Page 122 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

She musters a weak smile. The pain from today—and maybe from years between us—seeps into her grin, making her appear more melancholy than happy.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” she admits. “I just don’t know how to get beyond this.”

I nod.

“May I give you a hug?” I ask. “Before I go?”

“You’d better not,” she says. “I need to clear my head, and that won’t help.”

“I’m truly sorry, Olivia. I know those words might feel cheap. I mean them. I’d do anything to turn back time and do this differently.”

“I appreciate that,” she says softly.

There’s a formality to her tone, as if she’s closing out a meeting—one she didn’t want to attend in the first place and now she’s grateful it’s ending.

I walk to the door and turn, hoping she’ll have a change of heart and lean in for a hug. I feel like a man who has gone without water for days, standing in view of a mountain stream, but there’s so much bramble and mire between me and the source of water, I can only stare with a longing that aches through me.

Olivia steps out of reach, opening the door, keeping her personal space well defined.

“I’ll only be a phone call or text away,” I say. “Or, right there. In my apartment … which could be yours if you really want it.”

“Okay.”

That’s all she says. So, I turn and step over the threshold into the hallway.

Olivia shuts the door behind me, and nothing has ever felt so permanent as the sound of her door latching into place.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Olivia

Without forgiveness life is governed by

an endless cycle of resentment and retaliation.

~ Roberto Assagioli

The door hasn’t even completely clickedshut when Megan appears, coming down the hallway from my bedroom.

“Were you listening to the whole thing?” I ask.

“The acoustics in here are incredible. And the walls are definitely thin. Like paper. Have you noticed that?”

I roll my eyes and smile at my best friend.

Then I walk to the couch and throw myself backward onto it, grabbing a throw pillow and burying my face in it as I scream. Then I hug the pillow to my chest and stare up at the ceiling.

“I hate being dramatic,” I tell Megan.

“You’re not being dramatic. This is big. He matters to you. And this is a pattern that has lasted over twenty years between the two of you.”

“Twenty years!” I don’t exactly shout, but the reality of that number rolls over me with a force I didn’t expect.

Not only has this pattern been in my life for that long, Logan has.

He’s been in my life since childhood. And he’s still here. Only now he lives a few doors over. And he works at my office. And, apparently, he’s about to be my new boss. And worst of all, I know what it feels like to be kissed by him and to be the object of his intense, unwavering focus. I know what he looks like when he’s being silly with Rhett, and I know how his brows scrunch with concern when he realizes he’s hurt me.

I pull the pillow back up to my face and scream again.

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