Page 47 of So Not My Type

Rejection hit hard and Ella’s stomach curled into itself. Was this about work only, or ever again, or what? Ella squared her shoulders. “What about when we’re not in the office?”

Sophie’s lip turned up and her tongue swiped at her lip ring. She wrapped her pinkie around Ella’s and moved her mouth to Ella’s ear. “Outside of the office…”

The breath was warm against Ella’s ear, and she nearly collapsed from the rasp in Sophie’s voice.

“… all bets are off.”

SEVENTEEN

SOPHIE

Sophie turned off the engine and rested her head against the seat. After taking the metro most days, she almost forgot how to drive. She dragged herself from the car and slugged up the cracked micro-driveway to her childhood home.

She loved her parents—good, hardworking people, who did the best they could. But she hated when she visited. It felt like a chore. Because normally itwasa chore. Growing up, her life was filled with laughter, friends, school, and adolescent shenanigans. She’d skip school to drink beer at Alki Beach, or hop on the bus to the International District to eat dim sum, or she’d hang out with Maya and Harper.

But this house represented a darker side of her upbringing—the lonely nights at ten years old eating her mom’s Lean Cuisine microwavable dinners by herself in front of the TV. Walking home from the bus stop when she was in kindergarten because her parents were still working, and they couldn’t afford daycare. Gluing the straps on her sandals because her dad’s payday was every other Friday, and sometimes the checks were spent before they arrived.

A bucket, broken shingles, and old flowerpots scattered the unstable, chipped wood porch. She stepped over a toolbox, mostlikely holding space while her father attempted to fix yet another cracked, broken, or dangling item. Fixing the house was like playing home renovation whack-a-mole. Every time he fixed one thing, two others would break.

The door handle jangled in her grip, and the hinges creaked as she cracked it open. “Hello?” she called into open space.Jesus. Every month or two, when she stopped by, she swore her mom added another knickknack to the limited space. A shelf in the corner, normally overflowing with framed family photos, books, and random jars from garage sales, now held a family of porcelain dolls.Yikes.

She toed off her shoes on the wicker mat and stepped into the house, inhaling the familiar scent of sweet pea laundry detergent.

“Soph?” Her mom stepped into the living room from the hall, wrapping her long dark hair up in a bun. “Hey, honey. Didn’t expect to see you today. Everything okay?”

Everything was okay and not okay. The hot tub moment from Monday was still fresh, and the last couple days at work, everything felt different. Amazing, yes. Heart zings and pings galore. But also scary as hell. She and Ella had seamlessly snapped back into work mode, which was exactly what Sophie wanted—at least she thought it was. She’d even told Ella they could not even hint at flirting in the office. But she had no idea Ella was some sort of disassociation master and could apparently click off her emotions in a second.

Forty-eight hours into whatever was happening with Ella, and Sophie was already exhausted. For years, she thought work kept her from meeting someone special. She blamed late hours and the drive for success for keeping her from finding a partner.

Now she wasn’t so sure. Did she know deep down she was her own worst enemy? Maybe she knew she’d be struggle-bussing like she was now, buried under an avalanche of insecurity,wondering if every single breath Ella took, every word she muttered, was filled with regret.

“Yep, I’m good.” She finally responded to her mom. “Just wanted to stop by and see you guys.”

Her mom studied Sophie’s face for several long moments. She tugged on the strings of her hooded sweatshirt and moved toward the kitchen. “Want something to drink? Pop? Tea? Hungry?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Her mom stepped away and returned with a box of Goldfish crackers and two cans of root beer—Sophie’s favorite. She followed her mom to the couch and sunk into the cushion. The couch had to be pushing twenty-five years old, covered in decades-old Kool-Aid and grease stains. But it perfectly cradled Sophie’s butt and she secretly hoped her parents never upgraded.

A part of Sophie was uncomfortable that her apartment was nicer than her parents’ entire home. She had a stainless-steel dishwasher, new furniture, ultra-modern gray wood flooring, and a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Her parents had old, original hardwood floors, a drying rack for their hand-washed dishes, and a refrigerator that squealed when it kicked on.

Her mom scooted next to her and winced as she unwrapped the brace nestled around her wrist. She massaged the joints with some medicinal lotion that reminded Sophie of how her grandmother smelled.

“Is it getting worse?” Sophie popped a cracker in her mouth and held the box to her mom.

“It’s not gettin’ better, I’ll tell ya that much. I might need surgery, but the doctor’s hoping with buckets of ibuprofen and some arthritic gel, I’ll be okay.” She dipped into the crackers. “Occupational hazard, am I right?”

Sophie hated seeing her mom in pain, but she wasn’t wrong that after serving for over thirty years, something like this was bound to happen. With the amount of trays carried, coffee poured, and tables cleared, it was a miracle she hadn’t injured herself worse at this point. “Dad at the library?”

“How did you know?”

Sophie grinned. “What did he finish last night?”

“Who knows? Could’ve been an Ashley Herring Blake romance, Stephen King, or a non-fiction on the industrial revolution. Never know with that man.” Her mom chewed slowly, letting silence fill the air. “All right, spill it, woman. You never just pop by to say hi. What’s going on?”

So many things. She was tired. She wanted this cruise so bad. And she was currently battling a severe love-hate relationship with her insides. The waterfall of tingles that happened when Ella’s glasses slipped on her nose when she was concentrating, or when she put a pen in between her plump red lips, or when she glanced at Sophie with her doe eyes after speaking at a meeting, was overkill.

Sophie cracked open the soda, the fizzy bubbles burning as they traveled her throat. She wasn’t sure she was ready to dive into this with her mom, as the feelings for Ella were fresh and raw. But also, what would her mom’s reaction be when learning Ella was the CEO’s daughter, who lived in a mansion on Lake Washington?

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