’t play the song like a professional pianist—his rhythm was a bit choppy, and he missed a few notes—but in my eyes, he was a rock star. By the time he sang the last words and played the final notes, I was halfway to the West Village—metaphorically speaking, since I was being held hostage on the couch by Bridget, who had grabbed hold of my hand halfway through the song.
Jonathan broke the silence. “I’m so screwed.” He walked to the window, a cigarette already dangling from the side of his mouth. “Nicholas has set the bar quite high for a grand gesture. No apology I ever offer will compare.”
“Just don’t do anything which would require a grand gesture, and you’ll be fine,” Bridget said. “And besides, Nicholas was just living up to the standard Kim set last year when she sang to him. Remember?”
“Performing karaoke to a controlled audience does not compare to making a YouTube video accessible to an infinite number of views,” Jonathan said, taking a long drag of his cigarette before blowing out the smoke in a slow exhale.
“Nicholas can take down the video any time he wants,” Bridget argued.
I was contemplating the swiftest path to Nicholas’s arms and was only half-listening to their debate. I was considering the advantages and disadvantages of taking the subway, car, or an Uber when Bridget’s intercom rang.
“Hey, Joseph,” Bridget said into the speaker.
“You have a Nicholas in the lobby. Can I send him up?”
“Yes,” I volunteered, vaulting off the couch. “I’ll call you later, Pia. Thanks,” I said before hanging up the phone. My short legs reached the front door in record time, and while I waited for Nicholas, I wiped a smudge of ice cream off my chin. After a few minutes, I was certain he must have gotten stuck in the elevator. Impatient, I swung the door open with force, coming face to face with a startled Nicholas.
At the sight of him, I sucked in my breath. “Hi,” I said, sounding more like a shy tween meeting the lead singer of a boy band than an almost-thirty-year-old woman.
Nicholas ran his tongue along his lower lip. “Hi yourself.”
I tore my eyes from his mouth and, noticing his attire, broke into a huge smile. “Nice shirt.”
He glanced down at his very snug-fitting pink t-shirt with the words “Strawberry Fields Forever” written in green atop a red strawberry design. “This old thing? Lucky for me Amazon has two-hour delivery.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s a girl’s shirt, right?”
His cheeks turning red, he said, “I bought it for you?”
“It will look nice next to my Penny Lane shirt,” I said, referring to the shirt I had worn when I sang “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” to him at karaoke in front of all of our colleagues. All self-control lost, I launched myself into his arms. “I missed you so much,” I whispered.
Squeezing me tightly, Nicholas said, “I take it you saw the video?”
I pulled away. “Did you mean what you said?”
“Every word.”
I planted a soft kiss on his lips before nibbling on his neck. I breathed in his scent with every peck.
“Will you please come home now?”
“Yes.” I lightly tugged on his earlobe with my teeth. “I just need to pack my stuff.” I replaced my teeth with my tongue and sucked gently.
I heard a thumping sound from behind me and broke away from Nicholas to find Bridget standing beside my bag. “I packed your suitcase. Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?” Then she closed the door behind her.
I looked at Nicholas and shrugged. “I guess my visitor’s pass has expired.”
From the other side of the wall, Bridget shouted, “Call me tomorrow.”
Grabbing my bag with one hand, Nicholas placed his other hand on the small of my back and led me toward the elevator. “Let’s get you home where you belong.”
Chapter 41
We froze as one, spent from vigorous makeup sex. Our heavy breathing was the only evidence of life until I released a sob.
Nicholas untangled his legs from mine and pushed himself up on his elbows. Peering at me with concern, he asked, “What’s wrong, Kimmie? Did I hurt you?”
Surprised by my own reaction, I shook my head. “Not at all.” I wiped the wetness from my eyes. “I’m just emotional, I guess.”
“Things are going to get better from here on out. I promise,” he said.
“I thought you gave up on me.”
“Never,” Nicholas said, shaking his head.
“You didn’t return my text.” I sat up against the headboard. “The other day. You ran out of Rob’s office without a word to me, and when I texted to see if you were all right, you ignored me. I was going to tell you I wanted to come home, and I…I thought you changed your mind.” I reached over to the nightstand for a tissue.
Nicholas s
ighed. “I couldn’t face you. After what Rob told me—that you thought I would rather be at work than with you—I was so ashamed. I knew I had to fix it. So I went home and played the piano until I got it right.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “It took me a while to find the perfect song. And then learning to play it on the piano wasn’t easy either.”
Smoothing out a hair on his head that was sticking straight up, I said, “The effort did not go unnoticed, but a simple sincere apology and promise to try harder would have been enough. You didn’t have to go all grand gesture on me.” I kissed his cheek. “But I’m glad you did.”
“We’re even now. Between ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue’ and ‘Baby Come Back,’ I’d say we’re a shoo-in if there’s ever a contest for the couple with the oddest taste in music to serenade your lover.” He chuckled.
I raised an eyebrow. “Not to mention outdated. We should be closer to fifty than thirty based on our song choices.”
“Nothing wrong with that. The Beatles would have been over fifty by now. I prefer the term ‘classic’ to “outdated.’”
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