Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Chamber breakfast presentation exceeded expectations. Eva was brilliant. Her design passion was obvious throughout. The business community enthusiastically embraced our vision, creating electric energy as we answered questions.
For three days since, Eva and I have been constant companions. Coffee stretches into lunch, late-night calls leave me grinning at my ceiling, and yesterday we had our first proper date: dinner at a small Italian place in the neighboring town for privacy.
I expect the novelty to fade, or my public image concerns to resurface. Instead, each moment with Eva makes me feel more authentic, more myself, more alive.
"Mr. Adams?" Diane's voice pulls me from my thoughts. She stands in the doorway of my office, holding a thick envelope. "This just arrived by courier. Marked urgent."
"Thanks." I take the envelope, noting the logo in the corner: Westcott Media Group, one of the largest communications firms on the East Coast.
Diane lingers, curiosity evident in her expression.
"Anything else?" I ask.
"Your three o'clock canceled. And Eva called while you were in your meeting. Said to tell you she finished the mock-ups for the website and can't wait to show you tonight."
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "Perfect. Thanks, Diane."
She nods and retreats, closing the door behind her. I turn the envelope over in my hands, puzzled. I've done speaking engagements for Westcott in the past, but nothing that would warrant an urgent courier delivery.
Slicing it open, I pull out a heavy letterhead and begin reading.
By the time I finish, my heart is racing.
They're offering me a position. National Director of Public Engagement. Coordinating their corporate responsibility initiatives, representing them at high-profile events, developing leadership programs. Based in Boston. With a salary that makes my current income look like pocket change.
It's the kind of opportunity I've dreamed about—a platform to reach beyond Meadowbrook, to make a real difference on a national scale. The kind of role that perfectly leverages my experience and skills.
The kind of opportunity that would mean leaving everything behind. Including Eva.
I set the letter down, running a hand through my hair. This can't be happening. Not now. Not when I've finally found someone who sees the real me, who makes me feel like I don't have to be perfect all the time.
But the timing isn't coincidental. Last month, I gave a keynote at an industry conference in Boston.
The head of Westcott was in attendance and approached me afterward.
We had lunch, discussed leadership philosophies.
He mentioned potential opportunities, but I assumed he meant occasional speaking engagements, not. .. this.
My phone buzzes with a text from Eva:
Eva
Still on for dinner at my place? Fair warning: I can't cook like you can, but I make a mean spaghetti.
I stare at her message, guilt already settling in my stomach. We've only just found each other. We're just beginning to explore what could be. How can I tell her about this opportunity without making her feel like she's not enough? Like Meadowbrook isn't enough?
Me
Absolutely. Looking forward to it. Need me to bring anything?
Her response comes quickly.
Eva
Just yourself. And maybe dessert if you're feeling generous. 7pm.
I tuck the letter into my briefcase, mind racing. I need time to think before mentioning this to Eva. It wouldn't be fair when we're still figuring us out.
But keeping it from her feels dishonest, and that's exactly what I promised to stop doing with her.
I ask Diane to clear my afternoon schedule and slip out the back door to avoid conversation.
Driving aimlessly through Meadowbrook, I pass landmarks of my life: the high school where I gave the valedictory speech, the community center, the park where I took my siblings during Mom's illness.
Every corner holds my history. I am James Adams of Meadowbrook—the responsible leader everyone relies on.
Yet isn't that what I've been trying to escape? The weight of others' expectations?
I end up at the covered bridge that inspired Eva's design. This is where everything began between us, our professional partnership becoming something more significant.
The irony isn't lost on me. Just as we've built our own bridge, I face a choice leading in the opposite direction.
Diane calls. The mayor wants to discuss expanding the branding initiative with a tourism strategy, inspired by my presentation with Eva.
Another responsibility. Another reason to stay.
Leaning against the bridge railing, I consider my options. Taking this job means starting over. No history weighing me down, no expectations.
But I'd leave behind everyone I care about. My family. My community.
Eva.
She's become essential to me. Her honesty. Her passion. The way she sees the real me. Leaving what we're building feels like tearing out part of myself.
By the time I reach her apartment, I've decided. I'll tell her about the offer tonight. We'll discuss it openly, like the partners we're becoming.
