Bang! The doors slam shut, and I’m left standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. Chest heaving, breath ragged, the same as if I had just run a marathon.
I lost.
People around me seem intent on their screens. They must think I’m a t-rex. That if they don’t move, I won’t know they exist. Even Indira is avoiding my gaze. Figures. What could they possibly say to a colleague who just embarrassed herself in the worst possible way and was publicly turned down by her boss, their boss?
The only soul who shows any sympathy is Chevron. She nuzzles my calves in a comforting gesture, whining understandingly.
What now? Should I crawl back to Manhattan and beg Évoque for the job? It’s clear I can’t keep working here. I knew having a relationship with the boss was wrong. I knew commitment-phobic men don’t turn into commitment-happy boyfriends overnight. Despite all that, I gave it my best try, and now I’m back where I started. No job. No love life. Well, at least I have a loyal companion. I pat Chevron’s head, pick my dignity up off the floor, and turn back toward my desk. I need to collect my things and get ready to leave. For the day? Forever? I don’t know.
That’s when the office door bursts open again and there’s a collective gasp. Indira lifts her eyes from the screen, her expression changing from I’m-so-busy-pretending-you-don’t-exist to well-well-well-let’s-see-what-happens-now.
Very slowly, I turn and watch Richard storm back into the room.
Twenty-one
Never Wash Dirty Laundry in Public
“I can’t tell you that,” Richard says without preamble.
Storm and thunder are dancing in his brown irises, now almost black. The face I love so much is set in a look of determined anger, ferociously handsome and just plain fierce at the same time. Something lurches inside me and my throat constricts.
Richard shakes his head as if trying to sort conflicting thoughts. “I promised I wouldn’t be here, ever again.”
I drop the duffel bag and take a step forward. “Where’s here?”
Richard looks up again, his eyes wide, vulnerable, without a trace of cynicism—and as they meet mine, the world stops. That one look tells me more than a thousand words could; Richard’s expression tells me he loves me. But I can’t be the only one acknowledging her feelings. So I ask again, “Where’s here?”
“Here is where I’m about to make a fool of myself, again.”
“Why?”
“Because I do love you.”
Tears of relief spring to my eyes.
“There’s nothing foolish about that.”
“No?” He lets out a hysterical laugh. “Love has only ever brought me pain and humiliation. I tried to avoid it, suppress it, deny it.” Richard rubs his forehead and I wait patiently in silence. “But the burning just won’t go away. And I’ve never been more scared in my life. For years, I’ve managed just fine on my own. But then, no, you had to come along and ruin everything. So here is where my heart is again in the hands of a woman who can do whatever the hell she wants with it.”
“Richard, I’m not your ex.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
“Because it is.”
“Why?”
A painful grimace twists his features. “Because I never loved her the way I love you!” The heart that was hammering in my chest until a few seconds ago stops. “Since you left on Sunday, I haven’t been able to sleep, eat, work, think. You’re everywhere. I can’t stop thinking about you. Even if you refused to talk to me, I couldn’t wait to get to the office every day to see you, and I dread the time of day when I have to go home alone. Then when you didn’t show up today, I thought you were leaving, for good.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“This time or ever?”
“Are we talking about a job here or something else?”
“We’re not talking about a bloody job.”
“Richard.” I take another step forward. “I can’t promise everything will be perfect, that we’ll never argue or break up. And I don’t know if we’ll have a happily ever after. But I’m willing to risk my heart on that possibility. I’m in… one hundred percent.”
“What if I don’t want to get married?”
“I don’t want to marry you.” Okay, I might’ve doodled Blair Stratton more than once, but that doesn’t mean anything. “You haven’t even taken me on a real date yet.”
Someone in the background cheers. It could be Indira. Or Saffron. Or even Chevron for all I know.
“What if I don’t want to get married, ever?” Richard insists.
I sigh. “Do I want to get married at some point in my life? Yes. Would I consider not doing it for the right man? Seems so. I always thought I wanted a wedding. But I also wanted many other things that I’ve discovered were insignificant. So is a piece of paper more important than the real love of a real man? No. I watched my mother spend years in a marriage with no love. She stood by a man she didn’t love, but wouldn’t leave only to be proper. And that’s not what I want. If marriage is the one thing you can’t give me, I’d rather not have it and have everything else.”
“You say that now, but you’ll change your mind.”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Maybe you’ll change your mind.” He’s about to protest but I anticipate him. “Let me finish. I spent my whole life mapping out every single step I should take. Engaged by twenty-nine, married by thirty, and two point five kids by thirty-five. Same goes for my career. Then my perfect plan crumbled in a single day. I lost the perfect job and the perfect-on-paper boyfriend and I’ve never been happier. I don’t want to plan anymore, I want to live.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“What if it does? Can you walk away without trying? ’Cause I sure can’t.”
“If we do this…” This time, it’s Richard taking a step toward me. “What is the single thing you’d never give me?”
I take a moment to think. “My career,” I say. “I’ll never be a stay-at-home mom.”
