Page 31 of The Fear of Falling
The chair must weigh four hundred pounds, and I’m going to have to ask Grandma Sue where she got it because it seems to be made of solid oak. When she updated the furniture in her house right as I was graduating college and moving into my own place, I begged her to let me take the armchair because I used to spend hours sitting in it and reading books whenever I was at her house. When we were kids, it fit me, Dani, and Sadie all at the same time.
I miss reading with them like that. Sadie is only four years younger than me, but Lucy, Chloe, and Poppy are all young and close enough in age that before we grew close as the six of us, it tended to be three and three. Dani and I talk all the time, obviously, but it’s been a while since I had a good book conversation with Sadie that wasn’t work-related. I love having her as one of my contracted editors—she’s amazing—but as I stand here staring at this old chair, I’m realizing how little I’ve treated her as a cousin rather than an employee.
It’s so dumb. We’ve all been close since we were little—all of my cousins are more like extra sisters—and I hate that things have changed.
I’ve been a terrible sister.
Grabbing my phone, I take a moment to gaze at the picture of Benson and me, and then I pull up the camera and snap apicture of the armchair, sending it to Dani and Sadie. They won’t respond—it’s literally the middle of the night—but the nostalgia is hitting hard, and I want to try to be better.
Benson told me to be brave and be myself, and putting in a valiant effort is the least I can do to repay him for taking me under his wing last week and giving me such a magical time in Florence.
Avery:
I don’t know if the three of us will fit like we used to, but if you gals ever want to come over for a reading day, I’m turning my spare room into a book nook, and the chair misses your cute butts.
I grimace as soon as I hit send. I shouldn’t be allowed to text when I’m under the influence of jet lag and heartbreak. Oh well. Exiting my messaging app, I take a few seconds to admire my lock screen again and then head to the master bedroom, ready to start moving books and get this book nook looking…hooky? It’s the only word that rhymes, even if it makes no sense.
Exhaustion hits me hard on that last convoluted thought, and one look at the dozens of books littering my mattress in several stacks brings a tired tear to my eye.
This was a bad idea.
Sighing, I grab a blanket and trudge back to the spare room, settling myself in the oversized chair and bringing my feet up off the floor. I’ll take a quick power nap, and then I can clear the bed.
I wake with a start, unsure where I am for a solid ten seconds. The lights are still on, but the room feels lighter than it should. Scrambling for my phone, I squint at the blurry screen for a long while before the time finally registers. I’m supposed to be at the office in less than an hour!
“Crap!”
Taking the world’s fastest shower and tying my hair back in rushed braids, I dart out the door. After a week of ignoring Eric’s texts and emails, the last thing I need is to show up at the office late. In the past, Eric and I made it a competition to see who could get there first. I’ve already lost today, hands down, but it’ll be better if I don’t lose by more than half an hour.
But as I make the short drive to work, my stomach starts rumbling, and I can’t resist the pull of the Einstein Bros. Bagels up ahead. I’ve gotten used to my morning pastry and coffee. I’ll be sorely disappointed—I don’t think anything can beat my Italian breakfasts—but my stomach and sleepy brain will be grateful for this little detour.
Eric texts me while I’m in the drive through line, but at this point it’s too late for me to do anything but wait my turn. I’m stuck here.
Eric:
Sonny is here and ready to get started. Will you be here soon?
Ah right, Sonny was showing uptoday. While we badly need the help of a consultant, I wish he would have delayed his arrival by a day or two so I could settle back in first. After the week I just had, full of aimless wandering and carpe dieming, I am going to have a hard time jumping into a scheduled, work-first frame of mind.
I’m fully forty-five minutes later than I should be when I finally whirl into the office, one side of a smear-loaded bagel and coffee in hand as I greet Lynda at the reception desk and scurry to Eric’s office.
He’s in his usual spot at his desk, a happy smile lighting up his face until he looks over at me and the smile fades. He looks…disappointed? I don’t think Eric has ever looked at me like this, and a sharp pain stabs me between my ribs. “Finally,” he mutters and gestures to the guy sitting across from him. “Ms. Baldwin—”Whoa, what’s with the formality?“—meet Sonny, our new consultant. Sonny, This is my partner, Avery Baldwin.”
I turn to greet the guy who was at one point Eric’s best friend. I’ve heard plenty about him but never met him, and I’m curious to see who…
Sonny has stood to greet me, but his outstretched hand falters halfway. It’s a nice hand, big and sturdy at the end of an arm that is well-defined and muscular. That arm is attached to a broad set of shoulders over a solid chest. The kind of chest a girl could lean into and feel at home. Sonny swallows, pulling my eyes up to his throat and his scruff-covered jaw that clenches when my gaze finally rises the rest of the way and meets his.
Benson.
It’sBenson, in all his handsome glory, his blue eyes wide.
My bagel falls from my mouth and splats on the floor. It’s by some miracle I keep hold of my coffee rather than dropping it at my feet. Two thoughts war for dominance in my mind as I try to process what’s happening:Aww, my bagel!andWhat in the name of Jane Austen ishedoing here?
Chapter 13
Benson
Thisisn’thappening.
