by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum
He leaned forward, a playful look in his eye. “Prove it.”
I twirled my spoon between my fingers and leaned over the small table. “What did you have in mind?”
“Definitions. I stump you, you have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“Bold.” My heart decided to pick up its pace. “And if I stump you?”
“You won’t.”
“Even bolder.” I smiled sweetly, but with enough bite that he’d know I was ready to play. “But let’s just say you lose… What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?” He kept his gaze level with mine.
My sorbet melted in the heat.
“Something more than dinner, that’s for sure.”
“Deal,” he said before I could elaborate on the specifics. “Ubiquitous.”
I huffed. “Please. Ubiquitous, u-b-i-q-u-i-t-o-u-s. It means existing everywhere at once.” I shrugged a shoulder and took another bite of sorbet. “Junior high spelling bee champion two years in a row. Defenestration.”
Appreciation lit a spark in Jesse’s eyes, and he scratched at the stubble along his jaw with one hand. “Throwing a person out of a window. I love that it’s apparently happened enough that a word had to be invented to describe it. Serendipitous.”
“Finding something valuable that you weren’t necessarily looking for.” Like today. I stole one of the cookies off his plate. “Lasciviousness.”
“Who taught you such a dirty word?” he teased. “It means being filled with desire— as I’m sure you know. Sesquipedalian.”
I laughed. “You made that up!”
Jesse stole the cookie from my fingers, crunching it in one bite. “And that, my friends, is the sound of you admitting defeat.”
“Never. Give me a minute.” I turned the word over in my head, thinking out loud. “Sesqui could be a hundred and fifty. And ped is foot.” I bit my lower lip, ready to hazard a guess but unsure if I still wanted to win. Dinner with Jesse sounded like a worthy prize. “Something with a hundred and fifty feet?”
I knew it was wrong even before Jesse’s mouth split in a grin. Shaking my head, I scooped the last of the sorbet into the hollow of my spoon. I raised it in a toast. “I surrender. Now tell me what it means.”
“Sesquipedalian: characterized by the use of long words.”
This time Jesse joined my laughter, and we made so much noise that the couple at the next table gave us disapproving frowns.
We laughed all the way to the green lawn of the park. Collapsing on a bench in the shade of the library, I kicked off my shoes and buried my toes in the grass.
“So why ‘And’?” I asked. “What does it mean?”
“No wonder you lost at Definitions if you don’t know what and means.”
I smacked him on the leg. “I’ll win next time.” Would there be a next time? Without a doubt. In a single afternoon, Jesse had managed to secure a future lunch and dinner date with me. It felt nice to be desired. To feel like I mattered to someone.
Devon had liked being with me, but I suspected that he liked being seen with me more. He liked the idea of being with a tall, blonde woman who complemented his suave style and polished charm. I wasn’t interested in that scenario anymore; I wanted to be the one who was seen, the one who was wanted.
Jesse reached his arm around the back of the bench. Not quite close enough to touch me, but close enough that I knew he was there. “Calvin and Hobbes. Laurel and Hardy. Ben and Jerry’s.” He held up a finger for each duo.
I matched his move. “Sonny and Cher. Romeo and Juliet. Peanut butter and jelly. What are we playing now?”
“What do they have in common?”
“They’re pairs. You usually don’t think of one without thinking of the other. Adam and Eve. Bonnie and Clyde. David and Goliath. I’ve got a million of them.”
“I’ll bet you do.” Jesse suppressed a chuckle. “It’s the and that makes them a unit, a team. What would Sherlock be without Watson? Batman without Robin?”
“Personally, I think Batman is better without Robin, but go on.”
“The and makes them inseparable.”
I rested against the back of the bench, feeling the solid pressure of his arm around my shoulders.
“There’s even more to it than that, though.” Jesse fell silent for a moment, his eyes searching the faraway clouds as though he could see letters in the wispy threads. “When my dad proposed to my mom, he said she cried so hard that she couldn’t say anything for two whole minutes. There he was, down on one knee, ring in hand, having just asked her to marry him, and she’s incoherent. So Dad looks up at her and says, ‘And?’ You know, prompting her for an answer. And she says, ‘Yes.’
“Mom’s been gone a dozen years now, but I named the shop in her honor. To me, the symbol on the door means togetherness. Completeness. The joining of two halves into a whole. Inseparable.” He looked down at his hand resting on his thigh. “It means yes.”
“My grandfather believed something similar. ‘Look for the good, sweet pea,’ he used to tell me all the time. ‘Add something positive to your life every day.’ Then he’d draw an ampersand on my hand.” Drawing on my leg, I made a sweeping swirl with my finger: up, around, down, loop, and hook. “It was our own secret symbol.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“The best.” I paused. “Is that why you helped me last night? Because you like to say yes?” I asked quietly. Our flirting had mellowed into something more intimate.
When he looked at me, another shiver spiked through me. “I think I could get used to saying yes to a girl like you.”
Another breeze blew through us, carrying with it the never-ending sounds of life moving in fast motion. But for that moment, I felt the world narrow down to just me and Jesse.
He held out his hand to me, and I took it without hesitation.
