by Jen Morris
I pause and swivel, looking around again, but I can’t see anyone I know. God, I’m so caffeine-deprived I’m hearing things.
Straightening my shoulders, I turn and continue towards the coffee shop.
“Alex! Wait.” My suitcase is yanked from my hand and I spin around to see a familiar face.
My heart stops.
“Don’t go. Please.” Cat looks at me beseechingly.
Geoff appears beside her, his hands on his hips as he doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “You’re… so… fast…”
A disbelieving laugh shakes out of me at the sight of my two friends. Cat flaps a hand at Geoff to grab my suitcases and, taking my arm, leads me back over to the bench. Geoff bumbles along with my baggage, dumping it at my feet and collapsing beside us.
“I’m so sorry for what I said.” Cat clasps my hands, her expression sincere. “You were right. About everything.”
I glance at Geoff and he shrugs. “I’m sorry. When I saw your note, I had to call her.”
I fix my attention back on Cat. “You spoke to Mel?”
“Yes. I called her last night and she denied everything, so I figured you were lying. Then when Geoff called in a panic this morning, I called Mark, and he told me the truth. When I called Mel back and told her, she finally confessed.”
“I’m sorry for how I told you. I never meant to blurt it out that way and hurt you. I was upset.”
Cat shakes her head. “You did the right thing, telling me. I’m so sorry for not believing you. I’d just had an awful evening with Kyle and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“It’s okay.” I pull her into a hug, relief flooding my body. “What happened with Kyle?”
“Ugh, I’ll tell you another time. But that’s over. Now what’s this about you leaving New York?” She looks at me sternly and I let out a long, weary breath.
“I’m not. I thought I should, but—”
“There’s no need to leave just because you broke up with a guy,” Geoff says.
“Well, I also destroyed my career.”
Geoff cocks his head. “What?”
“I got offered that column but Mel told Justin not to give it to me.”
Cat winces. “Yes, I think she was going to make sure you didn’t get it.”
Geoff stares at me wide-eyed. “What a crazy bitch.”
I snort in agreement. “It’s okay, I’m not going to let her stop me. I’ll talk to Justin. I worked hard to prove I’m a good writer, so I’m not just going to walk away.”
Geoff grins. “Good.”
“Besides, I don’t want to leave New York. This is my home, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Cat exhales in relief. “I’m so glad.” Her and Geoff exchange a look and he leans closer.
“And what about Michael?”
I shake my head, swallowing against the sudden sting in my throat. “No, that’s… no.”
“But why?” Geoff presses. “When I saw you together at New Year’s… it just looked like you were meant to be, you know? And the way you’re both writers, and you met in this huge city, then you got stranded at a snowy cabin… It’s like a fairy tale.”
I blink the tears away from my eyes, giving Geoff a humorless laugh. “That’s what I thought too. But that’s the problem, Geoff. Fairy tales only exist in movies and books. Real life isn’t perfect like that.”
His brow knits, and he opens his mouth to say more, but Cat puts her hand on his arm, turning to me.
“Will you come home now?”
I grimace. “I can’t come back to the building. I can’t risk running into Michael.”
Her face falls, but she nods in understanding.
“Stay with me,” Geoff offers.
I stare at him for a moment, at his kind face regarding me hopefully. Cat is waiting with her eyebrows raised. Gazing at my two friends—the friends who rushed out to the airport in Queens to stop me from leaving the country—I burst into tears of relief. I knew staying was the right thing to do.
43
“You have to let me read it!”
I shake my head at Geoff, pulling my boots on. “Are you kidding? No way.” I haven’t let myself even think about my romance novel, let alone look back over it. I know it will just make me think of Michael, and every time that happens, I cry. It’s only been a few days, but I’m beginning to worry that I’m getting severely dehydrated.
Geoff folds his arms. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you stay rent-free on my sofa in exchange for a copy of your romance novel.”
I straighten up, frowning in confusion. “I’m already staying here rent-free.”
“Exactly,” he says with a smug smile. “Ooh, I’ll sweeten the deal. How about I get you a great job at the bookstore I run?”
I roll my eyes, taking my laptop from his outstretched hand. “Fine, Geoff. I get your point.” I flip the lid open and wait for it to boot up. “Just… I don’t want to talk about it, okay? You can read it but we are not going to discuss it.”
He puts his hand on his heart. “Promise.”
I send it via email then snap my laptop shut, sliding it into my bag. Smoothing my hands over my dress, I glance at Geoff anxiously. “Okay, how do I look?”
He appraises my outfit. “Like a woman who wasn’t secretly hiding a boyfriend from her new boss?”
“Perfect,” I say, pulling on my coat. “That’s just what I was going for.”
I slip out the front door into the cold morning air, tugging my scarf up around my neck as I wander through the Village towards the subway. It’s so icy that my nose is numb, but I still look around at the row houses and brick buildings with a smile. I love this part of the city, and seeing it again just reminds me that it’s where I’m meant to be. I can’t believe I ever doubted that.
