And perhaps, best of all, I know New York will never break my heart.
44
I slide the book back onto the shelf, trying not to let my eyes wander to the section beside me—the section where I discovered Michael’s book. I’ve been trying to avoid this whole aisle, but Geoff keeps giving me things to shelve down here. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
With a sigh, I shuffle up to the counter. It’s been a long first day back at work, but it’s good to return to some sort of normal. Well, I guess it looks normal on the outside, but my chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and filled with cement.
“We need to talk,” Geoff says as I lean against the counter. He’s unboxing some new thrillers and I pick one up absently.
“About what?”
“Your novel.”
I set the book down, narrowing my eyes. “No.”
“Oh, come on! It’s—”
“That wasn’t the deal, Geoff! You promised we didn’t have to discuss it.”
“I know. But that was before I knew how brilliant it is.”
I snort. This should be good.
“I’m serious!” He abandons the box to focus his attention on me. “It’s fantastic. It’s hot, and the story is solid, and that Matthew character—”
“Oh God,” I mutter, heat rising to my cheeks. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“I think you need to do something with it.”
I twist away, pretending to busy myself with the new arrivals. “I’m not—”
“Alex.” Geoff puts his hand on my arm, turning me back to him. “I mean it. I read a lot of books, and I’m not just saying this as a friend. I think you have something here.”
I observe his earnest expression and feel a flicker of hope ignite inside me. I trust Geoff, and if he’s saying this, maybe, well… is it possible that it is good?
“And the ending,” Geoff adds with a swoon. “It’s adorable.”
I mentally douse the flicker of hope, shaking my head. “It’s not adorable. It’s absurd,” I say, and my concrete heart hardens a little more.
I’ve been trying not to think about the ending I wrote at the cabin, high on Michael’s pheromones, dazed from hours of sex and cuddling, unable to think rationally. I’m trying to keep Michael out of my mind altogether, and most of the time it’s working. Well, during the day it’s working. At night, when I’m in bed alone, I somehow forget how mad I’m supposed to be. Instead, I’m consumed by the physical ache of missing him. I miss his kisses, his hands on me. I miss his woodsy smell and his sweet taste, the way his eyes would light up when he looked at me. I miss the low rumble of his laugh. I miss the way he made me feel safe and sexy and—even if it was just for a little while—happy.
Then, when the morning comes and I have a headache from crying over the happy ending I never got, I remind myself again how angry I am that he wanted me to give up my writing after he’d promised to support me. And when I think about how he compared me to Mel, how he told me I was being ridiculous… my fury returns in full force.
But that’s good. It’s easier to be angry with him than to feel the emptiness of missing him.
Geoff frowns. “It’s a romance novel, Alex. That’s how it’s supposed to end.”
I heave out a sigh. He’s right, of course, and I’d hate it if these books ended any other way. I don’t want to read about two broken people who fall in love and think they’re going to be happy, only to end up with mangled hearts. That’s what real life is for.
Geoff smiles at a customer as they enter the store, then turns back to me. “Look. You might not be feeling good about love right now, and I get that. But your book is great, and I hope you do something with it.” He follows after the customer and I’m left with his words echoing in my head.
The truth is, I kind of would like to do something with my novel. I’m thrilled to have the column from Justin, but I also want something for me—something that can keep that hopeless, romantic side of myself satisfied, so I’m not tempted to go looking for it in real life again. I’d been reluctant to do anything with my novel because I was worried what my parents might think. But I’ve decided to do what’s best for me now. Taking my romance novel seriously would be a good first step.
Geoff leaves me to lock up for the evening, and I’m relieved when it’s time to head home. It’s been good to be back at work, but my heart is feeling heavy after thinking about Michael. I wonder if he’s thinking about me, or if he’s just gone back to his old, grumpy self. He said I helped him to be more optimistic, to feel good. But when I think about the hurt we caused each other, I can’t see how that can be true.
I’m just locking up the store, ready to schlep myself home, when I see him. He’s standing across the street in a pool of light from a street lamp, his beanie on his head, his hands in his coat pockets.
My eyes lock onto his and my heart lurches. It’s only been a week, but I’d forgotten how handsome he is. I’d forgotten how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are, how masculine and sexy his beard is, how beautiful his espresso eyes are. It all comes rushing back in that moment as I step out of the bookstore and pull the door shut behind me with trembling hands.
“Hi,” he says uncertainly, approaching me.
“Hello.” I rip my gaze away from him and stuff my keys into my bag. I’m afraid that if I look at him, I’ll either burst into tears or start yelling. I’m not
