by Sofia Tate
Fuck.
No, on second thought, it would’ve been just as painful.
I open the front door, shutting it quietly behind me.
“Good. You’re home.”
My mom’s voice startles me; my hand flies to my chest. I turn around to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs in her dark red bathrobe. “I’m glad you’re a nurse because I think I just had a heart attack.”
“You’re such a drama queen. So, did Prince Charming lure you back to his castle?”
“No,” I reply without hesitation. “I told him I needed more time, and he said he was okay with that.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She takes a step closer to me, reaching out to touch my face. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, sweetpea.”
I smile at the feel of my mother’s touch. “I won’t, Mom. And anyway, that’s not possible. I’m Joanie Moore’s kid.”
She pecks me on the cheek, enveloping me in a tight embrace. “Damn straight.”
Chapter Fourteen
I sweep the vacuum one last time across the worn carpets on the second floor. I switch off the power and stretch my back, listening to the bones crack in my spine.
Thankfully, Emilia hasn’t asked me to do anything for Grayson today. I think I need space from him. I don’t like these feelings fluttering inside me like a butterfly, as if they’re an indication that I’m harboring some kind of deeper emotions for him. He’s the one who signs my paychecks, and besides that, I’m not being fair to Reed. He’s been so nice to me, texting and calling frequently to see how I am, taking me out for brunch this past weekend.
I’ll tell Reed today. I’m ready to give us a fresh start. Maybe even stop by the store on the way home so I can pick up some things to make a special dinner for him.
I roll the vacuum back into its resting place in the hall closet. When I reach the kitchen, there’s a note on the counter.
Lily,
I’ve gone to town. Mr. Shaw is in his studio. You may leave for the day once you’ve finished upstairs. Your paycheck is on my desk.
Emilia
I exhale in relief, knowing I can deposit my check on the way home.
I can’t help smiling to myself as I drive into town. Everything seems brighter; the center of town is bustling with everyone greeting each other.
As the ATM processes my deposit, the wail of a fire engine screams behind me. When I turn around, I see two trucks from the Cottage Grove Fire Department rush down the street, sirens at full volume.
Several people stop to watch with me.
“What’s going on?” a young woman pushing a baby stroller asks aloud, echoing the thoughts of the crowd gathered near me.
An older man approaches us with a bunch of manila envelopes in his hand, probably heading for the post office. “I just drove past Ashby. Huge cloud of smoke over the campus. No clue which building, but that’s my guess where they were headed.”
Ashby.
Reed.
I sign out of my account, snatch my card and receipt from the machine, and run to Ingrid, tires screeching as I pull out into the street.
I press my foot to the accelerator, breaking the speed limit to campus.
Part of the campus is already cordoned off by yellow tape when I pull into the visitor parking lot. I slam Ingrid shut behind me and run straight toward the source of the smoke.
Fire trucks with the names of Cottage Grove’s neighboring towns—Hudson, Claverack, and Chatham—surround a building on the edge of campus. When I realize it’s the art studio, I heave a sigh of relief because it’s not the building where Reed’s office is located.
I come to a stop where campus police barricades have blocked access to the area of the campus closer to the studio. Firemen shout instructions at each other, water shoots into the sky from long hoses over the burning roof of the studio, smoke continues to billow into thick clouds floating up into the sky.
In the distance, a lone figure steps into the light from the fire, doubled over coughing while tugging up his pants. When he rises to standing position, I gasp in shock.
I duck under the barricades and rush to him. “Reed!”
A fireman reaches Reed before I do and brings him to safety. I can tell Reed’s saying something to him amid his coughing fits, but he looks in my direction when he hears me call his name again, his eyes widening in surprise.
I grab Reed and tug him roughly into my arms. “Oh my God! Honey, what were you doing in there?”
“I…I was walking by when I saw the smoke,” he manages to get out, his chest vibrating against mine from the power of his coughing. “I wanted to be sure there was nobody in there.”
I quickly check him over. The buttons on his shirt are out of place, his tie is loosened around his neck, and his hair, usually not one strand out of place, is disheveled.
He wasn’t just walking by.
“Why is—”
“You’re very brave, kid,” the fireman praises him. “Miss, he needs oxygen. We need to get him to the paramedics.”
“Oh, of course. Let’s—”
Before I can finish my sentence and disentangle from Reed, another firefighter heads in our direction from the burning building, his arm wrapped around a tall woman with dark hair. His jacket covers her shoulders because she’s only wearing a red knit dress, with nothing on her feet. When her face comes into focus, I fist the back of Reed’s shirt, clenching my hands together in subdued rage.
Tabitha. Reed’s colleague.
He was with her in the studio.
He wasn’t walking by.
He wasn’t being a Good Samaritan.
He was fucking her.
I pull back from Reed, dropping my arms from his body. I can’t even speak as I stare at him.
You fucking liar.
When he finally looks into my eyes with curiosity, he doesn’t say anything until he hears Tabitha coughing behind him. His eyes close with a wince.
