Then There Was You

by Claire Contreras

  “Are you nervous, excited, ready to get it over with?”

  I laughed. “All three, actually.”

  We ordered our food and drinks and went back to our casual conversation. He told me how he chooses what goes into the store and how they have another set of people stage the products, making it seem as if a customer absolutely needs to buy it.

  It was intriguing, especially since I’d only spoken to fabric people up until that point. Sure, I knew there was more to the fashion and design world, but I hadn't realized how extensive it was. We finished eating and continued drinking and all of the anxiety from earlier vanished. I was no longer only thinking about Rowan and how much I missed him. I was actively listening to someone else talk about their job and found that I enjoyed it.

  “Your boyfriend didn’t come with you this time?”

  “You mean Rowan?” I put my glass of wine down and looked up in surprise. “He isn’t . . . he isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Oh. I got a vibe.”

  “Wrong vibe.” I tried to laugh it off, but it sounded weak and uncertain.

  “I figured with the way he was looking at you and the way you two . . .” He paused, frowning as he tilted his head. “I don’t know how to describe it. You just seemed like a couple.”

  “Oh. Well, no. Definitely not. We’re both very anti-relationship, I guess you can say.”

  “Being in love is scary. Best to play things safe.”

  My heart pounded. I didn’t owe this guy anything, but I still found myself saying, “I’m not in love with him.”

  “I just got out of a four-year relationship,” Cody said, taking a sip of his gin. “It was the worst heartache I’d ever experienced. I cursed the whole thing after that. It took me a month to feel like I could get out of my apartment. Two more to look like a human being. Well, basically, it took eight or nine months for me to be myself again. Guess how long it took her to move on.”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, leaning in slightly.

  “Three months. I was still trying to be a human being and she was moving on with her boss.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “It was. It still is. I’ve been trying to move on, but I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I compare people to her all the time.”

  “Four years is a long time.”

  “I don’t regret it, though. Not a single day goes by where I regret being with her those four years. I do regret not fighting for her afterward. If I’d told her that I didn’t want to split up, maybe we’d still be together. Who knows? The thought was scary back then, but now it seems so stupid.”

  I swallowed the lump that seemed to be forming in my throat. “Love is terrifying.”

  “It sure is.” He lifted his glass, I lifted mine, and we toasted to that. We changed the subject back to clothing, which I was thankful for, but in the back of my mind, all I could think about was our previous conversation. Was I in love with Rowan? Really in love with him? Was that why I felt so giddy when he was around and so desperately in need of him when he wasn’t? Was that why I checked my phone one hundred times even after I’d turned it off for the night? I said goodbye to Cody and went up to my room, my head buzzing with thoughts of love and alcohol.

  What was love anyway? Was it falling into the unknown? I lay in bed the rest of the night and thought about it until I finally decided that I was definitely in love with Rowan Hawthorne. I couldn’t even think of a time when I hadn’t been. I decided then that I’d tell him. Consequences be damned. He needed to know how I felt.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  From the moment I walked into the New York high-rise, I knew I wouldn’t take the job. Not because it was too busy or too loud or anything that may scare someone else away, but because it felt cold and dry and stifling. I’d never believed creativity had a home outside our minds. It was something you either had or you didn’t. No fancy high-rise was going to change that. Yet, as I looked around, waiting for Traci to call me into her office, I couldn’t help but wonder if working there would stifle my creative drive. When my name was called, I gathered my bag, held my portfolio tight, and walked in. I’d already emailed her a copy of the whole thing, but there was something about having a physical thing to show that couldn’t be replaced. The secretary signaled for me to go into the office. I let out a breath as I pushed the large stained-glass door open.

  Traci was unlike everything outside of her office. She was vibrant, wearing a burnt-orange dress with frills on the sleeves. Her dyed blonde hair was up in a high ballerina bun, and her smile was warm and welcoming.

  “Please, sit,” she said after shaking my hand firmly. I did and placed the portfolio on the edge of the desk.

  “I love your dress.” I smiled. “The color is a dream.”

  “Ah, a girl who notices. Most people are too busy looking out the windows to notice what I’m wearing, which quite frankly worries me since this isn’t an architectural firm.” Her brows knotted together in a cute pout that made me laugh and feel instantly at ease. “So, we have a lot to talk about.”

  And talk we did. About everything from school to when I started drawing, where I learned to sketch, and what it was about design that called to me. I answered all of her questions with sincerity and found that Traci was the kind of woman I could be friends with, whether or not she hired me. She let me speak and nodded and rose her eyebrows every so often, as if impressed or interested, encouraging me to keep talking. I told her about Monte Fabrics and my internship at Hawthorne.

  “I’ll have to look them up,” she said. “Especially if they’re getting all that exotic fabric.”

  “Definitely. They’re easy to work with, too, and have the bones of a small company but the product of an international one.”

  “Cute.” She smiled and turned the page on my designs. “So, tell me who our competition is. I know we aren’t the only ones who want to steal that brain of yours.”

