Oh.
Oh no.
My heart is doing gymnastics again.
“Would you—” He gestures vaguely. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”
“The office?”
“Perfect.”
I lead him to my tiny office in the back, acutely aware that Caroline is definitely watching and probably texting the book club play-by-play updates.
Austen follows us and immediately claims Scott’s lap the moment he sits down.
“Traitor,” I tell my cat.
“You’re just jealous,” Scott says, scratching behind Austen’s ears. The cat purrs like a motor.
“He’s supposed to protect me from emotionally complicated landlords.”
“Is that what I am? Emotionally complicated?”
“You tell me.”
Scott is quiet for a moment, absently petting Austen. “I need to tell you something,” he says finally. “About the rent increase.”
“Okay.”
“I can reverse it.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your monthly payment. I can keep your lease at the current rate. I’ve found another solution for the board. It’s complicated and it’s going to cost me politically, but I can do it.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because—” He stops, pressing his lips together. Starts again. “Because I was wrong. About everything. About treating your bookstore like a line item on a spreadsheet. About dismissing what you do here. About pretending profit is all that matters.”
“Scott—”
“I’m not good at this,” he continues. “At admitting when I’m wrong. At showing who I actually am instead of who I think I’m supposed to be.”
“Who are you supposed to be?”
“Cold. Calculating. Someone who makes decisions based on numbers instead of?—”
“Instead of what?”
“Instead of feelings I’m not supposed to have about my tenants.”
The air between us goes electric.
“What feelings?” I ask quietly.
“Complicated ones.”
We stare at each other across my ridiculous desk that’s covered in sticky notes and book recommendations and coffee rings.
