“It’s not—she doesn’t—it’s complicated.”
“Everything with you is complicated.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Go talk to her. Be the person you are in those letters instead of the person you pretend to be in board meetings. Trust me—it works.”
I arriveat The Fiction Nook at 6:15 PM with my heart in my throat and no plan whatsoever.
The shop is closed, but the lights are on. Through the window, I can see Jessica moving around inside, and just the sight of her makes something in my chest unlock.
I knock.
She looks up, sees me, and something complicated crosses her face.
Then she comes to the door and lets me in.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Caroline said it was important.”
“It is. Or—I think it is. I’m not sure.” She’s nervous, I realize. Jessica is never nervous. “Do you want coffee? I made a pot. I needed something to do with my hands.”
“Coffee would be great.”
I follow her to the back room, where there’s a small kitchen area I’ve never seen before. Austen is sprawled on the counter, and when he sees me, he gives a welcoming chirp.
Traitor.
“Your cat likes me now,” I observe.
“He’s an excellent judge of character. Or terrible. I haven’t decided which.” She pours two cups with slightly shaking hands. “Sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
She hands me the cup, and our fingers brush. That same electric current from this morning.
Neither of us pulls away quite as fast.
"So," I say. "What did you want to talk about?"
"I wanted to—" She stops. Starts again. "This morning on the beach. You said some things."
"I did."
"About wanting to fix the lease situation. About working on something you couldn't tell me about."
"I remember."
"What did you mean?" She looks at me directly, and I see vulnerability there. "Because I need to know if that was real or if this is some kind of strategy. If you're trying to—I don't know—make me feel like I owe you something."
"Jessica, no. I would never?—"
"Because I can't figure you out," she continues, words rushing out. "One minute you're all business, hiding behind board decisions and market rates. The next, you're sitting on a beach at dawn looking like you haven't slept, offering to fix things and looking at me like—" She hesitates.
“Like what?”
“Like I matter.”