Richard’s features relax for the first time since our conversation started, and he closes the distance between us. I inhale his scent and I’m a goner as soon as he cups my face in his hands. “So we’re having kids now?” he asks with a playful smile.
I blush and luckily don’t have the time to stutter an embarrassing reply as Richard’s lips silence mine. His strong arms wrap around me and he almost crushes me against his chest.
I’m pretty sure kissing the boss in the middle of the office is against every workplace protocol ever written. But right now, I’m too busy trying to stand on my own two legs to care. That thing they say about buckling knees? Totally true.
We finally let go, and Richard seems to become aware of the gaping faces staring at us from all around the office. Ada is clapping and crying, too, I think. I can’t tell under her giant cat-eye glasses. Indira is sporting a shrewd smile. Saffron is taking a pic. Surely she doesn’t plan to post it on the magazine’s socials, right? And the boys are trying to project a look of composed appreciation.
“Come on, kids,” Indira yells, breaking the tension of the moment. “Cheer up for mommy and daddy, they made up.”
Everyone laughs and claps and cheers. And I’m so stupidly happy I can’t talk. I can only keep smiling at the man I love, whose eyes now reflect the same love he must see in mine.
“What happens now?” I whisper.
My anger has burned out and I’m becoming very self-conscious. Shouting my feelings in front of all my colleagues and forcing a love admission out of Richard were not part of the plan when I woke up this morning.
“We can start with a first date,” Richard says. “Dinner?”
“It’s two-thirty, I’m not hungry.”
Richard leans in and whispers, “Oh, you will be. Because we’re stopping at my place first.”
I blush a furious red and hide my face in Richard’s chest.<
br />
“Everyone,” Richard says aloud. “It’s been a long week. Let’s take the rest of the day off.”
The cheers that follow this announcement are even more widespread and enthusiastic.
Richard takes my hand and whistles for Chevron to follow us out of the office. As we reach the door and exit, an echo of Indira’s comment reaches me. “… if they’d told me all it took to have the afternoon off was to get the boss laid, I would’ve pimped him more.”
“Indira.” Ada’s voice is barely audible through the door. “You’ve missed the whole point. It’s not about getting laid, it’s about love.”
“Please don’t tell me we have another hopeless romantic in the house…”
Mercifully, the elevator arrives and I can’t hear any more of Indira’s pretend-cynic comments.
The three of us step in, and as soon as the doors swipe closed, Richard pushes me into a corner. One hand on my lower back, the other buried in my hair.
“I love you.” He nibbles my earlobe. “It’s so good to say it. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper, trying not to combust.
“Woof, woof.” Chevron joins the party at our feet, yapping happily.
We pull apart and scratch her behind both ears.
“Yes, we love you, too,” I say.
Richard squeezes my hand and I stare into his eyes, realizing I don’t care if he’s never going to propose. Our trio feels more like a family than anything I’ve ever had before.
Twenty-two
Don’t Move In Without a Ring
Six months later…
Stretching in bed has become difficult. With Chevron—now grown into a medium-sized dog—sprawled over my feet and Richard on my right side, even my tiny figure is experiencing space rationing. Regardless of Richard’s California King Bed. But the cozy warmth of two bodies pressed against mine is particularly delicious on a cold winter day.
Outside Richard’s window, a rainstorm is attacking New York. It’s been pouring since Monday, meaning I’ve spent three nights in a row at Richard’s place. The boyfriend doesn’t seem upset about it, but sometimes I suspect that even if he were, he’d be too British to tell me.
Rain or no rain, I have to give him a night’s respite and I need a change of clothes, anyway. At five thirty, a vibrating wrist tells me it’s time to get out of bed. Richard’s building has a gym in the basement, meaning I can run despite the weather. But also that, even stuffing my duffel bag to the brim, between training gear, PJs, bathroom stuff, and day clothes, three days is the max autonomy I have without going back home.
Once training is over, I take Chevron out to relieve herself. When I get back into the apartment, I’m soaked, muddy, and miserable. I hate the rain. Before it started, the city was covered in a coat of fluffy white snow; it was a winter wonderland. But now it has all melted into a gloomy puddle.
After a very long shower, I change into my last spare outfit and kiss Richard awake, kick-starting our morning ritual. Richard prepares the oatmeal while I set a pot of water to warm for the French press. Considering the world outside is the saddest gray, Richard surprises me by staring at the storm with a contented smile.
I measure the coffee beans and put them in the grinder. When the noise is over I say, “You seem awfully happy about the bad weather.”
Richard shrugs, adding a delicious mix of nuts and fresh fruit to our oatmeal. The boyfriend still eats meat, but he’s being surprisingly open-minded about my dietary habits.
“At least one of us is excited about the rain.” I pour the heated water and ground coffee into the press, stir, and set the microwave timer to five minutes. “Can you drive us to Manhattan tonight?”
“Tired of Brooklyn?”
“No, but it’s been raining for three days… I’ve run out of clean clothes.” I sit at the kitchen bar opposite Richard. “I need to go home and pick up some fresh outfits.”