  “Umm . . .” I paused, unsure whether I should actually say. Did she want to know or was she just making conversation? I decided she had better things to do than make conversation, so I told her. “Prim. I have my interview with them on Wednesday.”

  “Prim?” Her mouth dropped. “In Paris?”

  I nodded slowly, wondering if saying it aloud was a mistake.

  “Girl, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I’m serious. I mean, I want you. Fuck, I’ll hire you and start the paperwork right now, but Prim? They have the most exclusive apprenticeship program there is. Trust me, I got turned down three times!”

  My heart skittered. “Really? You?”

  “Really. Don’t get me wrong, everything happens for a reason. I see that now, but damn.” She shook her head, mouth still open slightly. “You need to take that apprenticeship. What’s stopping you? Family? It sounds like you’re ready to start a life somewhere.”

  “I am. I mean . . . I don’t know what’s stopping me.” It was the truth. My siblings had managed to move on and start their lives without a second thought. I wasn’t sure why I was so hesitant to do the same.

  “Tell you what,” Traci said, “you go and take that apprenticeship in Paris. If you decide you hate it and want to come home, you call me, and I’ll find a spot for you here.”

  “You’d do that?”

  She smiled. “It’s cute that you think I’m the one doing you a favor and not the other way around.”

  As soon as I left, I called Celia. She laughed and laughed and laughed.

  “Oh my god, Tess, that’s huge!”

  “I guess. I mean, right? I just . . .” I couldn’t even speak. “I’m still shaking.”

  She laughed again. “I just . . . I knew it. I knew they’d want you! So? Paris?”

  “I have to go over there and interview anyway, right?”

  “Tessa,” she said, her tone suddenly firm and serious. “You are interviewing them. Don’t you get it? You are interviewing them. Let that sink in for a moment. I’ll wait.”

  I did let i
t sink in, and it was unreal. I shook my head. No way. I knew I was good, not that a billion others weren’t better than I was, but I knew I had something. I had a drive and love for it that not everyone had. And that was the drive and the something that was making Rowan push me off the cliff without attempting to wait for me at the bottom of it.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I was sitting in the coffee shop perfecting the lecture I was going to give Rowan about love, when Samson walked in, his blue tie flying up in the wind as he shut the door. When he spotted me, he frowned and stalked over, looking like a man on a mission. I laughed a little. He’d called me when I was in line getting my coffee and told me not to move until he made it here, and from the looks of it he seriously needed to talk about something.

  “You look like a disheveled version of James Bond.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” His brows rose as he sat across from me and clapped his hands together. “We need to talk.”

  “Did something happen?” I sat up in my seat, bracing myself for health news. He’d been going to doctors lately and running tests and the mere thought of something being wrong with him sent my heart lurching into my throat.

  “They’re getting married.”

  “Oh.” I let out a semi-relieved breath, but my heart stayed put as I looked down at my empty pad. I didn’t need to jot down everything I was going to say to Rowan. I decided to do the one thing I never thought I would. I’d cut myself open and let it all spill out. “He told me.”

  “No,” he said. “Like right now. They’re in the courthouse right now signing the papers in front of witnesses.”

  “What?” I blinked up at him, shutting my book with a thump. I stood, coffee forgotten.

  “It’s done,” he said. “He’s decided.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “He couldn’t have just . . . I mean, he can’t . . . I have to go down there.” I ran outside, down the sidewalk and toward my truck.

  “I’ll drive,” he said, taking the keys from me. “What exactly are you going to go down there for?”

  “Why exactly did you come here to tell me that they were getting married?”

  “Because I felt you should know. You should find out from me, from Ro, not . . . I don’t know. Not from other people.”

  I felt like my heart was being punched repeatedly. I put my hand on it and pushed it in, massaged it like I’d seen people on television do when they were trying to revive someone. I glanced at Sam as we peeled out of the parking spot.

  “Why aren’t you there?”

  “I didn’t want to partake.”

  “Are both your parents there?”

  “And my grandparents. Yeah.”

  Stupid parents. Stupid grandparents. Stupid fucking Hawthornes. He parked, and we walked into the courthouse. We put our things through the scanner and picked them up on the other side, continuing our quick walk to the marriage certificate area.

  “Wait here. I’ll find out where they are.”

  I nodded, heart rattling out of control. I felt sweat break out across my forehead and took a deep breath, wiping my face quickly. What would I say? Would I just barge in there and tell him not to marry her? Would I tell him I loved him? Would I stay and take the New York offer after all? It was the only way this would work out.

  If I went to Paris . . .

  I massaged my heart again. Oh god. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him. I peeked inside the room and saw all couples sitting in front of the little windows, all there to fill out their certificates, probably preparing for the happiest day of their lives. I pondered leaving, running toward the exit and forgetting the whole thing. Then I remembered Grandma Joan and what she’d said about the importance of speaking our feelings. I kept my feet rooted there. I’d stay. I’d wait. I’d tell him. No matter what happened, I’d tell him.

  A door down the hall opened, and I picked up my head to look at it. Samson and Rowan strode into the hallway and walked over to me. My gaze locked with Rowan’s, and I had my answer before he even made it over to me.

