Callie had loathed him.
Loathed him.
All those months on the desk, Thomas had thought she’d grown distant because of difficulties with Andre or her family or something else in her private life.
But no. She’d distanced herself from him because she couldn’t stand the sight of his face. Because he made her cry, rage, and become anxious.
Even before this trip, he’d thought they were friends of a sort. And while he’d wanted much, much more than that, he’d taken comfort in having any type of relationship with such an amazing woman. But the entire time, he’d been making her life harder, making her miserable, and making her hate him.
In a far corner of the sunshine-hued lobby, an armchair lurked behind the fronds of a potted bush. He sank into its cushion and covered his face with shaking hands.
Every shift they’d spent together for the past four months, he’d orchestrated. Timed his schedule requests so he could be near her as often as possible, without ever thinking about whether that was what she wanted. And then, during those shifts, he’d tried his best to block her out so he could concentrate on patron questions, just as he did with all his other coworkers.
The only difference: She’d never left his mind. Not entirely.
But fumbling pencils when she bit her lip or admiring her efficiency at locating the exact right journal article for a patron wasn’t the same thing as actually paying attention to her.
Not as his fantasy, the object of his desire. But as Callie Adesso, a subject in her own right, with wants and needs and goals at work that might not match his own.
Did all his other coworkers secretly hate working with him too? Did they sigh with relief every time they glanced at the schedule and saw that, once again, Callie would serve as the sacrificial librarian for the entire department?
She rarely worked with any of the others, not given the schedule Thomas ensured for her. Had that—had he—stopped her from making closer ties at the library? Was he the reason she never went to the bar with them anymore, or to dinner after the library closed?
He could envision her standing behind the desk, facing an onslaught of patrons alone. How many times had he registered that sight in a distracted glance, and then turned back to his own work without offering a single bit of help?
So many lines. She’d dispatched so many lines of people with seeming ease, with seeming happiness, but thinking back, he could recognize that tight smile. That glassy stare. That veneer of calm and professionalism hiding profound anxiety.
He’d believed the mask.
No, that was offering him too much credit.
He hadn’t even bothered to question it.
Should he leave the library? But what in the world could he possibly do instead? Several years as an adjunct professor at Marysburg University and multiple failed bids for tenure-track jobs had proven him entirely too scattered, too unambitious, and too slow for a life in academia. Teaching at a public school, from what he’d heard, would require even more efficiency. And if he tried to lead tours through the historic area, they’d probably last a decade each.
What other people think, what they might expect or want from me, doesn’t concern me, he’d told Callie yesterday. And he’d done so with…
Not pride. Not exactly. But total acceptance. An assumption that he couldn’t and didn’t need to change that about himself. That his obliviousness was, at worst, a harmless character quirk. When all the while he’d been hurting the woman he loved, and maybe all his other coworkers too.
The shame of it. He’d never experienced anything like the shame that burned his cheeks and shuddered through his body and roiled his stomach.
That shame and a terrible, grinding grief had nearly brought him to his knees just inside the hotel room door, listening to her phone conversation over the sound of running water.
He’d lost her. Lost her, before he even truly had her. Because how could he possibly believe Callie wanted a future with him? Every time they worked together, she’d remember what he’d done to her. How oblivious he’d been to her needs and desires. How could she ever trust him?
And how could he possibly assume this change of heart, her profession of interest, was anything but the psychological effect of days spent in the same bed, in the same space, pretending to be in love on camera? A cable-television, tropical version of Stockholm Syndrome?
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t.
Confrontations and awkward, emotionally fraught discussions made her anxious. Gave her hives. So he wasn’t going to inflict one on her, because he was done hurting Callie Adesso.
Instead, he’d fake a smile for this last on-camera interview, wave off the HATV crew, and leave her the hell alone. Let her enjoy her vacation and recover from the stress he’d inflicted on her for months. Talk to their supervisor and try to change his schedule as soon as they returned home.
And he’d do it even through this tearing ache in his chest.
For her. For Callie, the woman he loved.
