by Olivia Dade
Everything went silent, as Callie blinked at her phone in befuddlement.
“We’re back.” Cowan sounded breathless. “And just so you know, you’re on speaker phone so both Irene and I can hear what’s going on. We’re here to help. Without any complaint.”
Callie had a feeling that last bit wasn’t directed at her.
A glance at the wall confirmed the sad truth. After dithering for so long, she only had ten minutes left of her break. She needed to get back on the desk with Thomas, much as she wished she didn’t. There was no time to prevaricate or stall further.
“Andre and I broke up this morning,” she told them. “He won’t be able to film our episode of Island Match next week.”
She could have sworn she heard Irene mutter I told you so.
“Callie…” Cowan’s tone softened even further. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
What would be the point of pretending? “Please don’t worry. I’m not heartbroken.”
Not about that, anyway.
Over the last couple of months, a relationship that had seemed promising if unspectacular had devolved into mutual dissatisfaction. Andre had stopped even pretending to listen to her, his bored gaze going unfocused whenever she tried to talk to him about her day or her worries or anything other than their dinner plans. And on the rare occasions he did pay attention to her, he’d begun responding to her concerns with increasing impatience. Telling her they were stupid and unfounded, and she just needed to get over them.
As if it were that easy. As if she hadn’t already tried telling herself that thousands of times.
In return for his impatience, she’d begun responding to his amorous overtures with indifference. So she’d spent the last several weeks in a sexless, tension-filled relationship with a boyfriend whom she barely saw.
She should have ended things last month, probably. But starting a conversation about how and why their relationship had gone bad was way beyond her capabilities, as was a conversation about ending that relationship. If Andre hadn’t broached the topic himself, she had no idea when it would have happened.
For someone like her, that kind of awkwardness and conflict could cause hives, and she wasn’t inviting more Benadryl into her life.
So she’d stayed with Andre to avoid confrontation. Even more than that, though, she’d stayed with him for Island Match. For the beach.
Not Virginia Beach. Not even Myrtle Beach or Nags Head. After one too many jellyfish stings, she shied away from any body of water where she couldn’t see her feet below the surface.
No, she needed clear Caribbean water. Sun-warmed sand beneath her soles. Lapping waves, their soothing rhythm carrying away her thoughts and leaving her brain in blissful peace.
And now she wasn’t going to get any of it.
She blinked away the wetness blurring her vision.
“I’m glad you’re not upset.” Cowan sounded relieved not to have to comfort a grieving near-stranger over the phone. “Don’t worry about the show. We’ll take care of cancelling all the travel arrangements, including—”
His words failed to register as she swallowed a sob.
She’d considered the trip her reward. Not for earning her MLS and landing a good job at the Colonial Marysburg Research Library, or at least not entirely. Instead, for waging an endless war with her doubts and her frustrated loneliness at work. For the way she kept putting one foot in front of another and answering calls on the desk and helping patrons and pretending to be okay even when she wasn’t, and the way she kept doing all of that until she was okay again.
In pursuit of that trip, she’d overcome her reluctance to be on TV. She’d convinced a resistant Andre to fill out the Island Match application. She’d filmed an interview alongside him. She’d talked on the phone countless time to Irene and Cowan, even when her library shifts had left her weary of people and conversation. She’d braced herself for limited cable-television fame and notoriety. She’d accepted the presence of new worries and uncertainty as the trip grew near.
Because she wanted that week on the beach. Needed it.
But she couldn’t afford the trip on her own, not with her MLS-depleted savings, and she refused to ask for charity from her better paid and more successful family members.
So if she didn’t speak now, she wouldn’t go to a gorgeous Caribbean beach, not for months or years to come, and she’d never know what might have been. She’d always wonder whether she could have done something, said something, advocated for herself and gotten what she wanted.
God, speaking up was so hard.
Still, she was going to do it.
Maybe she could go on the trip by herself. Maybe she could substitute a friend or family member for Andre, and the show could proceed as normal. But she wouldn’t know unless she asked.
“Cowan?” The word was thin and shaky. She could no longer summon Professional Librarian Voice. Instead, all she could muster was a frayed thread of sound.
Still, Cowan stopped talking immediately. “Yes?”
She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to breathe, but her brief, bright burst of conviction was already fading, even as a familiar fiery prickle spread across her chest.
Literally every episode of Island Match involved a romantic couple. No exceptions. Why would she think they’d alter the entire premise of the show just for her?
If she kept bothering them, Cowan and Irene were going to hate her, if they didn’t already, for delaying the inevitable. For asking questions and causing them more effort and trouble instead of simply disappearing into the ether.
Besides, no one owed her a beach vacation. Someone else deserved this opportunity, and Cowan and Irene deserved to get off the phone so they could deal with the aftermath of Callie’s problems.
She needed to keep her mouth shut. Avoid confrontation. Keep forcing a smile and wait until the pretense of being fine became reality.
Yes, speaking up was so hard.
Too hard for someone like her.
“I’m sorry,” Callie whispered.
Cowan’s voice was gentle. “It’s okay.” After a moment, he spoke again. “Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. We’ll take care of all the cancellations on our end. Do you have any other questions?”