As I ride the subway up to Midtown, anxiety burrows under my skin. I’m not sure I want to surprise Justin with a visit, but this needs to be done. I want to fight for the job I earned.
If I’m not too late.
When I step into the elevator and press the button for the fifteenth floor, sandwiched between four other people with a visitor pass slung around my neck, my gut is turning itself inside out. I ride the elevator, picking at a nail until it bleeds. The ping of the opening doors sends my heart skittering, and for a second I stand, frozen.
What am I doing? Justin won’t want to see me. I’ll probably be escorted off the premises by a security guard, my face scarlet with humiliation. And what if Mel’s in there? She no doubt knows how spectacularly things ended with Michael, and will be more than happy to rub salt into the wound.
But as the doors begin to slide closed again, determination grips me and I lunge forward, slipping through the gap. I came here for a reason and I’m not turning back now.
Get it together, Alex. Game face on.
At reception I have to give my name, and the woman tells Justin over the phone that it’s me. I’m surprised when she ushers me down a corridor towards his office, instead of asking me to leave. That has to be a good sign.
As I knock on Justin’s door, my pulse is thumping in my ears.
Right. I can do this.
“Alex, come in.”
I enter the room and Justin gestures to the chair opposite his desk. I sit, taking a deep breath. Any minute now he’s going to tell me how disappointed he is, and I’m going to need to do some serious groveling. But that’s okay, I knew that. That’s why I’m here.
“I’m glad you came in,” he says, pushing his chair out and coming to lean against the front of his desk. “Mel spoke to me.”
I shrink. Here it comes.
“God, she’s a nightmare,” he mutters, and confusion weaves through me.
“Er, what?”
“She gave me this whole speech about how you’re screwing around with her ex.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling. I’m about to begin my groveling when he shakes his head, offering me a smile. “Anyway, did you see my email? We’ve
been so thrilled with your articles.”
Wait. What?
“My articles?”
“Yes.” He passes a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Our readers have really connected with your voice and your sense of humor. I think it will make a great regular feature.”
“Regular feature?”
He gives me a strange look. “Are you okay?”
“Justin—” I hesitate, wanting to make sure I’m understanding him. “Are you still offering me the column?”
“What? Of course.”
“I just thought that Mel—”
“No.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I ignore her most of the time.”
“Oh.” I frown, puzzled. “I figured she would convince you not to give it to me, just like she convinced you to read my blog in the first place.”
Justin cocks his head. “She didn’t convince me to read your blog. She didn’t even intend to show me your blog, Alex. She sent the link to someone at work to mock your writing and accidentally cc’d me into the email.”
I stare at Justin in disbelief. “She was mocking my writing?” I ask quietly, surprised to find myself feeling hurt. Out of everything she’s done, I never thought to question her encouraging words about my writing. But now I remember how she said my blog was “hilarious” and I suddenly understand what she meant.
He grimaces. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that. But I clicked on the link in the email, thinking I’d have a good laugh, and instead found a talented writer. That’s why I asked you to send me some articles.”
“But…” I rub my forehead, trying to make sense of this. “Why was she so nice at brunch when we met?”
“Mel is all about saving face. She could hardly admit she’d passed over your writing when I liked it. She wanted to take credit for finding you, because I was impressed.”
“Huh.” I’m quiet, processing this. Since I saw the real Mel at the hospital and learned the truth about who she is, I’ve wondered why she was so nice to me when we met, why she went out of her way to help me with my writing. But it was just saving face in front of Cat and Justin. Of course. That’s how she handled her divorce too; by painting herself as the victim.
“Anyway,” Justin says, bringing my attention back to him. “Do you have a working visa?”
“Um… no.”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “I can help you sort that out. So are we good?”
I sigh, deciding to do the mature thing. If I’m going to work with him, I don’t want him to think I’m a liar. “What Mel told you was right, though. I was seeing her ex.”
“Uh, okay.” He brushes at some invisible lint on his pants. “It’s not really any of my business.”
“But the column you’re offering me is about being single. So I thought that if I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t get it.”
“Well…” He rubs his jaw, considering this. “Yeah, that could be a problem. So you’re not single, now?”
“I—” Tears tingle in my nose and I look down at my hands, sniffing. “I am now, yes.” As the words leave my mouth, there’s a little ache, deep in my ribcage. Even after everything Michael said to me, I miss him. God, I know it’s stupid—I know that I only miss a fantasy, some dream I had of us—but I do.
“Okay, then there’s no issue. The column is yours if you want it.”
My mouth pushes into a smile, but a weight settles into the pit of my stomach. I want to be a writer for Bliss Edition, but the thought of continuing to write about how fabulous it is to be single after being with Michael doesn’t exactly thrill me. In fact, it makes me want to cry.
But it’s not just because of Michael. I was over writing about this topic before things even happened with him, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. And if I’m going to stay here in the city and live my life on my own terms, then I need to be honest—with myself and with Justin.
I clear my throat, lifting my gaze to meet his. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Justin, but I don’t want to write about being single anymore. I know that’s what the whole column is supposed to be about, but I can’t do it. I’m sorry to let you down.” I pull my purse onto my shoulder and stand, extending a hand to thank him and leave. But he just looks at my hand then back up at my face.
