Page 37 of The Fear of Falling
I frown. “So why did he stay with you?”
“Like I said. Lost. But it’s not my place to talk, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”
“But you’re supposed to tell me what to do!” I complain. I shouldn’t. I know all too well how fortunate I am that Lynda still treats me like a daughter even though Eric and I never tied the knot, and I shouldn’t push the boundaries of our relationship. But I’m feeling as lost as Benson apparently is, and this situation is so unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with.
“Sweetie.” Lynda tugs on one of my braids. “I can’t do that, and you and I both know you’ll do the opposite of whatever I tell you.”
“I will not!”
She raises an eyebrow.
Rolling my eyes, I take a long sip of my coffee and stand. “Fine. I’ll figure it out on my own. But don’t be surprised when I come crying to you when it all falls apart. I don’t…” I frown. “I don’t know if I can trust myself lately. I wasn’t myself last week, but I don’t think I was myself before that either.”
I feel like I’ve hit two extremes—the adventurous, let-it-all-loose woman in Italy, and the strait-laced rule-follower of recent years. The Avery I want to be is somewhere in the middle, but I’m not sure how to find her.
I also don’t havetimeto find her. Right now, I need to focus on the company and getting us to a sustainable place. Dani and our other authors deserve my full attention, no matter how distracting Benson is going to be. It’s not like he’d go for a relationship, so I’m going to have to do my best to ignore him.
“How are submissions looking?” I ask at full volume. Forcing myself into work mode.
“Overwhelming,” Lynda replies with a smile. “But I think that’s a good thing. It means people want to be a part of Rose & Quill.”
It also means more to sort through to find the books that are worth our time. “Anything good?”
“I’ll email you the promising ones. You have a better eye for those than I do.”
I don’t know about that. We’ve only published a couple dozen books since we started a few years ago, and Dani’s is the only one that took off. Yeah, the others are doing better thanks to Dani’s success, but would they have thrived on their own with a more established publisher?
Sometimes I wonder why I picked a career that holds me responsible for so many people’s livelihoods, but then I can’t imagine doing anything else. This is literally my dream job.
“Yes, send them over,” I say and take another sip of coffee. “I need to catch up on emails, but I’m going to need something more fun to distract me.”
Lynda’s expression turns mischievous. “From the handsome man in your office?”
I narrow my eyes and point a finger at her. “From the more tedious work. Don’t go making more out of this than there is, Lynda Greer.”
As she laughs, I turn and head to the bathroom to fix my shirt, trying not to think about how my disheveled state could be part of the reason Benson changed his mind about me. It’s stupid—aside from at the wedding, I wasn’t exactly all dolled up by the end of the week in Italy—but my brain wants a reason for his shift in interest. It shouldn’t matter, but…
But it really matters.
Once I look more presentable, I make my way back to my office but am stopped in the hallway outside my door by a soft question.
“How was Italy?” Eric meets my gaze from his desk, his eyebrows low and his lips pursed. It’s the look he gets when he’s sad, and guilt pools in my stomach. He was as excited about that trip as I was, though I don’t think he would have enjoyed the way I spent it. He would have stuck to the schedule.
I do my best to smile. “It was nice. I think you would have liked the art galleries.”
“Please tell me you ate a lot of chocolate like you planned to.”
Benson coughs behind me, making my face burn red.
Nodding, I duck my head to try to hide my blush until my face cools down. “I did, yeah. It was amazing. I brought some home, if you want to try it.”
“Only if you want to share. I know better than to get between you and your chocolate.” He smiles when I look up again, but it looks forced. I don’t blame him. This might be the longest non-work conversation we’ve had in months, and it feels like we barely know each other. It’s amazing how six years can fizzle away after one decision.
Tapping my finger on my coffee cup, I try to come up with something else to say but have nothing. “Well, I should get to work. Lots to catch up on.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, but his expression is still sad. He doesn’t seem angry about the trip anymore, if he ever was. Maybe he’s still unsure how to coexist, like I am. I may have gotten closure in Italy, but that doesn’t make this any easier. “I’m glad you’re back,” he adds.
I’m not sure I mean it, but I reply, “Me too.”