No. Everything seemed clear. Terrible, yes, but clear.
“I—” Callie gulped back another sob. “I don’t—”
At that moment, when her personal history would have predicted that she would acquiesce to the inevitable, choke out a goodbye to Cowan and Irene, and never bother HATV again, a dark head of curls crowning a concerned face appeared through the little window in the breakroom door.
Thomas.
So tall. So handsome. So smart. So kind.
Such a pain in the ass.
He must be stooping, because otherwise she’d only see his chest in that square of glass.
His dark brows had furrowed above those ocean-blue eyes, and he made some sort of weird chin-jerk at her. Oddly enough, she could translate that gesture.
He’d heard something that worried him, even through the door. Which seemed impossible, given both the ambient noise in the library and the single-minded, damnable focus he normally displayed on the desk.
However improbably, though, he’d detected something amiss. And now he wanted to know if she needed help. As if he, the architect of her current despair, the main reason she needed a freaking beach vacation to begin with, could solve her problems.
She sniffed back more tears and waved him away.
When he didn’t budge, she waved him away again.
At that, he pressed his lips together, horizontal lines scored across his high forehead, and slowly, reluctantly, left the window.
She stared after him for a moment.
Single. Thomas was single. Charming in his own way. Exceedingly telegenic, she’d guess.
And she’d seen his upcoming schedule. As soon as the spreadsheet came out every month, she immediately compared her shifts to his
. Out of morbid curiosity, of course, and also to confirm once again just how thoroughly she was fucked.
Their schedules were always in sync. Always. No matter how fervently she wished they weren’t, or how late she entered her schedule requests. Somehow, even if she waited until the very last hour, his requests still came in after hers, and whatever he put would mean the two of them were on the desk at the same time.
It was inevitable. Unavoidable. Like choosing the slowest checkout lane at the grocery store.
This month was no different. They were working together almost every shift. And for some bizarre reason, he’d even taken vacation next week, the same week as her.
Maybe it was all a huge coincidence. Or maybe he knew her work ethic would allow him to function as he preferred on the desk—i.e., at the pace of a molasses-coated sloth—and he was gaming the system.
The latter possibility had caused her no small amount of rage over the past few months.
But before then, back when she’d first started at the library, she’d searched for his lean, handsome face in the breakroom and sighed happily when she’d found it. She’d arrived early at work to talk with him about whatever she was reading that day. She’d showed him pictures of her nieces and nephews, and he’d smiled down at the images with such gentleness she’d nearly gone liquid.
She didn’t want to remember. It hurt to remember. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.
And at that moment, something in her brain shorted out.
She cleared her throat. When she opened her mouth again, Professional Librarian Voice rang out, loud as her heartbeat and clear as the Caribbean.
“I do have another question, Cowan.” Inexplicably, her mouth had said that. Her voice. “What would you say if I told you I had a new boyfriend?”
As soon as the last word emerged from her mouth, her face twisted into an instinctive wince, her stomach began to roil, and her skin might as well have burst into flame.
Oh, Jesus. What had she done?
She never spoke without thinking. Ever. So why had she done it now? To representatives of a cable television network, of all people? The two of them were in the entertainment industry, for God’s sake. Savvier and way more sophisticated than a woman like her.
They had to know she was lying. But they weren’t saying anything.
If they remained quiet much longer, Callie was going to throw up.
Confronted with such a brazen falsehood, maybe they’d lost the power of speech. Maybe they’d muted the phone or were communicating via carrier pigeon or semaphore flags about how much they hated her. Maybe they were preparing to hang up on her. She didn’t know, and the uncertainty was killing her.
Finally, Irene broke the silence.
“My, my, my. Callie Adesso, total dark horse.” For the first time in Callie’s memory, the other woman sounded highly entertained. “Didn’t you say you broke up with your ex earlier this morning?”
“Yes.” Callie paused. “It was a long time coming.”
“I’ll bet,” Irene said.
“But just to be clear,” Callie rushed to add, “Thomas and I didn’t get involved until after I was free.”
She was already a liar. No need to make herself sound like a cheater too.
The other woman snorted. “You’re telling me you didn’t stray while you were with Andre, but you did find a new guy before lunchtime on the same day you became single? Is that right?”
Lying wasn’t as easy or fun as she’d been led to believe.
“Umm…” Callie bit her lip. “Yes. That’s right.”
A gleeful laugh crackled through the cell’s speaker. “I don’t know whether to check your pants for flames or congratulate you for finally kicking that asshole to the curb.”
At that, Callie’s eyes widened. “You thought Andre was an assh—”
Cowan didn’t let her finish. “I’m sorry, Callie. The timing of your relationships is none of our business. Also, HATV and its employees would never call one of our applicants an asshole. Ever. Not under any circumstances. Please excuse us for a moment.”
They must have muted their conversation again, because she couldn’t hear anything for a few seconds. By the time they returned, she was nibbling on a thumbnail, trying not to scratch her chest.