I fairly floated back to my apartment. Jesse and I had parted at the corner by the library, though I lingered to watch him walk away. He had slept less than I had, and he admitted he wasn’t going to last much longer without getting some rest.
We exchanged phone numbers— I’d been so bold with him over the last twenty-four hours that what was a little more?— and he said he’d call me to collect on that rain check.
I splurged on a cab back to my building and smiled wide at my doorman. Everything seemed a little brighter this afternoon, and I couldn’t help but bask in it.
After the whirlwind adventure I’d had, it was good to be home. I dropped my stuff on my lumpy-but-oh-so-comfy couch and headed straight for my bedroom.
A long hot shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a glass of iced tea later, I slumped on the couch and deliberately didn’t pick up any one of the four manuscripts I was reading for work.
Sunshine and softness enveloped me whole.
The buzz of my building’s intercom woke me. Scrambling to respond, I pushed the button that connected me to the doorman. “Yes?”
“Mr. White is here to see you, Miss Meyers.”
Devon? What did he want?
I hesitated, afraid I knew the answer, then pressed the button again. “Send him up.”
“Yes, miss.”
I had just enough time to shake myself all the way awake before the knock sounded at my door.
“Devon—” I started.
He shoved the door open and pushed past me. “What the hell is this?” He held out a sheet of paper, his hand shaking.
This was not the conversation I thought we would be having. I took the paper with my fingertips as though it might be dangerous. It was worse than that. It was the title page of Falling into Deep Water. The page that had my handwriting on the back. I swallowed hard.
“Please don’t tell me you were stupid enough to make an offer on a book without Monica’s approval.” Devon stepped close, looming over me.
“Why were you in my office?” I asked quietly, disbelieving.
“Who is this Posey person anyway? Do you think this is your next Un
marked?” His bark of laughter sounded jagged in my small apartment.
“You were snooping through my desk,” I said, louder, my anger rising to match Devon’s.
“Damn right I was. And it’s a good thing, too. Do you know what Monica would have done to you if you had actually gone through with this insanity?”
I looked up at Devon, feeling fire in my eyes. “I know what she did the last time I championed a book.”
Devon shook his head. “When are you going to realize the truth? Unmarked wasn’t your victory. Monica was the one who made the decision. If she hadn’t liked it, it wouldn’t have been published.”
Stepping away from Devon, I set the paper on the table by the couch. “She liked it because she read it. And she read it because I gave it to her. Tell me, Devon, have you read it yet?”
He clamped down on his jaw. “That’s beside the point.”
“No, it is the point. You’re in sales. How can you sell something if you don’t even know what it is?”
“Books are books. They’re widgets. I can sell one as easily as another.”
I blew out my breath, frustrated, and ran my hands through my hair. “Why are you really here, Devon? Surely you didn’t come all this way to pick an old fight about our differing views on books.”
He stepped towards me, his energy suddenly shifting from anger to something less confrontational, but still dangerous. I eyed him warily.
“Luce.” He lowered his voice, but his stance remained tense, coiled. “My Lucy.”
“What?” I crossed my arms, squaring my shoulders and trying to look as imposing as I could. I wished I were back in my business suit instead of yoga pants and a faded T-shirt.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “I didn’t come here to talk about books, or Posey what’s-her-name, or any of it. I came because… when I saw you with that guy, I realized something. I still care about you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
He reached out to touch my hair, but I moved away. “Look, I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately. And I’m sorry I stormed in here— I could have handled that better— but you’ve got to see that going down this path will bring you nothing but trouble.”
“Which path is that? The one where I find another book, or the one where I find another guy?”
“You’re not going to find another guy, Lucy.” He scoffed as if the idea were absurd. “You belong with me. We’re a team.”
I rubbed my thumb across my fingers, remembering all the pairs I had rattled off with Jesse. That was the root of the problem. I’d never felt a part of the “Lucy and Devon” team. I had been his girlfriend, but he hadn’t necessarily been my boyfriend. I curled my hand into a fist and narrowed my eyes, unsure how to respond.
“I’m trying to look out for you. Help you. It’s important to stay on Monica’s good side, you know that, right?”
“I’m just trying to do my job.”
A muscle tightened along Devon’s jaw. The glare in his eyes sharpened to a point. “It’s like you’re not even listening to me.”
I stilled. Actually, I was hearing him clearly for the first time. How had I never seen this side of him before? All of those weeks and months when the only talk in the office was about Unmarked and then about my promotion. Those were the same weeks and months our relationship had started to flounder, then falter.
Until today, when we clearly reached the breaking point.
“Oh, I see,” I said softly. “That’s what this is about. What it’s always been about. You wanted my job.”
A wall went up between us. Devon crossed his arms and took a step back.
“But why?” I asked, baffled. “You don’t even like to read.”
He blew out an irritated breath and turned away. “It’s not rocket science. You pick the good ones and reject the bad ones.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “There is so much more to it than that. No,” I said, following my thoughts out loud, “it wasn’t the job. It was the promotion. The reward. You wanted the recognition.”
