God, he looks so adorable, like he’s actually worried I’m going to walk away from him.
“I’m sure,” I say, resisting the urge to reach over and cuddle him. “I want us to stay friends.”
“Okay. Good.” He straightens up, giving me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, that’s great news about your writing.”
I raise my cup of tea to my lips, nodding absently.
“You must be excited,” he adds.
“Yeah,” I mumble. And I sip my luke-warm tea, wondering why the excitement I felt earlier has all but evaporated.
23
Istraighten the Christmas tree in the window display, smiling faintly as a customer passes. The whole store has a festive feel to it, with the tinsel and the music. There’s no escaping the holiday season around here, no matter how much I might want to.
I still cannot believe Michael said he wanted to ask me out. This whole time I had a crush on him, and he liked me too. I have to keep reminding myself that I actually didn’t imagine that part. And it’s… well, it’s bittersweet.
I know I’m doing the right thing by focusing on my writing, even if some of the shine has gone from it. At the end of the day, it’s not even about choosing my career over a guy. It’s about the fact that I’m choosing to go against that inner urge—the one that is telling me to throw caution to the wind and to, most likely, throw my heart under a bus. The one that has steered me wrong so many times before.
“It has to be a guy.” Geoff taps a finger against his lip, eyes narrowed at me as I wander over.
“What?”
“The reason you’ve been moping around all morning.”
I shake my head, attempting to paint on a smile.
“Oh, come on!” He’s rearranging the Staff Picks shelf without paying much attention. He’s much more interested in talking to me.
I release a long, resigned sigh. “Okay. Fine. It is.”
He pushes his glasses up his nose, his eyes growing wide. “Yes?”
Despite my crappy mood, a laugh tickles my throat. He’s going to love this. “You know my neighbor—”
“Sexy Michael,” he says, his eyes wider still.
“It’s him.”
“I knew it!” he exclaims, startling a customer. We both shoot her an apologetic smile then Geoff turns back to me, lowering his voice. “So, what’s happening then?”
“Nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “Well, he told me he wanted to ask me out.”
Geoff manages to suppress his squeal, but only just. It squeaks out the side of his mouth like a balloon slowly deflating.
I snort a laugh. “Nothing is going to happen.”
“What? Why not?”
“I—” I stop, wondering how to explain my newfound cynicism when it comes to love. Then I just shake my head, settling on the easiest explanation. I told Geoff about the articles I’m writing—and the possibility of getting a permanent column—as soon as I arrived at the store this morning. So I know he’ll understand. “If I want to write this single column, I won’t be able to date, so…” I lift a shoulder, as if all of this is no big deal and I don’t kind of feel like I’m dying inside.
“Do you like him?”
“He’s… okay.”
Geoff lifts his eyebrows and I feel a smile push at my lips.
“Alright. Yes. I like him.” Understatement of the freaking century.