That’s right. You’re busted, asshole.
Before he can say anything the fireman pulls him from me, leading him to the waiting ambulance, where Tabitha has been brought as well. I stand back to see if they acknowledge each other or interact in any way.
They don’t even look at each other.
Oxygen masks are placed over their mouths as I approach them. A young paramedic comes up to me. “Are you any relation?”
I nod in Reed’s direction. “He’s my fiancé,” I mutter under my breath.
“We’ll have to take them both to Hudson Community for observation. You can meet us there.”
“Fine,” I reply through gritted teeth.
Reed and Tabitha climb into the ambulance. I watch as the doors are shut and the vehicle pulls away, its siren screaming.
* * *
When I step into the emergency room, my mom is standing at the front desk, shouting into a phone. “What part of ‘urgent’ don’t you understand?”
She slams the phone down, then looks up and sees me, rushing to me from around the counter. “Sweetpea, how are you doing? Reed is much better, by the way.” She comforts me, patting my hair. Then she sniffs it. “Honey, why do you smell like smoke?”
I pull back from her. “Because I was there when Reed came out of the building.”
Mom grabs my shoulders. “What? Why were you on campus?”
I sigh. “I was in town depositing my paycheck when the fire engines went by and some guy said there was a fire at Ashby, so I drove over to make sure Reed was safe. When I got there, he came out of the art studio covered in smoke and soot.”
A puzzled look crosses her face. “Wait, the fire was in the art studio?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“What the hell was he doing in there?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the alleged reason as she steps out from behind the curtain of one of the examination areas, wearing paper slippers on her feet and a warming blanket around her shoulders. She freezes when she
sees me. Mom approaches her, as any nurse would.
“Dear, are you well enough to sign out?”
She coughs slightly. “Yes, the doctor said I was fine and to come back if I had any recurring symptoms.”
“Good, then let’s take care of your paperwork and get you out of here.”
“Thank you,” she mutters, averting her eyes from me.
Mom turns back to me. “Sweetie, I have to get back to work. You’re going to wait for Reed, aren’t you?”
He should find his own fucking ride home.
Keep cool. Don’t give anything away yet.
“Of course.” I reply with a fake grin plastered across my face, watching Tabitha Cross slowly make her way to the counter.
Mom stops for a second to give me a second glance, then leans in for a quick hug. “I’m glad Reed is okay. We’ll talk later.”
“Yup.”
Just as Mom turns away toward the front desk, a young resident in green scrubs approaches me. “Miss Moore?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Your fiancé would like to see you.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Where is he?”
“Come with me.”
I purse my lips and follow him to one of the partitioned areas. Metal screeches across metal when he pulls back the curtain for me. “He’s fine to go home. Just keep an eye on him in case he has any trouble.”
I nod in acknowledgment.
Reed doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘trouble’…but now he will.
At the sight of me Reed shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, as if he’s preparing for the battle to come.
Clenching my fists I step toward him, leaving a few inches between us. “Let me know if you need anything,” the resident offers behind me before he pulls the curtain back across the metal rod.
“Lily, let me explain—”
I hold up my hand to his face. “Stop. No, Reed. It’s taking all the strength I have not to slap the shit out of you and yell at you so everyone in the ER can hear, even my mother.”
“Did you say anything to her?” he asks sheepishly.
I laugh and shake my head. “Do you think your head and your limbs would still be attached to your body if I had?”
He nods his head, realizing how obvious that answer is.
“Of course not,” I continue. “I didn’t tell her that the poor woman who was brought in with you is the skank you’ve been fucking behind my back,” I snap at him.
“Please, baby, nothing happened,” he swears to me, reaching out to touch my arm.
I jerk back from him. “Don’t,” I warn him. “I don’t believe anything you say anymore. I can’t do this. We are done, Reed.”
“I can change, baby.”
I shake my head at him. “That’s not in your DNA. If it were, you wouldn’t have cheated on me.”
Tears form in the corners of his eyes. I press my lips together to keep my own from falling down my cheeks.
This is it. This is the end of us.
I can do this.
I take one step closer to him. His eyes follow my hands as I slowly remove my engagement ring. I take one of his hands, opening the palm and dropping the ring into it. “This is what we’re going to do,” I begin in a quiet yet strong, unwavering tone. “You’re going to pretend that nothing is wrong when we walk out of here. We’ll exchange pleasantries with my mother, not giving away the fact that we just broke up for good. I’m going to drive you home and I’m leaving you there. Tomorrow morning, I’ll return to pack up as much as I can and move back in permanently with my mother. I’ll get the rest of my things while you’re at work. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” he replies, barely above a whisper.
“Good.” I gesture at his feet. “Get your shoes on. I’ll wait for you outside.”
I turn for the curtain, tugging it open and closing it behind me, never looking back.
Chapter Fifteen
Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.
I catch myself humming as I drive up the hill to Grayson’s house the next morning.
I’m humming.
