Page 53 of Because of Me

Noah said as much, but there’s something about hearing it from another person that makes the point hit home a little harder. A lot harder. Did everyone know about his crush on me? Was I so blind to it for years purely because I was so caught up with going against what my father wanted for me?

“What’s your idea?” I lean my hip on the side of the cart, folding my arms across my chest. Maybe if I hold enough pressure there, my heart will stop doing backflips.

“I think Noah needs to move out.”

My mouth opens, ready to rebut, but nothing comes out. Because she’s right.

NOAH

“Yeah mate, then you can ask her.”

Michael looks down as he takes in my advice. The poor guy is thoroughly overwhelmed, and I know he’s just trying to prove himself—to his father and to the woman he got pregnant—but someone had to slap a little sense into him. Proposing to her, especially when he thinks she’ll say no, is a crazy step. Sure, he means well, but it’ll do nothing but make a tension-filled situation worse. I feel bad being the one to break it to him, though.

Sullen, he mutters a thanks and a goodbye before scooping up the paperwork and leaving me alone in my office. The preparations for the hotel build are well underway, and although we’ve lost a good chunk of our grassy field the cellar door is as busy as ever. The sound of glasses clinking, children giggling and customers chatting drowns out the sound of excavators and men in hard hats shouting directions.

The actual job site is far enough away from the main building that we should be able to continue serving boozy brunches and decadent lunches even through the height of the build, but I’m cautious. I’ve had faux hedge backdrops made to block the view of the site and have a strict embargo in place so no work will take place on the days we have weddings or events booked. One couple had to change their ceremony location to ensure their photos won’t feature a background of heavy machinery, but thankfully the bride was as far from ‘zilla’ as they come. She understood completely and is now excited about being the first couple to get married by the small creek running along the lower perimeter of the property.

All that to say, things at the winery are continuing to go well.

Which is more than I can say about my personal life.

Amira was increasingly distant as last night wore on, and the only person talking on the drive home was Ella. She wouldn’t shut up about the bride’s brother. It would have had me grinding my molars if not for the distraction it provided. Ella was either blissfully unaware of the thin ice wall between Amira and I, or she was doing her best to avoid catastrophe.

We didn’t speak as we got ready for bed, and for the first time in weeks we fell asleep with our backs to one another. When I woke this morning, Amira had already left for her shift at the boutique.

I’d only planned to be at the winery for my meeting with Michael, but the thought of returning to Amira’s apartment is making my neck itch under the collar of my black business shirt. The thought of giving it all up and returning to my grandmother’s house—my house, I suppose—is even worse.

I’m stuck between one shitty situation and the next, and despite all the advice I had for Michael, I have no idea how to make it better.

Keep showing up.That’s what I told him. Show her with the little things and give her gentle reminders every day.

But none of that feels right for Amira. Our problems are entirely different because she’s not afraid of me letting her down. She’s afraid of doing that herself. And how the fuck am I meant to make her see we are worth the risk?

My computer screen starts to blur, and I rub my eyes with my thumbs. Damn things feel like they are getting worse. With a sigh, I try to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me. The timeline Michael and I went over for the build is straightforward enough, but now I have to calculate if it will disrupt sales through the busy summer season. We can keep the construction as separate as possible to the main area, but most people don’t want the steady beep of trucks reversing or droning of power tools in the background of their mid-week lunches.

No matter how hard I try to concentrate on the calculations on my computer screen, they continue to blur. Begrudgingly I pull my glasses back out of the drawer I stashed them in when Michael arrived. They’ve been helping, but I still feel awkward wearing them. Still hate the feeling of them sitting across the bridge of my nose.

Now though, they barely make a difference in my focus. The spreadsheet still bleeds into an unreadable mess because my mind is elsewhere.

I told Michael I know what it feels like when things go pear shaped, but it’s so much worse than that. I know because it’s happening, right now, with Amira. Hope is bleeding out of me faster than I can contain.

For weeks now—months even—I’ve been clinging to the thought that Amira and I could become something. But my grip is failing and it’s time to face the truth.

No matter how much I care, how many times I tell her the way I feel has nothing to do with her family, I can’t convince her it’s real. Or more specifically, I can’t convince her whatshefeels is real.

I thought she wanted to try, but I don’t think that anymore.

She doesn’t want to fall in love, and she never wants to get married. Nothing I can do or say will change that about her. And it would be unfair of me to keep pushing for those things.

My eyes begin to sting. I push my glasses up to press my fingertips into my eyes before any tears can fall. It’s not that bad, I’ve been madly in love with her when she didn’t feel the same once before. I can do it again. Knowing we were so close to being something still slices me open and leaves a throbbing pain behind my sternum.

I take a handful of long deep breaths, rapping my knuckles against the desk while I compose myself. As the squeezing in my chest begins to settle a lone tear escapes through my fingers and trickles down my cheek. It’s salty as it hits the corner of my mouth, and I bat it away.

“Boss?”

Fuck. The very last thing I need to add to all of this is my employee catching me crying at my desk. I pull my glasses back onto the bridge of my nose, hoping they hide any remnants of tears or puffiness.

“I heard knocking, thought you might have needed something?”

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