Chapter 23
Anne had curled back under the sheets after he left, letting the smell take her back to the night before.
Her rational brain told her it wasn’t productive.
Pretending he was still here wouldn’t bring him back; that required conversation.
And even then, nothing was guaranteed. They thought they could pick up where they left off, but there was too much baggage, things that needed to be exposed to the sunlight and purged.
They needed to grow up.
She still stayed in bed a few extra minutes, though.
Unfortunately, reality eventually beckoned. She was meeting Theo for a coffee at Monkford Café soon and had to be ready for whatever he was about to offer.
So she went on autopilot—showering, getting dressed in a matching sweater set and jeans, then pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She felt adrift, so lost she could barely focus, but at least she could appear put together.
She left the apartment and locked the door behind her, then made her way down the hall to press the elevator button. That was her first mistake. Standing there gave her mind time to wander, and in seconds it found Freddie again, what she had said to him, how they had left things…
The elevator doors opened just as she was making her second mistake, pulling her phone from her bag. She knew she would talk to Freddie eventually. They both needed time to cool off, that was clear. But she also couldn’t shake the hope that there would be a missed call, a text waiting.
There was nothing.
She swallowed down her disappointment as the elevator arrived at the lobby.
A Christmas tree had been put up in the corner over the weekend and its branches sparkled, shifting points of light around the dim room.
This was usually her favorite time of year—when she was little and her parents fought upstairs, she would come down and lie on the dark green leather benches here, watching the snow fall outside.
Now as she walked across the room, her boots clicking against the marble floor, it felt hollow and sad.
A diorama of the life she was trying desperately to hold on to.
She paused at the row of mailboxes. With everything going on, she had completely forgotten to check it all week.
She quickly unlocked it and luckily found only a few pieces waiting—some take-out menus, a marketing brochure masquerading as a bill, and a couple of Christmas advertisements.
But then one postcard caught her eye. Thick and square, it was covered with an explosion of flowers, all framing the logo for Eufloria, along with its business hours and phone number.
Anne froze. She didn’t even know what emotion to assign to what she was feeling, only that she was still standing in the middle of the lobby when Bev shuffled off the elevator a few minutes later.
“Did you have a stroke?” she asked, eyeing her curiously.
Anne blinked. “What?”
“You look like you had a stroke,” Bev said.
“No, I just… I got a postcard.”
Bev glared at her, then at the mail in her hand. “Stroke makes more sense.”
“Sorry,” Anne said, holding up the postcard and shaking her head. “I just… I helped open this place. I even came up with the name and suggested sending out mailers like these.”
Bev’s eyebrows bobbed up as she glanced down at the glossy image. “They look good.”
Anne nodded. “Thanks.”
“Congratulations.” She turned toward the front door again, then paused. “So what’s your title?”
“Oh.” Anne shook her head. “I don’t have one. At least, I was offered one, but I haven’t accepted it.”
Bev stared at her like a stroke was still a possibility. “You don’t want it?”
“No, I do, it’s just that running a small business in the city can be so volatile, and it’s hard to predict the market, so…” She let out a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’s the right choice.”
Bev scoffed and started toward the door. “There’s no such thing as a right choice. The only time you hear that is in government propaganda campaigns.”
Anne blinked. “Really?”
“Like the war on drugs.” Bev waved her hand in the air as she stepped outside. “That was some bullshit.”
“Thanks, Bev,” Anne called out, but the older woman was gone.
Anne arrived at Monkford Café a few minutes later and found Theo seated at a table near the front. He waved her over the moment he spotted her.
“Anne Elliot,” he said when she arrived at the table, and they exchanged a brief hug.
“Hello, Theo.” She took off her peacoat and scarf, revealing her jeans and loose-fitting cashmere sweater set—either she was underdressed or Theo, in his tailored suit, had overshot the formality of the situation.
She sat down across from him, ready to trade pleasantries until she could find the right time to ask him about what she had learned during her father’s Thanksgiving dinner, but Theo began talking before she could open her mouth.
“I have so much to catch you up on. Those documents you sent over were stellar, by the way. The network has some thoughts about where we might be able to cut corners, but we can go over those details later. The main headline is that they think there is real potential here, and…”
For the next fifteen minutes, Theo didn’t come up for air.
Anne did her best to listen, grateful when the waiter arrived to take their order, then returned with coffee.
She nodded politely but found it hard to follow Theo’s words.
The clattering of the plates and the sounds of people enjoying their meals at the restaurant felt louder than she’d ever remembered.
Then she realized it wasn’t that she couldn’t focus on Theo’s words.
She didn’t want to. All she wanted to think about was Freddie, their fight, the Eufloria postcard still in her bag.
Her life felt so fundamentally different than it had just two months ago—but was that necessarily a bad thing?
She’d been playing it safe for so long, but hadn’t been happy. She’d barely been living.
Theo cleared his throat, and it broke Anne’s reverie.
“There you are,” he said with a smile. “Everything okay?”
She was sick of contorting herself to fit into everyone else’s life. And she wasn’t going to wait for the right time to call people out on it, either. “Theo, how long were you going to develop a series with the star of Divorce Divas without telling me?”
Theo’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, letting out a short laugh. “You beat me to the punch. I was going to tell you today, along with the good news. We’ve got a series ordered. Eight episodes of The Diva Code with Denise.”
He waited, like she should have had some reaction. All she could do was stare back.
“Congratulations, Theo,” she said. “Good for you.”
He smiled. “Good for us! Now that we have an approved budget, I can bring you on board.”
She cocked her head to the side. “In what capacity?”
“Well, you’d have to start at a production manager level, just for the first season. You didn’t get an official credit on Divorce Divas, so it’s hard to justify a higher title, you know?”
She stared at him for a moment. “Theo. I created all the documentation that secured you this series to begin with.”
“And I’m so grateful, Anne,” he said, his expression morphing into something resembling pensive. “Really grateful. But you know how these networks are. They want to see every line item justified. But it would only be for one year, then the sky’s the limit. What do you say?”
She should be angry. Or at least annoyed. But all she felt was relief. Of course he was trying to screw her over. Why had she expected anything else?
“No,” she replied.
He paused. “Sorry?”
“I said no.”
“Okay…” he said, looking confused. “But… why?”
“Because I’ve spent the past decade cleaning up everyone else’s messes, handling everyone else’s schedules. I have better things to do now.”
He frowned. “Like what?”
“Selling flowers,” she said, letting a smile take over her lips. “And hanging out with a college dropout.” Then she stood up and took one last sip from her mug. “Thanks for the coffee, Theo.”
“Are you seriously turning this down?” he asked. “It’s locked and loaded.”
“I wish you and Denise all the luck in the world. But I decline whatever it is you are offering.” She put on her coat and scarf, then extended her hand to him.
He narrowed his eyes before slowly standing and shaking her palm. “You realize what you’re giving up, right? If there’s something you—”
“Goodbye, Theo.”
At that, she pivoted and turned to leave the café. Her pulse raced as she made the trek across Tompkins Square Park, but it wasn’t anxiety coursing through her veins—it was excitement.
For once, she didn’t have a plan, and it felt fantastic.