Richard smiles a goofy smile. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There’s a mystical object with the magical power of turning dirty clothes into clean ones. It’s called a washing machine.”
I chuckle. “Most of my things are dry-clean.”
“There are dry cleaners in Brooklyn.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. I’d still prefer to go home and get a fresh change. Come on, I can’t show up at work with the same outfit two times in a week.”
“Why don’t you bring some of your stuff here?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t want my wardrobe spread around two places. I’d get confused about where everything is.”
Richard seems disappointed by my answer, but the timer interrupts him before he can express his mind. I plunge the press, pour the coffee, and we eat in silence. The mood has shifted from cozy-homey to awkward, and I don’t know what I did wrong.
Surely, Richard isn’t touchy over my choice of dry cleaners, and I was positive he’d be eager for an evening on his own.
Two spoonfuls of oatmeal, and Richard stops midway through the third to not-so-casually say, “So move everything here.”
I choke on a sip of coffee. “Move in with you?”
Whoa! I thought I’d have to rope the boyfriend into this new commitment very slowly. And now he’s just asking me out of the blue over breakfast on a Thursday in December.
“I mean.” His lips twitch. “If you can stomach the idea of living in Brooklyn.”
“It’s not that. It’s just… are you sure?”
“I am, but you don’t seem too excited.”
“No, I am. But I don’t want you to rush into a commitment that might be too quick and backfire on us.”
“Think this is rushed? I’ll give you rushed.” Richard sits taller on his stool. “With my ex, I proposed after six months and pushed her to set the wedding date in another six months without having spent a single day under the same roof.”
Richard never talks about his past so I listen without interrupting.
“I sensed she wasn’t ready, but I pressed on. Thought that if I didn’t give her time to overanalyze, she’d be fine. Well, you know how that ended. That was rushed. This”—he swings his spoon between us, wielding it like a sword—“isn’t rushed. You’re not pressing me into anything. I’m asking you.”
“Okay.” I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells. “Take some extra time to mull it over. Then if you’re still sure…”
“I don’t need extra time.”
I’m at a loss for words… I so didn’t expect this.
“You want to know why I’m happy it’s raining?” Richard continues.
Oh, so he was pleased by the awful weather. I nod.
“Rain means you spend the night. A sunny day means you go back to your place, and I’m alone. I hate sunny days.”
“You hate the sun because of me?”
“Despise it.”
A dumb smile appears on my lips. “Ah well, in that case…”
“Should I free a drawer?”
“Poor man. You’ve no idea what you just got yourself into. I’m going to need much more space than a drawer.” My brain whizzes with all the technical, organizational steps. “I’d need to give Nikki some notice. I can’t just stop paying my share of the rent and leave her out to hang. Plus, she hates the holidays, but…” I get up, another thought suddenly bolting through my head. “Wait here.”
I retrieve my bag from down the hall and fish inside for something I haven’t looked at in months. After some rummaging, I remember it’s in my wallet. A piece of paper so crumpled and frail it might disintegrate at any second.
“What’s that?” Richard asks.
Spreading the sheet on the bar, I ask, “You don’t recognize it?”
“Is it the list?”
“Mmm-hmm. And there’s just one item in there I haven’t ticked off yet.”
“Which is?”
“Don’t move in without a ring.”
“Oh, I never considered that angle. Do
es it bother you?”
“I always thought I wanted to be super traditional, but that was the old me.”
Richard is still staring at the list, frowning now. “And when did you go skinny dipping, exactly?”
I blush and snatch the paper away. “I’m never telling you that.”
“Hey.” Richard makes to grab the sheet again.
I yank my arm away, crumple the list into a ball, and throw it across the hall. Richard doesn’t need to re-read every insignificant item. Chevron woofs and runs after the paper ball. After catching it, she sits quietly in a corner, ball between her front paws, chewing bits away. As I watch the poor piece of paper being shredded to confetti, I realize that the list, however wrong it was in principle, did come through for me in the end. Only not in the way I expected. With every item ticked off in reverse, life has never been better. Magical, spontaneous, and totally unplanned.
“That was naughty,” Richard protests.
I round the bar and plant myself between Richard’s legs, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You still in the market for a naughty roommate?”
Richard pulls me closer by the waist. “You don’t care that it’s Brooklyn?”
“I wouldn’t care if it were New Jersey with you.”
We both know I’m lying, but I quickly silence his rebuff with a kiss.
Mid-kiss, Richard tickles my sides. “When did you go skinny dipping?”
“Aaah, stop. Stop!” I struggle to get away. “I’m not talking.”
“Yes, you are.”
I wriggle free and make a dash for the bedroom.
“Gotcha.” Richard pins me on the bed and starts the tickling torture again.
With him on top of me, my giggles soon die away, cutting off completely as his hands start moving in a different way on my body.
I smirk. “You’re the worst interrogator ever.”
“Being in love with the victim doesn’t help, I guess.”
“Shut up and kiss me, roommate.”
Note from the Author
I Have Never (A Laugh Out Loud Romantic Comedy) Page 18