“Five years,” he said. “I’ve been there five years, and some fresh-outta-college intern swoops in and—” He shook his head and wouldn’t look at me. “You were an intern. You were supposed to be in and out, three months, tops. You weren’t supposed to stay. It’s not like those kinds of jobs open up all the time. Yeah, I wanted the salary. So what? Does that make me the bad guy? We all worked on that damn book, but only you got the reward.”
“And you thought that dating the new girl— the girl who had the boss’s favor— would put you in the limelight? Is that all I was to you? A stepping-stone for your own career? Even now, you’re here only so that when I find the next million-dollar book, you can catch some of the glory.”
I felt deep, bone-searing anger. But I also knew exactly how he felt. Too many times I had felt adrift in a sea of people, struggling with everyone else, trying to stand out, to be noticed, to be chosen. When Monica offered me the job, I swore the heavens opened and a shaft of light had beamed down on me.
But knowing how Devon felt didn’t mean I approved of what he’d done. It wasn’t right to use a person’s heart to get what you wanted. A person’s heart was sacred and special. I hated myself that I’d ever given any part of mine to someone who didn’t appreciate it.
Devon said nothing, but his silence told me I was right. He looked me up and down, as if trying to decide if I had been worth it. After a moment, he shook his head, gave a half-laugh, and picked up the page from Falling into Deep Water, crumpling it in his fist. “First rule of publishing: They can’t all be winners.”
Pain stabbed my heart. How had I ever found him attractive? I shuddered at my own bad judgment. There was no and to be had with Devon. No teamwork or togetherness. No positive additions to be made. He wasn’t interested in any kind of yes unless it furthered his own career.
“Get out.”
“Gladly.” He flashed me a winter-cold smile. “See you Monday.”
I rubbed my hands over my arms as though I could wash away Devon’s lingering presence. The nerve of the man. The ugliness in his soul. Thinking back to those evenings when we went dancing after work, the nights with his hands on my skin, his lips on mine— I wanted to throw up.
Devon’s pride wouldn’t let my insult stand. He’d have to make a power move soon if he wanted to secure his position in the office— but what would he do? Whatever it was, it would be bad for me.
Would he tell Monica about Posey’s book? That I had considered making an offer without her? If so, what would Monica do? If she heard it from Devon, she’d probably fire me. Did Devon have that kind of cruel streak in him?
I remembered his cold eyes, and shivered again.
If it meant making my position vacant, I wouldn’t put it past him.
After sweeping back the curtains, I leaned against the window and gazed over the rooftops of the city. What do I do next, Grandpa? I thought to myself. How do I turn this mess into something positive?
I took a deep breath and tried to clear my thoughts. The sun was setting, the light catching the corners of the buildings, the windows reflecting the sheen like gold. Was there a person like me behind each of those windows? Someone struggling to find her own way, her own happiness? Someone who had made mistakes, who had faced heartache and fear, and who had learned to reach for something more?
Exhaling, I fogged up the glass with my breath. I drew an ampersand in the mist and smiled. My heart filled with courage at the familiar symbol. It made me think of my grandpa; it made me think of Jesse. In a city of more than eight million people, I knew how easy it was to get lost, but I’d also learned how easy it was to find a friend.
If Devon tells Monica, that’s a problem. And the best way to solve a problem is to stop it before it starts. What if…?
I tapped my finger to my lips. No. It was a terrible idea. A crazy, dangerous idea.
On the other hand, it could be the best idea in the world.
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I could wait for Devon to make the first move, or I could take action and claim the prize for myself.
Was I brave enough? Did I believe in myself enough?
That was the real question.
Being with Jesse, even briefly, had shown me a side of myself that was a sassy, flirty, bold girl who spoke her mind and wasn’t shy about what she wanted. That girl must have always been inside me, but my mother hadn’t seen her. Devon certainly had never seen her. I hadn’t ever, really. I suspected my grandfather had, though.
And Jesse.
That was what I’d seen in his eyes but couldn’t identify— my own reflection. The bravery and confidence that had occasionally surfaced in me, like when I applied for all of those jobs, or when I gave Monica the draft of Unmarked, and today when I stood up for myself with Devon— that was, in reality, a part of me that finally got a chance to shine.
It took a stranger seeing the truth in me to help me see it for myself.
If I could summon that girl now, push past the sting of having been used by Devon, perhaps I could still add something positive to my life.
Another of my grandfather’s favorite words came to mind: Moxie. Definition: Courage, determination, know-how.
It certainly wouldn’t win me another round of Definitions against Jesse, but I held on to the word like a lifeline.
I padded over to the couch and picked up my phone then returned to my spot by my window. I wanted to see the entire view of the world in front of me while I made this leap.
Opening my text messages, I composed a simple note to Monica:
Falling into Deep Water is a winner. Would love to have you read it when you return. Perhaps we could make an offer?
Fear ran up my spine at the same time that elation spread to my fingers. Before I could stop myself, I hit send.
If Monica was going to hear about Posey’s book, it would be from me, not from Devon.
All that was left to do was wait for Monday.
“Good morning, Everett,” I said as I passed his office on Monday. “Did you have a nice weekend?”
He gave me the thumbs-up sign but never broke concentration from his computer screen.