It’s why I haven’t been pressing her to get together with me. I’ll lob the occasional text just to let her know I’m still out here and want to see her, but I can’t make her contact me. I’m doing my best to be patient, knowing the tabloid article must have rattled her deeply. I know she’s embarrassed about it, and it’s made her very wary of being seen in public – especially with me. So, I’ve been trying to give her the time and space she obviously needs.
I won’t lie, though. It’s frustrating as hell. The connection we share is real – and I know she feels it, too. But she has been keeping me at an arm’s distance. I can’t even say we’re really seeing each other since that would imply we talk more than once every couple of weeks. I don’t know what we are to each other, to be honest. I’ve made it clear that I want to be more with her – much more. I want to be closer to her, but she continues to resist.
Honestly, I’ve never had to work this hard to be with somebody before, so this is all new ground to me. But as I look at her from across the table, see the way the sunshine makes her skin glow as if she’s lit from within, I know I’ll do whatever she needs to get to a place where she’s comfortable, and most of all, ready to be with me – and all that entails.
Nobody has ever made me feel the way Berlin makes me feel. I’ve never wanted to be with somebody so bad that I chase them as hard as I chase her. There is just something about her; I connect with on a deep, primal level. As cynical and jaded as I can be sometimes, even I recognize how rare that is – and I’m not willing to throw it away just because she’s making me work for it. I’m not willing to walk away from her over my pride. I truly believe we can have something truly unique. Special. And I want it with everything in me.
“It’s good to see you, Berlin,” I start. “I’ve missed you.”
She gives me a small smile but says nothing. Instead, she looks down at the table and picks at the napkin beneath her cup of coffee. There is obviously something really weighing her down. We’re sitting on the patio at the coffee house she asked me to meet her at, and despite the place being packed with people, I can see how utterly alone she feels right now. My heart goes out to her. That’s something I want to change.
I let out a breath and watch as the plume of steam wafts away on a current of air. And as the sun slips behind the iron gray clouds above, plunging us back into a dusky gloom, Berlin finally looks up at me. I see her jaw flexing, and the look of total discomfort on her face is painful for me to see.
“Talk to me, Berlin,” I nudge her gently. “What’s going on?”
“I – uhhhh –”
She bites off her words as several fat tears roll down her smooth cheeks. She angrily scrubs them away and seems to be silently chastising herself. Reaching across the table, I take her hand and give it a squeeze. She looks like she might yank it away but then relaxes and looks at me, giving me the saddest, most humorless smile, I’ve ever seen on a person’s face.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”
Her eyes widen, and there’s a terrified glint that shines through for a moment – but just a moment – before she manages to quash it, leaving nothing but a flat, wooden expression on her face.
“I – I lost my job at the PD’s office,” she finally tells me, her voice trembling.
I stare at her blankly for a minute and watch as more tears roll down her face. She sniffs loudly and uses her napkin to dry her eyes. Her cheeks are red and blotchy, her eyes swollen, and although I know what a massive blow this must be to her, I can tell there’s something more. Something she’s not telling me. But I remind myself – in her own time, in her own way.
“Berlin, that’s terrible,” I reply. “Why? What happened?”
“Politics,” she sniffs, a note of disgust in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
“It seems that photo in the Ledger made some of the people above me uncomfortable,” she replies. “They – no, he – was afraid it would somehow blow back on him and make him look bad.”
“Who is he?” I growl. “What’s his name?”
“Dwight. Dwight Watson,” she responds. “He’s the office’s Chief Administrator.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, I called him that too,” she says with a small grin. “Among other things.”
It’s weak and watered-down, but it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on her face since I sat down. I know what being an attorney and doing the work she does means to her. And I know that for Berlin, this isn’t just the loss of her job – it’s a blow to her very identity. She defends the people who can’t defend themselves. That’s just who she is. So to have that stripped from her is like a shot to the gut.
“I feel like this is my fault,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault,” she insists. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”
“Maybe not, but you wouldn’t have been there if not for me,” I admit. “And I should have known
