by Jill Orr
“I’m fine,” I said, pulling away. I hopped, looking ridiculous I’m sure, back to the sofa and sat down.
He sat on the ottoman directly in front of me. “I hope it’s okay that I came by,” he said.
It wasn’t, but what was I going to say? Seeing you is painful. I totally understand why you chose your career over our relationship but it still hurts. I’m scared I’m not strong enough to say goodbye twice. I went with, “Yeah, it’s fine.”
“I’m leaving today.”
I nodded. “Oh.”
“And I just wanted to see you before I go.”
I looked down.
“Riley,” he started to say, then reached over to grab one of my hands. “You know I wish things didn’t have to be like this.”
“I know.”
“And you know that DC is only a couple of hours away, you could go there, I could come here . . .”
I let my eyes float up to his and cocked my head to the side. We’d been over this. A long-distance relationship didn’t make any sense, because I was never going to move to DC and he was never going to move here. “Jay—” I began.
“I know,” he said before I could reiterate what we’d already been through. He leaned back and exhaled loudly. “It just sucks, that’s all.”
“It sure does.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, neither of us knowing what to say or what to do next. His phone vibrated and he took it out of his back pocket, glanced at it, and looked back up at me, his eyes wide. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“What?”
“They’ve just made an arrest in the vandalism incident at Rosalee’s.”
It had been nearly two weeks since someone had thrown a hammer through the front window at the café, and Carl and his deputies hadn’t had any leads on who had done it or why, as far as I’d heard. “And?” I asked.
“A local thug by the name of Justin Balzichek, but that’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is that he says he was hired to do it by Anna Greer Mountbatten, the wife of Dale Mountbatten, a powerful lobbyist up in Fairfax.”
Something about that rang a bell for me. “Why do I know the name Mountbatten?”
He read off his phone, “According to Carl, that was the family Rosalee worked for as an au pair years ago, before moving to Tuttle Corner.”
“That’s right!” I remember that had been quite the topic of conversation around town when a young woman from France suddenly moved here and opened up her own restaurant. A fact made even more curious when we learned she had only been in this country for a little more than a year. I was pretty young back then so I only heard rumblings, but the prevailing theory was that Rosalee had had an affair with the father of the kids she was taking care of and instead of breaking things off, he set her up down in Tuttle with some money and a business to keep her nearby. “Wow,” I said, “do they know if that’s true?”
“Well,” Jay said, “kind of hard to say. They just found Anna Greer’s car halfway between Tuttle and DC, the inside covered in blood.”
“What?” I gasped.
“According to this, no one has seen her for a few days. But the condition of the car raises serious questions about her whereabouts. And I’ll give you one guess who the police want to talk to about that?”
I got a sinking feeling. “Rosalee?”
“Yup.”
We both sat in shocked silence for a few moments until his phone vibrated again. He checked it, sighed, and slipped it back into his pocket.
“That’s the movers. I have to go.”
I started to try to stand up at the same time he did, but I lost my balance and he reached out to grab me before I fell. His arm was around my waist and his face just inches from mine. I could smell the soap on his skin and it caused a stirring deep within me. I was really going to miss this man; I already did.
Our eyes locked, and a half second later he kissed me. And then in a move right off the big screen, he swept me up into his arms and held me like a groom carries his bride across the threshold, kissing me with urgency and passion and regret and heartbreak. We stayed like that for a long time. Long enough that I thought his arms might be getting tired.
Finally, he pulled away and buried his face into my neck. “You’ll always be my one who got away,” he whispered, and then he set me back down on the couch the way one might set a glass Christmas ornament, fragile and breakable, back into its box.
And even as I watched him walk out the door, my heart twisting with sadness, even in that moment—or maybe especially in that moment—I knew I was going to be okay. I knew it because if I’d learned anything about myself over the past few weeks, it was that despite what anyone else seemed to think, of all the things I was, breakable wasn’t one of them.
