Page 72 of Ticket to You

I say nothing.

“Ophelia, I need an answer by the end of the day.” Jane clicks her pen impatiently. “Don’t disappoint me.”

I mumble a thank you and wander back to my desk, immediately grabbing my phone and typing out a text.

Meet me downstairs in five?

* * *

Gemma grabsme in a preliminary hug, clearly anxious about my SOS signal. “Ophelia, what’s happened?”

“Hoffman Publishing wants to promote me to an editor.” My voice wavers. “But it would mean giving up writing and traveling and everything about this job I love.”

“Wow.” Gemma collapses on one of the rigid, shiny lobby couches. “What did you say?”

“Nothing yet. But Ihaveto take it, right? It’s my only option if I want to stay atAtelier. But then again, this wasn’t in my plan. This wasn’t my dream.”

“You don’t have to take it unless it’s something you want,” Gemma says, straightening. “There’s a reason you’ve never accepted editing offers before. And there aremoreoptions…They just don’t includeAtelier. Aaaand I happen to know someone who is starting a new magazine.”

I cover my face in my hands and speak into them. “That’s—that would be too big of a risk. Sure, an editing job wouldn’t be asromanticor inspiring as my journalism job was, but it would be a dependable paycheck. I could learn to love it.”

“Could you?” Gemma whispers.

I look up at her from under my lashes. Her eyes are glassy, and a small smile makes crinkles form on either side of her face.

“Is there something you might love more? I have known you for six years,” she says, patting my hand in a motherly way. “And in those six years, I have hardly seen you date someone for longer than a few weeks at a time. And ‘love’ was something you only referred to in the context of Met Gala outfits and Gucci wallpaper. So I need to know…do you love Adam?”

Three months ago, I thought I hated Adam Abrams. But over the course of twelve days, I have found that what I thought was him being harsh, curt, and cold was him being observant, introverted, and reserved. And the other side of him, the thoughtful and kind side of him, manifested itself in innumerable ways.

Adam Abrams was the guy who spilled wine on me, embarrassed me in front of my boss, and made quick judgments about me and my career in fashion. But he is also the guy who has put great effort into getting to know me. Who whipped together an amazing last-minute birthday celebration. Who found my grandfather’s watch. And who has made me feel, for the first time in nearly a decade, like I’m not destined to be alone.

I move my eyes to the ceiling, watching the fluorescent lights flicker faintly, and take in a heavy breath. “It sounds crazy, but…I guess…I guess I do love him.”

Gemma exhales a whistle and sits on the box beside me. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t think you understand,” I groan. “My grandparents gave up everything they had to try to get me here. They sacrificed everything to help me save for college. They gave me their blessing to sell everything they owned so I could come to this city. Becoming an editor atAtelier Todayis anhonor, and giving that up feels like a slap in the face to them.”

A beat of silence passes, and I glance at Gemma. Her expression is soft, and the crinkles at the edges of her eyes have deepened. “They gave up everything so you could be a journalist, so you could behappy.”

Someone must have turned up the thermostat. Suddenly, the back of my neck tickles with gathering sweat. “Atelier Todayis all I know.”

“ButAtelieris changing.Youare changing.”

I throw my hands into the air and laugh humorlessly. “So what, I leave my job for some guy I spent a couple of weeks with?”

“Adam Abrams isn’t just ‘some guy’ to you. And I’m not saying you should leave your job. I’m just saying that a change of direction could open the right doors for you. The stars are aligning—if you join Adam’s endeavor, you can stay in journalism and stay with him.” Gemma sighs. “If nothing else, you need to go tell him how you feel. Today.”

“I’m afraid the Adam ship has sailed.” My neck hurts from staring at the ceiling for too long, so I move my eyes to my fingers. All around my nails, my cuticles are torn up from weeks of anxious picking at them. “Rather, the Adam plane has taken off—quite literally.”

“He’s already gone?”

I check my watch, smiling at its ridiculous print, and my chest feels just a touch lighter. “He’s probably already left his apartment to head to the airport.”

Gemma places both hands on my shoulders and leans in close. “Listen, Ophelia. There’s no wrong answer, but there is amostrightanswer. And I think, because you love Adam, that you already know what that is.”

For a moment, I sit motionless, my mind somewhere else, stuck halfway between what my heart and my head are telling me.

Tell him you love him!

---