Page 7 of Love Out Loud

“Luke, I am your father!” a guy shouted in a really crappy James Earl Jones impression, and everyone in the room lost their composure, giggling, laughing, and oh, yeah, there was even a snort, which set everyone off laughing again.

Fiona relaxed a bit, realizing this must be a loosening-up exercise or something.

Jacob leaned close enough for her to smell his clean, spicy aftershave. “It’s an inhibition activity. They’re acting out something they’ve secretly wanted to do at an inappropriate time, like a wedding, lecture, or religious service.”

Fiona could relate. She imagined doing things at inappropriate times often, but she’d never thought about whether other people did as well. In high school, she had a history teacher who spoke slowly and super loud when addressing her. Every time he did it, she wanted to scream, “I’m shy, not deaf.” She never did. She still sometimes daydreamed about doing it, even all these years later.

Once the laughter died down, Jacob stood. “Okay. We have an odd number, so I’ll pair up with Fiona today. Everyone else, starting with John, here, match with the person immediately to your left and find a space in the room to recite the first minute or two of your speech or presentation to each other; then, if we have time, we’ll come back as a group and report in.”

As if it were something fun, the group spread out in pairs around the room and dove into the assignment.

“Glad you made it,” Jacob said over the buzz of chatter from the others in the room. “I thought you were going to be a no-show.”

If only. She could be curled up with her dogs and a book, preferably one featuring a Highlander wearing only a kilt, while she chowed on a carton of takeout, instead of sampling the humiliating fare in Dante’s innermost circle of group-session hell. She ran a hand through her damp hair and shrugged.

“Did you get caught in the rain?”

“No. The shower.”

His brow furrowed, but instead of dwelling on that, he asked, “Have you started on your acceptance speech yet? Do you have anything in writing we can work with?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Nah. I thought I’d just get up on that stage the night of the event and improvise.”

There was a long pause, and Fiona fought the urge to smile. It bothered her that people rarely knew what to make of her, but that was also herfavoritething—people rarely knew what to make of her. She glanced around the room, taking in the ridiculous inspirational posters decorating the walls.

Jacob cleared his throat. “I’ll assume that’s the keen sense of humor Claire told me about.”

“Well, you know what they say—a comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there.”

A quick glance at him revealed he was completely stumped, and again, she bit back a giggle. Her fight to not smile was heroic. She deserved a medal and a box of dark chocolate.

“Winners are not people who never fail, but people who never quit,” she said conversationally.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he realized she was reading the insipid posters pinned around the room. He joined in her fun and said, “When life gives you lemons—”

Instead of quoting the overdone and trite saying, she made up her own ending. “When life gives you lemons, freeze the lemons and then chuck them as hard as possible at the person who’s making your life difficult,” she said. “I wish I had some now.”

He barked out a laugh. “This isn’t that bad, is it?”

“From where I’m sitting, yes.”

He studied her so intensely, she fought the urge to squirm in her chair. Then, he broke eye contact and clapped his hands. “Okay, everybody. We’re going to call our session done here. I’ll see everyone Thursday, same time.”

Oh, thank God. The relief of not having to face a group of strangers warmed her up like a sip of chamomile tea, which would go great with the dark chocolate she’d imagined and the near-naked Highlander in the book on her nightstand. She stood to leave, but he reached to touch her arm, then quickly lowered his hand as if thinking better of it. “Please stay for a couple of minutes.”

With a sigh, she sat back down. Jane had paid for these sessions, so she should at least try to recoup some of the time she’d lost by arriving late.

“Why’s a group session so bad?” he asked after the room cleared. “The audience for your speech will be much larger.”

Consciously relaxing her hands on her knees, she leaned against the chair back. “It’s a forced social situation. You didn’t tell me it was a group thing, so I wasn’t prepared. To compound it, I was late with wet hair and a ridiculous T-shirt. I was uncomfortable.”

His eyes shot to her breasts, and darn it all if her nipples didn’t tighten. Irritated and turned on shouldnotbe a thing.

“I like the T-shirt,” he said.

She could feel the heat of her blush raging over her face as she stared at the chair directly across from her and said, “Spay Day is one of the reasons I’m getting the blasted award.” She stared down at the ridiculous shirt and her perky nipples that hadn’t gotten the memo that this was not the time or place to make a stand. “I’m sure I made a great impression on your other clients.”

“Group work would be good practice for you.”

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