Dear Ms. Ellison:
Thank you so much for choosing to reconnect with us at Click.com. I appreciate you asking for me by name and for telling my supervisor that I am “as likely as anyone else” to help you find love. To answer your question, I am indeed “up for the challenge” and feel it is important to note that I do not believe you are “cursed” or “destined to die alone” as you suggest. #thinkpositive #nobodylikesadebbiedowner
Now that you have chosen to throw your metaphorical hat back in the ring (please note that we at Click.com discourage the wearing of actual hats on dates unless you’re going to the Derby), I’d like to make you aware of a new program that might just be perfect for you! Our Repeat Romancer™ program is specially designed for our clients who may need to kiss a lot of frogs in order to find their happily ever after! #puckerupprincess
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On behalf of everyone here at Click.com, I’d like to extend a very warm welcome back. Thank you for trusting me with your heart once again, Riley. I feel certain that between Click.com’s proprietary matching software, my never-say-die attitude, and your willingness to “get back on the horse,” as you say, we will be able to set you on the path toward true love! #welcomeback #ifatfirstyoudon’tsucceed #herewegoagain
Best,
Regina H.
Personal Romance Concierge, Click.com
Repeat Romancer™ and Exclamation Points™ are registered trademarks of Click.com, a wholly owned subsidiary of the Click Thru Life, LLC, and may not be used or replicated without the expressed permission of Click Thru Life, LLC.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Since this is the acknowledgment section, I would first like to acknowledge each and every person who read The Good Byline, because it was your support that made this second book possible. I have enjoyed hearing from so many of you, and am so grateful for your enthusiasm for Riley and her friends.
Thanks to my literary agents, Emma Sweeney and Margaret Sutherland Brown, for their tireless work behind the scenes. I feel so lucky to be a part of the stellar team at ESA. Special thanks to Margaret for letting me call her “M,” because it makes me feel a little bit like James Bond.
A million thanks to my editor, Colleen Bates at Prospect Park Books, for her editorial direction, steadfast support, and patience with my emails that are always far too long. Every writer should be so lucky to work with a publisher as smart and talented as Colleen. Huge thanks go to Dorie Bailey for her insightful reading (and introducing me to a “dirty Shirley”), and publicist Caitlin Ek, aka the “real-life Riley,” for working so diligently to spread the word. Thank you to designer Susan Olinsky and illustrator Nancy Nimoy for another fantastic cover.
And much gratitude to Amy Inouye, Margery Schwartz, and Kirby Gann for their hard work and attention to detail.
As always, I cherish the support from my writing beasties: Ann Breidenbach, Jennifer Gravley, Nina Mukerjee Furstenau, Laura McHugh, and Allison Smythe. Thank you for the support you have shown me a million different times in a million different ways.
To my girlfriends, who are by great good fortune too many to name, but who know who they are: thank you for all the times you bought a book, raised a glass, came to an event, posted a review, snapped a pic, told a friend, sent a text, gave a hug, consulted on an outfit, IKR’d, OMG’d, and LOL’d. I am profoundly grateful for your friendship.
I’d also like to thank the many mystery writers, book bloggers, reviewers, librarians, booksellers, and book clubs who have welcomed me to this industry so warmly. Your kindness inspires me to work harder.
And special thanks to my family for their unending reams of support: Neal Rosenfeld, F.E. and Jack Nortman, Cheryl and Scott Orr, Allison, Pete, Samantha, and Ava Fiutak, and Dawn, Eddie, Madelyn, and Jackson Orr. And of course again to Jimmy, Fletcher, and Ellie. I love you all so much!
Lastly, I’d like to point out that as I look back on this list of people who have helped me along my publishing journey, I see the names of so many strong, smart women. What a privilege it is to have you all in my life. So to end (and in the spirit of the pop-culture wisdom of Jenna B), I’ll make a small modification to one of my favorite anonymous quotes/Pinterest memes:
“Here’s to strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them. And may we create them fictionally!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jill Orr is the author of The Good Byline, the first in the Riley Ellison mystery series. A board member of the Unbound Book Festival, she lives in Columbia, Missouri, with her husband and two children.