“Right. Well, what do you want to write about?”
I stare at him, his frame casually leaning against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. “I’m sorry?”
He shrugs. “Alex, you’ve proven you’re a great writer and I’d love to have you on board. So if you don’t want to write this column, I’ll see if I can create something else to utilize your talents. What do you want to write about?”
I lower myself into the chair, my mind spinning. Well, I didn’t see this coming. And now, shit, I don’t know. What do I want to write about?
“The city,” I hear myself say. “This city is… something else. It’s alive, and breathing, like this living thing, this loving thing, welcoming you no matter where you’re from. I feel like it wants to know you, like it needs you as much as you need it. It’s like a lover calling you back to bed when you leave, and—” I break off as Justin’s eyebrows shoot up. Shit, what am I even saying right now? What kind of delusional rant is this?
But Justin nods. “Yes, you’re right. That’s why I love New York. Why everyone loves New York.” He scrubs a hand over his stubbly chin. “You might not want to write about being single, but what about writing as if the city were your date?” He pushes away from his desk, pacing as he thinks. “A ‘New York is my boyfriend’ kind of thing. You said the city is like a lover, and you’re clearly passionate about it. We could create a weekly column where you go on some kind of date with the city and write about it, as if it were a man. It could be part travel memoir, part dating column, all from a humorous perspective. What do you think?”
Excitement zips through me and I give Justin a genuine smile. I love this city and I’d be proud to write about it—to have New York as my “boyfriend.”
And perhaps, best of all, I know New York will never break my heart.
44
I slide the book back onto the shelf, trying not to let my eyes wander to the section beside me—the section where I discovered Michael’s book. I’ve been trying to avoid this whole aisle, but Geoff keeps giving me things to shelve down here. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
With a sigh, I shuffle up to the counter. It’s been a long first day back at work, but it’s good to return to some sort of normal. Well, I guess it looks normal on the outside, but my chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and filled with cement.
“We need to talk,” Geoff says as I lean against the counter. He’s unboxing some new thrillers and I pick one up absently.
“About what?”
“Your novel.”
I set the book down, narrowing my eyes. “No.”
“Oh, come on! It’s—”
“That wasn’t the deal, Geoff! You promised we didn’t have to discuss it.”
“I know. But that was before I knew how brilliant it is.”
I snort. This should be good.
“I’m serious!” He abandons the box to focus his attention on me. “It’s fantastic. It’s hot, and the story is solid, and that Matthew character—”
“Oh God,” I mutter, heat rising to my cheeks. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“I think you need to do something with it.”
I twist away, pretending to busy myself with the new arrivals. “I’m not—”
“Alex.” Geoff puts his hand on my arm, turning me back to him. “I mean it. I read a lot of books, and I’m not just saying this as a friend. I think you have something here.”
I observe his earnest expression and feel a flicker of hope ignite inside me. I trust Geoff, and if he’s saying this, maybe, well… is it possible that it is good?
“And the ending,” Geoff adds with a swoon. “It’s adorable.”
I ment
ally douse the flicker of hope, shaking my head. “It’s not adorable. It’s absurd,” I say, and my concrete heart hardens a little more.
I’ve been trying not to think about the ending I wrote at the cabin, high on Michael’s pheromones, dazed from hours of sex and cuddling, unable to think rationally. I’m trying to keep Michael out of my mind altogether, and most of the time it’s working. Well, during the day it’s working. At night, when I’m in bed alone, I somehow forget how mad I’m supposed to be. Instead, I’m consumed by the physical ache of missing him. I miss his kisses, his hands on me. I miss his woodsy smell and his sweet taste, the way his eyes would light up when he looked at me. I miss the low rumble of his laugh. I miss the way he made me feel safe and sexy and—even if it was just for a little while—happy.
Then, when the morning comes and I have a headache from crying over the happy ending I never got, I remind myself again how angry I am that he wanted me to give up my writing after he’d promised to support me. And when I think about how he compared me to Mel, how he told me I was being ridiculous… my fury returns in full force.
But that’s good. It’s easier to be angry with him than to feel the emptiness of missing him.
Geoff frowns. “It’s a romance novel, Alex. That’s how it’s supposed to end.”
I heave out a sigh. He’s right, of course, and I’d hate it if these books ended any other way. I don’t want to read about two broken people who fall in love and think they’re going to be happy, only to end up with mangled hearts. That’s what real life is for.
Geoff smiles at a customer as they enter the store, then turns back to me. “Look. You might not be feeling good about love right now, and I get that. But your book is great, and I hope you do something with it.” He follows after the customer and I’m left with his words echoing in my head.
The truth is, I kind of would like to do something with my novel. I’m thrilled to have the column from Justin, but I also want something for me—something that can keep that hopeless, romantic side of myself satisfied, so I’m not tempted to go looking for it in real life again. I’d been reluctant to do anything with my novel because I was worried what my parents might think. But I’ve decided to do what’s best for me now. Taking my romance novel seriously would be a good first step.