Page 38 of Taking a King

The question catches me off-guard, even though I know the exact number of days. “Twenty-two days,” I say, looking at my sandwich instead of at her.

“Has he decided what he’s doing about his enlistment?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

There’s a hint of amusement in Quinn’s voice when she speaks again. “You guys are practically living together, and you don’t talk? What have you two been up to?”

I feel my face heat again and I laugh. “We talk. Shut up.”

Quinn’s face is amused but I see a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “Well, you have time for all that,” she says softly. Then her voice shifts to a brighter tone. “Let’s talk about this weekend. What are you wearing?”

I know what she’s doing. She’s changing the subject for my benefit. Part of me wants to stay on the subject of Garrett a little longer. I want to argue with her. I want to tell her she’s wrong. I don’t love Garrett. I want to ask her how you know when you’re in love. I want to ask her why I’m suddenly so terrified. But I don’t. Instead, I follow her lead and talk about Hannah’s upcoming bachelorette party.

We spend the rest of lunch talking about the party. I manage to carry on my side of the conversation, but there’s a part of my brain that’s stuck on Quinn’s earlier proclamation.You’ve been in love with him for years, right?That small part of my brain wonders if maybe she’s right.

Chapter Nineteen

Claire

I spend the next 2 days in the little studio I share with another painter finishing up a commissioned portrait of a rich lady’s corgi. Commissions aren’t my favorite thing to paint, but they help pay the bills. If I can land the job at the school, I’ll be able to afford to stop taking commissions if I want. I wonder if I’ll miss it. Then I think of how much I love teaching music and shake off the worry. I can still take the occasional commission if I feel like it. But I won’t be forced to take every one that comes along. I’ll be able to afford to be choosy. That’s what makes it more enjoyable. Plus, I’ll have more free time to paint what I want. And who knows? Maybe I can save enough to get out of that apartment and into a small house somewhere with a studio of my own. That’s the dream.

I see Garrett every evening and we spend every night in my bed. I try not to think too deeply about our situation. I’m happy. He’s happy. We’re having fun. It doesn’t have to mean anything more. Right?

By the time Friday rolls around, I’ve nearly managed to convince myself that Quinn was wrong and that what I feel for Garrett is all just part of the normal early-relationship bliss. All couples go through it. It’ll wear off eventually and we’ll probably get sick of one another. It’s the normal course of every relationship I’ve ever had. Why would this one be any different?

Liar. You know this feels different.

I’ve known him for years and I still haven’t managed to grow tired of his company. In fact, I’ve only ever craved more of it. More of him. What does that mean?

You know exactly what it means. You’re just too scared to admit it.

The little voice in my head is getting louder, but I’ve managed to drown her out so far. It’s becoming increasingly difficult, though. Especially when he’s been so great. He’s attentive without being clingy. He’s sweet and funny. I’m already growing far too accustomed to having him around.

Still, I don’t mention the job interview to Garrett. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’m keeping it a secret from him or anything. Quinn knows about it, which means I’m sure Ronan does as well. I didn’t ask her not to tell him. But for some reason, I haven’t brought it up to Garrett. I try to tell myself it’s because the job is a long shot and there’s no point talking about something that probably won’t happen. But the truth is that I’m afraid.

I know that a conversation about my future career is likely to lead to discussing Garrett’s plans for the military. Then we’ll be forced to figure out where this thing is leading. I’m not sure I’m ready for that conversation. I’m happy with things the way they are. We’re in this great place where things are fun and exciting and I’m worried that if we talk about his future, he’ll be forced to tell me he’s leaving soon. Not that it would be a shock. I’ve always known he would leave eventually, even though we haven’t specifically discussed it.

He’s a Marine and I live in Oak Hill. I love where I live. I love my life here. The nearest Marine base is 2 hours away and he’s not even stationed there. When he does eventually leave, I know it will mean returning to a long-distance relationship. After having him here with me, being with him, sleeping next to him, I’m not sure I can go back to that. Hearing Garrett say it aloud will make that real. I know it will change our relationship and I’m not ready for things to change just yet. So, I spend Friday morning in my studio, working before driving straight to the school without going home first.

I spend the entire drive rehearsing answers to common job interview questions and trying to calm my nerves. I’m sweating, which is ridiculous considering the cold snap we had last night. I crack my window and let in a little of the cool air. I sing to people on a stage regularly but the idea of a job interview with a single person asking me questions about myself turns me into a nervous mess. I need to pull myself together.

By the time I park in front of the school, I’m convinced I’m going to blow this interview. There’s no point in being nervous because there’s no way I’ll get the job anyway. I may as well go in there and just be myself. Another part of me thinks that maybe they have a policy to interview all applicants and they’re not actually considering me for the job. That would make more sense than wanting to hire someone with no teaching experience, right? It would also mean this interview is just a formality before I get an official rejection.

I flip down the mirror and stare at my reflection. My hair is tamed and my makeup subtle. I smile. Nothing in my teeth. That’s a good thing. I take a few deep breaths and focus on calming my heart.

“You can do this,” I whisper. “This is nothing. Besides, if they don’t like you, screw them. You don’t need this job to get by. You’ll be just fine without it.”

I’m not sure the pep talk does its job, but I’m out of time, so I close the mirror and climb out of my car into the cool spring afternoon. In the front office, I smile politely at the grumpy-looking woman behind the desk who doesn’t look as if smiling is in her job description. She tells me that Bridget will be with me shortly and to take a seat.

I’m not sitting long before a smiling woman emerges from a hallway behind the grouchy-looking receptionist.

“Miss King?” she asks.

I return her smile and stand. “Yes.”

She walks over and shakes my hand. “I’m Bridget Morris. We spoke on the phone. Thank you for coming today. If you’ll follow me, we’ll get started.

I do my best to squash my nerves—or at least to hide them—and follow Bridget past the cranky receptionist and down a long hallway.

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