Only then did she notice that the light on the phone was blinking, indicating a message.
She pressed the button for her voice mail and listened. One message.
“Hi, Ana. It’s Bryan. I don’t like the way we left things . . . actually, I don’t even really know how we left things. We should talk. Call me.”
Ana deleted the message and placed the phone on the charger. Then she went to her room, changed out of her work clothes, and washed her face clean of the makeup she’d worn for her meeting. The girl who stared back at her looked young—young and crushed and uncertain.
For the first time in a long time, she was actually looking at herself.
She walked out of the bathroom and took a circuit of her home like she was seeing it for the first time. It was beautiful, tasteful, perfect. It could have come straight out of the pages of Architectural Digest or Domino, titled something sufficiently aspirational like “Elegant Oasis in the City.” And yet no one would walk into the space and know anything about her other than she had money. And liked clothes and shoes and handbags, based on the overstuffed state of her closet.
What had seemed to be the trappings of success, her just deserts, now seemed like a shallow attempt to cover up the truth.
She didn’t feel good enough and she never had.
Wasn’t that why she worked so hard to keep up her own image? Wasn’t that why she went to two churches of different denominations, so she didn’t have to make a choice and risk disappointing her family? Wasn’t that the real reason she’d immediately backed away from Bryan? Not because his life had suddenly become complicated, which it had—she had no doubt that being in love with a man who was co-parenting a child would be difficult and frustrating and at times unfair. But that hadn’t been the first thought that went through her mind. She’d jumped straight to how the situation would reflect on her. What people would think about her. What her parents would say.
Whether or not God would still love her.
Put that bleakly, it seemed ridiculous, and yet the question still resonated deep inside her. Hadn’t she secretly thought that her divorce was her fault? Hadn’t she believed it was caused by some deep deficiency as a wife and a person? She’d been working all these years to be perfect, to make up for those perceived faults, in the hopes that maybe God would deem her worthy again. That maybe He would bring her another chance for love.
He had. And she’d thrown it away because that man was no more perfect than she was.
She sat on her four-thousand-dollar custom sofa, selected because it had been handmade in North Carolina using only well-paid American labor and was guaranteed not to exploit workers in the developing world. In short, it was just as perfect as the rest of her image.
And it meant absolutely nothing to her.
Which was good, because this was all going away. Louisa Holliday wouldn’t have wasted any time calling Lionel to tell him what happened. By the end of the day, he would be phoning Ana to say they no longer needed her services at Massey-Coleman, something that she’d known in her heart long before this moment.
It turned out she didn’t care about that any more than she cared about the stupid sofa.
But there was someone she did care about, and he was halfway across town, probably roasting beans and wondering how to go forward since she’d so abruptly left him in the lurch with their business, not to mention their relationship. He deserved more than that. He deserved the truth, even if it was too late for them.
And there were two women who loved her unconditionally, who would have stood by her through all her doubts and feelings of inadequacy, if only she’d had the courage to let them in.
She retrieved her cell phone and tapped in the message to Rachel and Melody that she should have sent a week ago. I need you guys now. And then, a second one.
I have some things to tell you.
* * *
When Ana texted, she hadn’t considered that it was the middle of the workday, and Rachel and Melody would just be finishing up the lunch rush. Which was why she was instantly flooded with guilt when they showed up, still in their chefs’ whites and without the usual food offerings that accompanied an emergency visit.
She let them in with a horrified gasp. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think. I didn’t mean to pull you away from work. I just—”
“It’s okay,” Rachel said. “We’re through the rush and Sam and Talia are holding down the fort. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
She ushered them in and gestured for them to sit down—on that blasted sofa—beside her. Melody and Rachel exchanged one of their now-trademark worried glances, clearly unsettled by her out-of-character behavior.
“What’s going on, Ana?” Melody asked, her brow furrowing with concern.
Now that it came to it, her big emergency seemed silly. She’d dragged them away from work to tell them about something she’d been keeping a secret for sixteen years. Surely it would have kept for another few hours. But they were here, watching her expectantly, so there was no turning back.
And yet, she chickened out and reached for the less shameful of her announcements, only confirmed moments before. “I got fired.”
Rachel blinked, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “I’m sorry, you got what?”
“Technically, my temporary leave was made permanent, but it’s the same end result. I am no longer a publicist with Massey-Coleman. Effective immediately.”
Rachel gasped and reached to give her a hug. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Ana nodded. “I am. I know it sounds weird, but it’s freeing. I sat down with a new client and realized that I can’t do it anymore. I can’t plaster over other people’s mistakes.” She drew in another long breath. “And I can’t stop hiding from my own.”
Now she had their full attention. Rachel backed off and folded her hands into her lap patiently.
“I was married once.”
“What?” Melody’s mouth dropped open. “When? How?”
