by Becky Monson
I nod my head. “Yep, that’s the word.”
“You don’t seem very excited,” Quinn says.
I sigh. “I am,” I say disdainfully.
“You should quit that stupid job,” Thomas says.
“What are you talking about?” Quinn asks.
“It’s so boring,” he says while inspecting his fingernails.
“How would you know?” I ask. Even though that thought has been going through my mind as I worked through the weekend and all today.
“It’s just so . . . blah,” he says. He looks around the table. “Like I’m a lawyer, Quinn’s a news reporter—”
“And internet famous,” Bree pipes in, which gets her a dirty look from Quinn.
He points a finger at Bree, “that too. And Alex is a . . . wait, what do you do Alex?”
“Marketing,” says Alex, his voice monotone.
“Right, Alex does marketing. And our dear Bree, here, serves food to the stars,” he says with a palm out toward Bree.
Bree nods her head because this is true. She’s served all kinds of celebrities, and partied with some of them.
“And what do you do?” Thomas says, tilting his head as he looks at me. “You work in a call center.” He says this like it pains him.
“She manages a call center,” Quinn says, trying to make it sound better, but it doesn’t help.
I stop myself from piping in and specifying that I only manage a small part of the call center, because that would not help my plight.
“Sorry to bore you,” I say to Thomas.
“Well, I’m only pointing out the obvious,” he says. “I mean, there are other jobs out there, Hols.”
These are the words that Logan said after he kissed me soundly in the booth at the Lava Java.
There are other jobs out there.
This thought has been spinning around in my head, playing on repeat. The most annoying earworm ever.
“So tell me, oh wise Thomas, what could I do that would make you more proud?” I say, my voice mocking.
“I don’t know,” he says on an exhale. “We could use someone in the group who can bake stuff.” He scans the group and everyone nods, since not one of us can cook or bake.
“Hard pass,” I say.
“You’ll figure it out,” Thomas says.
I laugh out my nose. “I’m not leaving my job,” I say. “Definitely not for your reasoning.”
“Have it your way,” he says, adding an eye roll for emphasis.
Chapter 33
The following Monday, the funk I’m in doesn’t get better. It actually gets much, much worse.
The lack of motivation isn’t improving at all. I’ve now found myself daydreaming at work. Me. Daydreaming. I’ve never been one to fantasize like that, but I can’t help myself. I picture myself in Paris with Logan. Walking hand-in-hand through the Louvre. Taking a picture of him next to his twin—the Mona Lisa. He didn’t find it funny when I did that, but I sure did.
Maybe it’s because I need to go to a happy place when I’m with my team—with whom my relationship hasn’t improved. In fact, if and when they do another manager assessment, I doubt it will be any better than last time. It might even be worse.
A little voice in my head keeps chirping over and over, asking me what all this was for. If nothing at work changed—the reason I took the vacation in the first place, well, the biggest reason—then where did it go wrong? Why do I feel worse off in my career now that I’m back? Rather than refreshed, excited, renewed, ready to tackle whatever is put before me? What did I learn from all of this?
The answer is on my mind as I take the stairs up one floor to Marie’s office. I’ve asked to meet with her this afternoon.
“Hello,” I say, after knocking and hearing her tell me to come in.
“Have a seat,” she says, pointing to the chair across from her desk.
“How are you?” I ask as I sit down. I give her a smile, looking at her over the pale desk that separates us.
“I’m good,” she says. “You?”
I smile what feels like might be a sad smile. “I’ve been better.”
She leans an elbow on the arm of her chair, resting her chin on a closed fist. “You’re different since you’ve been back,” she says.
I nod once. “I know. I think I have a serious case of vacation brain,” I say.
She chuckles at that. “I think it goes deeper than that.”
I look out the window of her office, watching the planted palm trees swaying in the wind. “I think you’re right.”
“So tell me,” she says.
I exhale loudly, my shoulders coming up as I do. I turn my face away from the window and look at this woman sitting across from me—Marie, who has been such a great boss and has taken me under her wing and guided me like a pseudo mom, in a way.
“I don’t think I want the CCM job,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud—actually admitted it to anyone, and it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels a lot like zipping down that line in Paris. It feels freeing to say those words out loud.
She nods her head. I half expected her to try to talk me out of it, but then I realize this is Marie, and she’s always had my best interest at heart.
“I think,” she stops herself, pursing her lips together as if she’s not sure how she wants to say what needs to be said. She places her hands in her lap. “I think that’s a wise choice. Not because I don’t think you can do it—I have full faith in you, Holly, I always have. But because I think you can do better.”
I close my eyes for a second, the feeling of tears starting to pool at the bottom of my eyelids taking over.
I can do better.
“So now what?” she asks when I open my eyes and try to blink away the tears.
I lift my shoulders and then drop them. “I have no idea,” I say.
She breathes out through her teeth. “Now that,” she says, shaking her head slowly back and forth. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”
~*~
I don’t go back to my office after my meeting with Marie. I walk straight over to the Lava Java. But when I get to the corner, I see Logan is just walking out, his computer bag over his shoulder, a hand in the pocket of his dark denim jeans.
“Hey,” I say, waving a hand at him to get his attention.
He lifts his chin once when he sees me and starts walking toward me.
“Are you leaving?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says.
I lick my lips, feeling slightly unsure of myself. “Want some company?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Sure,” he says. “But don’t you have work?”
I smile at this man—this man who means so much to me, more than I ever thought he would. “I think . . . I think I may have just quit my job.” I expect a sick feeling to fill my stomach when I say this, but instead I feel lighter, breezier, maybe even happier.
Logan’s lips pull into that smile of his, teeth and dimples and all. The very one that does wonders to my insides.
“So, now what?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air, palms toward the bright blue Orlando sky.
He pulls his hand out of his pocket, grabbing me by the waist as he pulls me into him, his lips landing on mine so quickly, so soundly—right here on the corner of Church Street.
Right now, in this moment, not knowing is not so bad. I kind of like it. A lot.
THE END
Already missing Holly and the gang? More to come in Quinn’s book:
JUST A GIRL
Releasing Spring 2019
About the Author
By day, Becky Monson is a mother to three young children, and a wife. By night, she escapes with reading books and writing. An award-winning author, Becky uses humor and true-life experiences to bring her characters to life. She loves all things chick-lit (movies, books, etc.), and wishes she had a British accent. She has recently given up Diet Coke for the fiftieth time and is hopeful this
time will last... but it probably won't.
Other Books by Becky
Thirty-Two Going on Spinster
Thirty-Three Going on Girlfriend
Thirty-Four Going on Bride
Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace
Taking a Chance
Once Again in Christmas Falls
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