  “I need to speak to her,” he said without looking to Sam. “Cover for me.”

  Sam walked away, and Rowan tugged on my hand. I didn’t know where he was taking me, but in that moment, as I followed him through the door that led to the stairwell, I knew I’d follow him anywhere – no questions asked. When the door shut behind us, he turned and faced me again. We looked at each other for a moment, my heart beating uncontrollably, itching to get out of its cage. He brought his hand up, the tips of his fingers caressing my face as if to catalogue each feature.

  “Rowan,” I whispered. His eyes snapped to mine. He took a step toward me, encasing me in his arms, and crashed his lips onto mine in a desperate kiss that spoke of anguish and goodbyes and made tears prick my eyes. When he broke the kiss, I could merely look at him.

  “Please don’t do it,” I whispered.

  “Tess—”

  “I love you.” My voice wavered as I took in the shock in his eyes. My throat ached with the words as I spoke them, but I pushed past the thick emotion that threatened to cut them from coming into fruition. I’d come this far and I wasn’t going to let my fear of being turned away interfere with getting the truth out. “I’m pretty sure I’ve always been in love with you, and maybe I should’ve followed you to Columbia. I should’ve jumped and pulled you with me and—”

  “Tessa.” His mournful plea broke into my sentence. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, I could see the pain in his gaze. I could feel it. I reached up and ran my shaking fingers over his cheek.

  “I know you’re scared, but so am I.”

  “No, Tessa,” he whispered. “You have Paris.”

  “I don’t care about Paris. I care about you.” My words came out broken and felt as choppy as the tears running down my face.

  “I’m not going to be the reason you stay here. You’ll end up resenting me. How can . . .” He exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “I’m not a lovable person. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see how miserable your life would be with me? The moment this contract goes through, I’ll be on an airplane all the time. There would be little time for you.”

  “I don’t care,” I sputtered. I’ll take the New York apprenticeship. I’ll drive there every day, I’ll—”

  “No.” He grabbed my arms, held my gaze. “You will not give up Paris for me. Not for anything.”

  My lip wobbled. “It isn’t your choice to make.”

  “It is. I want you to go. I need you to go.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I pressed my hands on his chest and pushed him back a little. He laced his fingers through mine and brought his forehead to mine, closing his eyes.

  “Tena Koe.” He exhaled onto me. I exhaled shakily, a new wave of tears breaking free from my lashes and running down my face. “This is what must be done.”

  “I don’t want you to do this,” I whispered against his lips. We opened our eyes, our foreheads still touching, our fingers still laced together. “You’re going to ruin everything.”

  “But not you. I won’t ruin you.”

  “You have ruined me.”

  “You’ll live.” He smiled slightly, but I could see the sadness in his eyes. “You’ll go to Paris and live out your dream, and I’ll be here, rooting you on from afar. You’ll be the best designer to come out of this town, and I’ll be so damn proud to say I had you in my life once.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Yes.” He pressed his lips softly against mine.

  “I’m in love with you, Rowan.”

  “You can’t be, Sprite.”

  “Stop saying that.” I hiccupped, trying to fight the tears, but they just kept coming. I was cutting myself open for him, and he wasn’t responding the way I wanted him to respond. “I love you.”

  He brought his hands up to cup my face, brushing my tears with his thumbs. “You terrify me. Don’t you see that? You fucking terrify me.”

  It was the first ti
me I realized that ending up with the person you were in love with was a gift. A gift we wouldn’t be given. Even as the thought tore me apart, I grabbed his face and kissed him, hoping to breathe enough of my love into him for him to feel it, wishing it would change his mind. That I would talk him out of it so that we could be together. Really together. Instead, he broke the kiss slowly and held my face in his.

  “Fly, little Sprite. Flap those beautiful, magical wings and fly.”

  He let go. The door rattled with his exit, but I was unable to make myself move. He’d left me with my chest ripped open and my heart in my hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Rowan

  “Dude. She told you she loves you,” my brother said beside me.

  I’d left Tessa in the stairwell and made my way to the men’s bathroom, which was where he had found me with my face buried into my hands like I was breathing into a paper bag. She’d opened herself to me so completely, and I’d turned my back on her. I wanted to give in to the rage that flowed through my veins, wanted to punch something and take my anger out on the world. Instead, I waited. I calmed myself. I tried to summon all the words my father had repeated to me when I was a child and found I couldn’t think of any.

  I only came to the conclusion that, at some point, I had to grow up and stop pointing the finger at the person I wanted to blame for my own fuck ups. I had to accept my own mistakes. Maybe this was my moment to do that. But I felt like shit.

  “Ro?” Samson said, tentative as he stood beside me.

  I heard him but couldn’t find it in me to react. I just stood there, face in hands. I wanted the day to pass. Wanted the stupid fake ceremony to go on without me. My brother put a hand on my shoulder. I nearly flinched but forced myself to stand still.

  “You need to calm down,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

  “Why would she tell me those things?” I focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. “She knew I needed to do this, and she came down here and fucked with my head. Why would she do that?”