“Apologies for calling your ex an asshole.” Irene didn’t sound especially sorry, and she didn’t wait for her apology to be accepted. “We have a few more questions.”
“Forgive us,” Cowan said, “but how do we know this man is really your boyfriend?”
The true moment of decision had arrived. If she backed out now, Irene and Cowan wouldn’t belabor the issue. They’d merely hang up and find someone else for the show.
But if she kept lying, she’d actually have to provide evidence of that lie.
She could either continue on the Dark Path of Duplicity, or she could make a sharp right onto the Rosy Roadway to Righteousness. And she had to make the choice now.
“Ummm…” She closed her eyes and grimaced. “After work tonight, I can e-mail you pictures of us together, and you can judge for yourself whether we look romantically involved. Or you can send someone to interview us, like you did with Andre.”
Trundling along the Dark Path of Duplicity it was, then.
And somehow, she was still talking. “All this might seem a bit quick—”
“You think?” Irene said.
“—but Thomas and I have worked together for months now, and there’ve always been, uh, feelings.” Irritation and impatience were feelings, right? “We just didn’t act on them before this. Until Andre and I ended things.”
Shit, shit, shit. How had the scope of this lie not occurred to her? Did she really plan to create fake pictures of them as a loving couple? Or convince Thomas to memorize and parrot a fictional story about their torrid love affair?
“We don’t have time to do another interview before the trip.” After a muffled conversation with Cowan, Irene came back on the line. “Tell us about your new boyfriend, Callie.”
He makes a tortoise seem speedy. Fails to multitask or retain basic information about checkout procedures. Bumps into the microfilm machines and various desks while deep in thought.
No. That wouldn’t do.
Instead of dwelling on her more recent frustrations, Callie conjured up her first impressions of Thomas, back when she’d found him charming. Sought out his company.
This part of the lie would be comparatively easy.
“His name is Thomas McKinney. He’s thirty-five and unfairly handsome.” Picturing him, every detail of that too-attractive face and long body, was easier than she’d like. “He has dark, curly hair with a little silver just starting at the temples. Pale skin. Eyes like…” She thought about it. “In the Caribbean, you know how the water close to shore is turquoise, but if you go out a bit further, it’s ridiculously blue? That’s his eye color.”
Cowan made a weird choking sound. “Ridiculously blue?”
Engrossed in her description of Thomas, Callie barely heard the intern. “He’s tall. Lean, but really strong. When we had to move our encyclopedia collection, he was able to carry these enormous stacks of books.” Well, until he’d tripped over a cart and dumped various volumes all over the polished wooden floor. “Plus, patrons flirt with him all the time, and he doesn’t seem to notice.”
That obliviousness always made her feel just a tiny better during their shifts together.
“Maybe you could—” Cowan started to say.
“Sometimes he wears dark-rimmed glasses, and they suit him way too well. It’s like he’s a bookish spy or a really sexy professor, which can be very distracting.” She hesitated. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
Irene blew out a loud breath. “Can you tell us something else about him? Something that doesn’t involve how hot he is?”
Oh. She supposed she had kind of rambled about his looks for a bit too long. Probably because she didn’t have much practice with lying.
&n
bsp; “He’s very intelligent.” Maybe the smartest man she’d ever met, but she would keep that little tidbit to herself. “He started at the library six months before I was hired, so he’s been here a year. He has a Ph.D. in American history and knows a ton about different time periods.”
“That’s plenty of—”
Callie barely heard Cowan. “When he gets a tricky question on the desk, he’ll do everything he can to answer it as thoroughly and accurately as possible, no matter how long it takes. He’s dogged, he’s curious, and he truly wants to help people.”
All true. Cowan and Irene simply didn’t need to know how all that endless patience and curiosity impacted Callie. How by the time she’d started working at the library, the researchers and interpreters with more interesting and complex questions had already learned to go to him for answers when he was on the desk. How she got stuck with all the basic factual and circulation questions, and her own knowledge of history and the library remained untapped. How she had to deal singlehandedly with any lines at the desk, because he would spend almost his entire shift on one or two people and fail to offer assistance when she was in the weeds. How she was continually forced to calm patrons who were frustrated at the wait for help. How she had to hurry through any interesting questions she did receive, because of that line and those pissed-off people in it.
Cowan and Irene didn’t need to know that working with Thomas all the time had stopped Callie from forming closer ties with patrons and other colleagues and left her feeling increasingly isolated.
So instead, she tried to remember more of the good stuff. The reasons she used to rush to work half an hour early so she and Thomas could hang out before her shift started.
“He’s kind. Easy to talk to.” Somehow, amidst her burgeoning anger and worry, she’d forgotten that. “Not particularly familiar with pop culture but interested in everything. And he has this wry sense of humor with absolutely no meanness to it. No mockery whatsoever.”
At first, she’d chatted with him all the time, and he’d always listen intently to whatever she wanted to say. Then he’d ask her questions or offer up his own well-considered opinions with that quiet confidence she so envied, and they’d talk for hours in the parking lot after work. Those chats hadn’t been mere water cooler talks or gossip sessions, but the sorts of conversations she’d always hoped to have with her boyf—
