Page 122 of Wanted You More

“I hope things get better,” is the last thing I offer her. Because it’s the truth. Bailey isn’t a bad person. Annoying and a little uptight? Sure. But I’d probably do the same thing to someone as she did to me if I were in her shoes.

As I’m walking back to the law office, I hear her call out, “I hope things work out for you two.” It gives me pause, making me glance back in her direction. She nods toward Noah’s building. “He’s a great guy. One day, I hope to find someone who looks at me the way he looks at you.”

Unsure of what to say, I watch as she starts her car and buckles in.

When I’m back inside, Noah is where I left him, with his food resting beside him in the bag. His brows go up as I approach, and he follows my every step as I sit on the edge of his desk, pointing at the sandwich. “It’s a Philly cheesesteak. Extra peppers.”

He doesn’t ask what I said to Bailey.

I don’t tell him.

Noah looks at the time on the clock. “Do you have time to split this with me?”

He wants me to stay? A smile forms. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

After finding an extra chair, he pulls it beside his and gestures for me to sit. I watch as he unwraps his sandwich and splits it, passing me one of the napkins they put in the bag with the order, and then gets me some water from the cooler on the opposite side of the room.

Once he’s sitting, he studies me. “You okay?”

I’ve spent most of my life existing because being present meant accepting how much life took from me, to begin with. “Yeah. Just a lot on my mind.” I pick a pepper off my sandwich. “I heard back from the editor of the paper. They’re going to publish my piece in this week’s edition. It’ll be in print on Thursday.”

“Congratulations. How do you feel?”

Truthfully? “A little nervous. I still think I was a little snotty about how I’ve been treated by people. I don’t want anyone to think I’m throwing a tantrum for attention. I want to start being the person my mom would be proud of.”

His brows pinch. “You already are.”

Reaching over and placing my hand on his, I say, “Your dad said the same thing. He said a lot about healing that resonated with me. I don’t know. I just don’t want to be the damaged girl anymore.”

Noah’s eyes drop to my hand, then to a few people stationed at their desks nearby who are glancing in our direction. Clearing his throat, he moves his hand out from mine and wraps his fingers around his coffee mug. “You haven’t been the damaged girl in a long time. Anybody who knows you can see the progress you’ve made.”

Almost as quickly as my smile curled my lips, it falls from my face when I notice the shift in his posture.

Why doesn’t he want to hold my hand here? He’s hugged me before. Kissed me on occasion when we were out.

My eyes go to the older staff, who have always been nice on the rare occasion I drop by.

“Noah?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to ask what’s on his mind. “Are you excited to go back to school and see your friends?”

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what the sudden change between us is.

It’s thick in the air, making uncertainty creep into the crevices of my heart that I thought were long since healed.

And all I can think to myself is,are you excited to get rid of me again?

***

Anxiety ripples throughmy body like a wave of nausea as I finish packing up my suitcase a few days after Noah starts acting strange. He texts me as if nothing is wrong, invites me over like he didn’t reject me at his office, and says nothing about the situation.

I’m dumping out what remains of my clean clothes Dad washed for me when I see a faded black tee I stole from Noah. Picking it up, it feeds into the bundle of stress balling up into my chest.

I startle when someone knocks on my bedroom door, causing me to drop the material in my hands and turn as the door opens. “Oh, hey.”

Dad smiles at me as he scopes out my room, which is cleaner than normal. “Almost finished?”

I nod, jabbing my finger toward my messy bed. “Just packing the last of my stuff.”

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