“When I was eighteen. It ended badly.” She poured out the story in even greater detail than she’d given Bryan, forcing herself to unburden every last sordid element. “So now you know why I’m so weird about dating. I figured if I kept my standards high—unreasonably high—there was no way I could make a mistake like that again. I’d rather be alone than wrong. And that’s a lonely way to live.”
“Ana, honey . . .” Rachel reached for her hand and squeezed it hard. “Why wouldn’t you tell us? Why did you keep it from us? You know we’d understand. It wasn’t even your fault.”
Ana hung her head for a second, not sure if the sudden burst of shame was over her past or the fact she’d been hiding things for so long. “I guess I didn’t want to be that person anymore. And I was afraid if you knew . . .”
“We’d figure out you were exactly like us? Human?” Melody sent her a wry smile. “I hate to break it to you, but we kind of already knew that.”
“Everyone—including you two—expects me to have the answers. How can I give advice to anyone else when I really have no idea what to do about my own life?”
“Well, look who’s bought into her own PR?” Melody bumped Ana with her shoulder. “You know, we’re friends because we like you. Not because we like having our own personal publicist.”
“Though,” Rachel interjected with a smile, “it is kind of a plus.”
“Well, that’s the only kind of publicity I’ll be doing. Lionel made it clear that there would be no crisis work for me in Denver anymore. Which is fine. I’m tired of spinning the truth. For other people, for myself. I’ve been hiding behind all this—this image—for too long. It’s time to face my life.”
Melody smiled. “I knew Bryan would be a good influence on you.”
“He was. But . . . that might be over.”
“What?” Now they both looked shocked. “What do you mean?”
Ana stopped. If Bryan hadn’t told anyone about Vivian’s pregnancy, it wasn’t really her place to
break the news. And without that, there was no way of explaining why they were no longer together.
Though they really hadn’t made that determination. They’d just . . . stopped talking.
She remembered the message he’d left today. She’d assumed from his level tone that he was talking about the business and not their relationship. But if he hadn’t told Alex they’d broken up, did that mean he was still holding out hope? Did that mean she still had a chance?
She popped to her feet. “I’m sorry, guys. I have to go. I have to see him.”
Rachel and Melody rose as well. “You won’t make it to the roastery before he leaves. He and Alex had plans today.”
“Do you know where?” Ana asked, a tinge of desperation creeping into her voice.
Rachel smiled. “Seems like you’re not the only one reevaluating your life choices this week.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
BRYAN WAS BEGINNING to believe that he actually had a future in this roasting business. He’d gotten back to work as soon as he returned from California, roasting full batches of beans to fulfill their first order, watching both the beans in the roaster and the profiling software like a hawk to make sure he was doing things as close as possible to his sample roast. He’d quickly discovered that the first batch of the day came out quite different from the later ones, a function of the residual heat in the drum from successive batches, which led to a change in his process. Even though it wasted fuel, a long, slow heating process seemed to give him more consistent roasts throughout the morning. Fortunately, he’d already dialed in the city roast that would be used for drip and a lighter, Scandinavian-style coffee that would appeal to third-wave coffee connoisseurs. The blonde espresso was proving to be slightly more elusive, but he was close enough to be confident that he’d have it figured out by the end of the week. That would make three different products from the same beans, something almost unheard of in this business.
What to do with that information was another story. Since Ana had made her big exit—from the company, but also possibly from their relationship—he was a bit lacking on the strategic side. He knew he needed to sample, he knew he needed to fulfill orders, but besides that, he had no idea what to do next to build this from an interesting idea to a viable business. He’d become dependent on Ana and he hadn’t even realized it.
No, that wasn’t quite the truth. He’d recognized it the minute she told him she needed some time to think. During the week he’d found himself reaching for his cell phone to text her news of his roasting victories and the trickle of orders that had come in from her prospects, before he remembered that she wasn’t a part of it anymore. He had to restrain himself from picking up the phone and asking if she wanted to grab a bite to eat and watch a movie. His life since coming back from Colombia had involved Ana in every aspect, and her absence left a gaping, obvious hole.
He packaged the day’s roast in the vacuum-sealed bags with one-way valves, their foil exteriors emblazoned with the logo that Ana’s designer had created. Those went into cardboard boxes, to be hand-delivered later—he wasn’t willing to cut into his meager profits by shipping. Besides, he was hoping that when he delivered them, he’d have a chance to pump the front-of-house manager for customer feedback. So far the only consumer input they’d had were the little cards from the supper club, once again a brilliant idea of Ana’s.
No matter where he turned in this building, he was faced with reminders of her presence and, as a result, her absence.
It was killing him.
Which was why he’d broken down and left her that phone message. He realized that voice mail wasn’t exactly honoring the spirit of “space,” but he couldn’t stand not knowing what was going through her mind. Was she trying to wrap her head around that fact that he could be a father? Had she decided she was disgusted by his past behavior and written him off? Was she delaying the inevitable in order not to hurt him? Alex had been no help; Ana evidently hadn’t told Rachel anything, and at Bryan’s request, Alex had kept the situation to himself.
