Chapter 28
“How extended of an absence are you talking about?” Joyce, Rowan’s boss, asked.
“I’m not sure. At least a month.” Rowan flipped the pen in her hand end over end, tapping it on the counter.
“Are you moving to Nashville?” Joyce asked.
She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure, but it’s a serious possibility.”
“What are you sure about?”
Wasn’t that the question. Luke said he loved her and she hadn’t said it in return. It had been on the tip of her tongue, but something had held her back. Some sense of self-preservation kept her from telling Luke she loved him. She did—to the depths of her soul—but it hadn’t felt right for her to say it in that moment. Maybe it was because she wanted to say it without being prompted.
Maybe she didn’t know what the hell she was doing and was grasping at straws. “Honestly? Not a lot.”
“I can’t keep your position vacant forever,” Joyce said.
“I know.”
Her sigh was heavy over the phone. “Two weeks. I need you to let me know one way or another in two weeks. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll take that as your resignation.”
That would have to do. A month was a stretch anyway. “Thank you, Joyce.”
“You’re welcome. I hope it works out for you.”
“Me, too.”
She ended the conversation with another promise to call in the next two weeks. If she didn’t know by then, she never would.
Out of morbid curiosity, she opened up her Facebook app and scrolled through her timeline. Her mentions were out of control, even after locking down her profile and weeding through her friends list.
Marla might have some tips on how to control that. Or Rowan might have to whittle her contacts down to close friends and family.
The phone pinged and buzzed at the same time a text bubble popped up.
Luke: Should be done by 1. Wanna meet me for lunch?
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He had tried to talk her into going with him that morning, but she’d wanted some alone time.
The doorbell chimed as she typed her response and she sent the reply before she answered the door.
Rowan: Waiting for the furniture, remember?
It was a little early for the delivery truck. The store had promised between twelve and two and it was just after eleven forty-five. No delivery she’d scheduled had ever been early—even if it was the first delivery of the day.
A weird sense of dread settled heavy in her stomach when she opened the door.
“Brett. Luke isn’t here. He’s at the label for a meeting.”
He slapped the folder he held against his high. “I know. I’m here to see you, actually.”
“Why?” She didn’t care if she sounded like a bitch—Brett was not her favorite person and she wasn’t going to expend the energy faking it.
“Can we talk inside?” He gestured behind her to the house.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she stepped back and opened the door. A normal person would have waited in the foyer for the host to take the lead, but not Brett. No. He walked through to the kitchen, expecting her to follow.
“Asshole,” she mumbled as she shut the door.