She opens the door with a smile that momentarily washes away all my anxiety. She's wearing a simple dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, and she's never looked more beautiful.
"Hey, you." She rises on tiptoe to kiss me lightly. "Right on time, as always."
I hold up a bakery box. "Tiramisu from Antonio's. You mentioned it was your favorite."
"You remembered." She takes the box, looking pleased. "Come in. Dinner's almost ready."
Her apartment is exactly what I'd expect—colorful, eclectic, filled with art and books. It's smaller than my house but feels infinitely more alive. More authentic. Just like Eva herself.
"Can I pour you some wine?" she asks, leading me to the small kitchen where a pot of sauce simmers on the stove. "Nothing fancy, just a decent Cabernet."
"Sounds perfect." I watch as she moves efficiently around the kitchen, stirring the sauce, checking the pasta. "Can I help with anything?"
"You can grab plates from that cabinet. And tell me about your day. How did the meeting with the tourism board go?"
This is my opening. The perfect segue to mention the Westcott offer. But looking at her—so happy, so engaged in creating this evening for us—I can't bring myself to do it. Not yet. Not before we've had a chance to enjoy at least part of the night.
"It went well," I say instead. "They're enthusiastic about incorporating the new branding into their materials."
"That's great!" She beams at me, dipping a spoon into the sauce for a taste test. "Oh, I finished those website mock-ups I mentioned. The town council is going to flip when they see how the new logo translates to digital. Wanna see after dinner?"
"Absolutely."
We settle at her small dining table, wine poured, pasta served. The domesticity of it all, this simple meal in her space, feels more intimate than our restaurant date. More real.
"So," she says, twirling spaghetti around her fork, "there's something I've been wanting to ask you."
My heart skips. "What's that?"
"After the branding project wraps up... what's next for us?" Her cheeks flush slightly, but her gaze is direct. "I mean, professionally we'll go back to our separate worlds. But personally..."
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibility. And complication.
"I've been thinking about that too," I admit, setting down my fork. This is it. The moment to be honest. "Actually, something came up today that might affect those plans."
Her expression shifts, curiosity mixed with the faintest hint of apprehension. "Oh?"
"I received a job offer. From Westcott Media Group."
"The big communications firm? James, that's amazing!" Her reaction is genuine, her smile wide. "What kind of position?"
"National Director of Public Engagement. Based in Boston."
The smile falters slightly as understanding dawns. "Boston. That's... what, three hours from here?"
"About that, yes."
She sets down her wine glass carefully. "When would you start?"
"They want an answer within two weeks. If I accept, I'd begin after the new year." I reach across the table, taking her hand. "But Eva, I haven't made any decisions yet. I wanted to talk to you first."
"Why?" The directness of her question catches me off guard. "I mean, we've only been seeing each other for a few weeks. This is a major career opportunity."
"Because you matter to me," I say simply. "What's growing between us matters. I wouldn't just make this decision in isolation."
She withdraws her hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—that nervous gesture I've come to recognize. "That's... considerate. But I don't want to be the reason you turn down something like this."
"That's not what I'm saying." I try to recapture her gaze, but she's looking somewhere past my shoulder now. "I'm saying I want us to discuss it. All the options."
"What options, James?" Now she does look at me, her expression suddenly guarded. "I move to Boston with you after dating for a month? You commute three hours each way? We try long-distance and see each other on weekends?"
"All of those are possibilities," I say carefully. "Or I could turn it down. Stay here."
"And resent me later for holding you back? No thanks." She stands abruptly, taking her plate to the kitchen. "I need a minute."
I remain at the table, my appetite gone. This isn't how I wanted this conversation to go. But what did I expect? That she'd be thrilled about the prospect of me leaving just as we're finding our way to each other?
After a moment, I join her in the kitchen. She's standing at the sink, her back to me, shoulders tense.
"Eva," I say softly, "please talk to me."
"When did you find out about this offer?"
"Today. I came straight here after thinking about it."
She turns, eyes narrowed. "But you've been in discussions with them before, right?"
I hesitate, and she reads my silence.
"So you've known this was a possibility and never mentioned it."