He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. Maybe she was fine. Or maybe she was happy that he was out of her life.
“Hey, you ready to go?” Alex popped his head into the room, obviously having let himself in with the key Bryan had given him in case of emergency.
“Yeah, let me finish packing this batch.” He counted out twenty bags and carefully fit them into a cardboard box stamped with their company logo and labeled with the roast type. He set it aside on top of several others like it and then pulled off his gloves. “Guess it’s time to face the music.”
Alex waited patiently as Bryan gathered his keys and wallet from the office and then locked up the roastery. Only when they headed to Alex’s car did his friend finally speak. “You know, you surprised me when you said you wanted to go climbing. I really thought you’d given it up for good.”
Bryan gave a little shake of his head in answer. He’d thought by abandoning his climbing, he’d be able to leave that inglorious phase of his life behind him, but it still hadn’t kept his mistakes from coming for him. If Vivian had proven one thing to him, it was that he might be paying for his actions for a good long while. But his father had been right: he needed to stop fixing things that didn’t need fixed, punishing himself for sins that had been forgiven.
He kept up that thinking until they arrived at their climbing destination, Castlewood Canyon State Park. They unpacked their gear from the back of Alex’s wagon and began the hike down to the start of their climbing route. A hawk soared overhead, searching for small animals for its supper, and Bryan remembered how he’d pointed out the eagle to Ana while they’d been hiking at Red Rocks. How hard he’d struggled against his attraction toward her.
He should have stuck with that vow. Had he been smarter, they’d still be friends. He could deal with the idea of not being with her romantically if it meant she was still in his life.
“You want to lead?” Bryan asked as they started to set up for their climb, racking their equipment on their harnesses, checking and double-checking knots.
“No way,” Alex shot back. “This is your comeback. That honor goes all to you.”
Bryan just nodded and took his position. He’d climbed this route dozens of times, so it shouldn’t be a challenge, but nervousness still swirled in the pit of his stomach. He’d loaded the act of climbing with so much significance that he felt like he was about to break a spell. As if the first brush of a fingertip against rock would transform him back into the person he feared to be.
“Did we come to climb, or sit here and admire the rock formations?” Alex asked, his smirk evident in his voice.
Bryan shot his friend a dirty look, even though he was stalling. He worked out his first holds and dug the toe of his climbing shoe into the rock face. The rough surface of the stone abraded his fingers, his calluses already softened from almost nine months of disuse, but it was a good kind of pain, the kind that reminded him of the pleasure he’d always taken in the challenge. Gym workouts and yoga had managed to keep most of his muscles in good shape, but by the time he reached the first anchor point and clipped in, he was already feeling the unaccustomed strain in the tendons of his fingers.
“You building a summer home up there?” Alex called.
Bryan grinned at the sound of his own favorite gibe coming back to him and reached for the next hold. By the second anchor, he was finding his rhythm, climbing almost as fluidly as he had before, even if the little tremors throughout his body told him just how far out of condition he really was.
And yet with every crimp and pinch, something settled inside him. His breathing evened into a deep, easy pattern, each movement becoming like a prayer, less conscious than words. I’m sorry that I strayed so far. I’m sorry that I thought I could do a better job on my own. I’m sorry that I misused the gifts I was given for my own glory.
Because wasn’t that what he’d done? Made himself his own god, enjoying attention, accolades, the sens
ation of not having to play by the rules?
And now that he’d been brought low, lost something—someone—that truly had meaning, he realized just how much in need of help he really was.
The top of the slab loomed and hope bloomed in his heart for the first time in days, something he couldn’t fully explain. Maybe the joy he felt in doing something he had always loved told him all was not lost, that his life wasn’t stretched so far out of shape that it couldn’t be righted. Or maybe it was just the knowledge that he didn’t have to be imprisoned by his past. But when he finally hauled himself over the ledge, he felt reborn.
He clipped in to the final anchor. And immediately felt a surge of pain when he realized his first instinct was to text Ana and tell her he was climbing again.
“You did it.”
He lifted his head, sure that his imagination had conjured her voice. But no, there she was, standing all of five feet away from him in jeans and a simple T-shirt. Smiling.
“What are you doing here?” He scrambled to release himself from the rope, then realized he hadn’t yet called off belay. Alex’s response was a little bewildered, but Bryan was too focused on the woman in front of him to think about his friend below.
“I came to see you,” she said simply, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. “I was going to go to the roastery, but Rachel told me you and Alex would be here. What changed your mind?”
Bryan searched for a way to explain himself, but just as quickly gave it up. He didn’t want to stand here and have a pleasant, meaningless conversation without having any idea where they stood. “Ana, why are you here?”
She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, meeting his gaze for the first time. “I came to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For being pretty much everything you hate. Pretentious, image-conscious, shallow. Vivian showing up threw me for a loop. I didn’t know what to say or do because in no way did you having a baby fit into the future I envisioned for us.”
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