I’m not humming any song in particular. It’s just…I feel so much lighter. I feel amazing.
Is this what it feels like to be truly independent, to put myself first for a change?
Pulling Ingrid into my usual space at Grayson’s house and walking in…I can’t stop fucking humming.
In the closet where I put away my coat and purse, there’s a white envelope in the same spot where Grayson left the postcard for me.
“Miss Lily Moore” is written across it in perfect calligraphy.
I pick up the letter, going back to the kitchen for a knife. I slowly slide it across the top of the envelope. It would feel awkward opening such a gorgeous envelope with my thumb. Maybe working here is teaching me to appreciate beautiful things and treating them with respect, like how Emilia talked about the silver that I polished.
When I pull out the letter and open it, Grayson’s name is engraved across the top—black ink on ivory paper. There is only one sentence written in his hand:
Thank you for sharing your work with me.
I smile to myself and reread the note.
I just…this is just…
“Thank you so much, dear.”
I jump in surprise, holding the note close to my chest. When I turn around, Emilia’s there, dressed in cashmere sweats and sneakers.
“Oh my God, you scared me! What are you thanking me for?”
“I don’t know what happened when you took Grayson’s lunch to him, but ever since then, his attitude has completely changed. He actually thanked me for something, and then he hugged me. Hugged me. I can’t even remember the last time he did that. And I know you’re the one responsible for the change in him.”
My face heats up from the unexpected praise. “Emilia, I didn’t do anything. Really.”
She waves her hand at me dismissively. “Think whatever you like, my girl. I know the truth.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Do you think he’s busy now? I’d like to tell him something.”
“Of course. Just knock once, and if he doesn’t answer leave him be. I have to go up into the attic to find some documents.”
“I wondered why you were dressed so casually.”
“Cobwebs, my dear. The bane of my existence.”
I laugh at her explanation, taking the route through the French doors at the back of the house to reach his studio instead of the cold tunnel.
I knock once as Emilia instructed, and much to my surprise Grayson opens the door within a minute.
I’m about to speak but Grayson beats me to it. “Good morning, Lily.”
I swallow hard because of his attire—more like his lack of it.
He’s wearing his torn jeans again, the ones he had on when I first knocked on this door. And nothing else.
But now, instead of running off like a frightened little girl like I did that first time, I’m able to take in and appreciate the beauty of his upper body. Every muscle in his chiseled chest and torso is perfectly formed. When he flexes his arms, the corded veins on his forearms stand out against his skin. He is so virile, so present that I have to blink a few times to find my bearings.
Speak slowly. Don’t stammer like an idiot.
I take a deep breath. “Good morning, Grayson. I just wanted to thank you for the note. It was very kind of you.”
A wide smile crosses his face. “I meant it.”
“This seems to be a day for ‘thank you.’”
He cocks his head at me curiously. “Pardon?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.” A sudden thought strikes me. “I was thinking it’s such a gorgeous day. It’s not too cold. Why don’t we take a walk in the gardens? I’d love for you—”
His face grows red instantly. “No.”
I pull him by his wrist, yanking as hard as I can. “Come on. You probably need a break anyway, so—”
“I said no!” He growls at me so forcefully that
I actually take a step back from the fury in his protest.
I stand stunned, silent, still holding onto his arm. He doesn’t say a word either. Our eyes lock on each other’s. I drop his arm from my grasp.
“I’m sorry I yelled. Forgive me. It’s just…”
My heartbeat turns rapid, waiting for him to continue.
“I’m agoraphobic, Lily. I never go outside.”
My heart breaks at his admission. “How long have you been like this?”
“Ever since I lost my parents. The outside is where they died, and it’s where I’d be judged by my looks.”
I tread carefully. “Have you sought treatment for it? Medicine, therapy?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t see the point. It would be money wasted.”
I slowly reach out to lace his fingers with mine. They are rough and callused, but warm in my grasp. “It wouldn’t be a waste. And I would never judge you.”
When he finally glances up at me, his eyes have softened. “I’m beginning to see that. But I still can’t do it.”
Don’t push him.
I drop his hand and start to walk away, but then stop when I hear him call my name.
I turn to face him. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his gaze lowered.
My throat catches. “So am I.”
One step forward, two steps back.
Suddenly snowflakes begin to fall from the sky, fluttering all around me. I look up to find heavy, full clouds. I head for the main house, the wet from the snow combining with the tears falling down my face.
I manage to reach the bathroom, grabbing a tissue from a box on the shelf.
Just as I wipe away the last tear, a knock at the door startles me.
“Yes?”
“Lily dear, are you all right?”
I blow my nose as quietly as I can. “Yup. Be right out.”
I splash cold water on my face, taking a deep breath before opening the door.
Emilia’s face falls when she sees me. “Oh no. What did he say now?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t say anything. Really. I was just wiping the snow off my face.”
Her eyebrows rise in suspicion. “Very well. But speaking of snow, I just got an alert on my phone that we’re about to get hit by a blizzard.”
