Chapter 29
29
Josie
I’m rooted to my chair, trying to grasp what just happened. I’ve never seen Ryan so furious. And now…he’s gone?
“That was intense,” Xander says, and I whirl to face him. He’s flustered, smoothing the nonexistent hair on his shiny head. “I guess you’re the manager, Josie. Congrats.”
“Huh?” I gape at him.
“Let’s talk next steps.” He launches into an explanation, but I’m too dazed to pay attention. All I can think about is finding Ryan to make sure he’s okay.
“I’ve carved out Monday mornings from nine thirty to nine forty-five for us to check in,” Xander is saying, “so save nonurgent items until then. It’ll streamline things for me, having one manager to deal with. Let’s gather the staff and let them know.”
“Wait, I don’t—”
But he’s already standing, clapping his hands. “Everyone! I have an announcement.”
Ryan’s staff comes over, and Eddie joins us from behind the counter, bringing Mabel. Xander gives them all a bland smile. “I’d like to introduce your new manager. Josie Klein.”
Cinderella’s eyes spark with alarm. “What? Where’s Ryan?”
Xander shrugs. “He quit.”
“Why would he do that?” Nora gasps.
Another shrug from Xander, more impatient now. “If you have questions, direct them to Josie, and she’ll contact me if needed.” He emphasizes the last two words. Then he faces the staff again. “Thanks for all your, uh, hard work. Let’s make some money, okay?”
On that uninspiring note, he heads out.
I’m immediately mobbed by the Happy Endings staff, asking why Ryan left.
“I’m calling him,” I say, pulling out my phone. No answer, so I leave a voicemail and text him to call me. As soon as I hit send, Eddie tells me that Mabel is starting cosmetology school soon and will be cutting her hours, so he’ll need to hire another barista. Also, he needs a new espresso machine.
“Order what you need, but be mindful of the cost, okay?” I tell him. “And can you draft a job description for me to review?”
“Sure thing.”
Then the door chimes, and in comes the contractor. He says there’s an issue with the lighting and he’s going to get the electrician back in here tomorrow to fix it.
“Sure, okay,” I tell him.
The rest of the day rushes by in a whirlwind of responsibilities, but underneath it all, worry gnaws at me—and guilt, too. This is all my fault. My plan failed, I couldn’t convince Xander, and now Ryan’s out of a job. Is he angry? Does he blame me? What does this mean for us ? I try calling again, texting—nothing. I even send him a DM on BookFriends, but the silence stretches on, making the knot in my stomach twist tighter.
Finally, as I’m locking up the store, my phone pings with a text. From Ryan.
Hey, sorry for disappearing on you. Just needed some time to clear my head and figure a few things out. Want to come over?
All the tension of the day rushes out of my body. He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is going to be fine.
I reply:
Sounds great . I’m leaving the store now. Send me your address?
He does, and I take a bus toward Charlestown. When I reach his building, he buzzes me in, and I race up the stairs to his apartment. The door opens before I can knock, and there he is, all big and broad and sturdy, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair adorably messy. I launch myself into his arms, breathing in his familiar scent. Tears well up in my eyes and soon I’m sniffing, trying to hold myself back from crying.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Ryan murmurs, running his hands down my back. “What’s going on? Wait—” He pulls away; his forehead is wrinkled with concern. “Xander gave you the job, right? That asshole better—”
“Yes, he did—not that he had any choice,” I say, then bury my face in Ryan’s chest again. “What were you thinking? Quitting your job for me? Why would you ever think that’s a good idea?”
He exhales and holds me tighter, kissing the top of my head. “Because you deserved to win, Josie. You’re the reason we started working together in the first place—otherwise you would’ve crushed me.”
“But I can’t take your job!” I hiccup, wiping my eyes. “You love that store—you’ve worked there since you were fifteen years old!”
“And I think it’s time for me to move on.”
Alarm flickers through me, and I look up at him. “What do you mean, move on?”
“Come in and I’ll explain,” he says, taking my hand. He closes the door behind me and leads me to his couch, where we both sit. He leans forward, elbows on knees. “Remember when I told you about my friend who offered me a job at their new bookstore in Provincetown?”
Yes, but he told me about it way back in Maine, before we agreed to work together.
“What about it?”
“I called my friend and…” He hesitates, then presses on. “I’m going to drive down there to check it out this weekend. See the space, meet some of the other booksellers, talk details with Gretchen.”
Shock ricochets through me, and I straighten. “Wait, what? You’re taking that job?”
“It’s the perfect opportunity for me,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “There aren’t any other romance bookstores in Boston.”
“But it’s two hours away! Would you just…move there?”
He gives a slow nod, and my heart plummets. “My lease is up at the end of next month. Gretchen has a room I can rent until I find my own space. But I’ll come here on my days off, and you can visit me anytime. Plus we can always chat online like we’ve been doing for months, and we can FaceTime, too.”
I blink; it sounds like he’s worked all this out. Has this been his backup plan the whole time? The thought makes my lungs constrict. While I was putting everything into us working together, he had a safety net?
“And I—” He hesitates before clearing his throat and continuing. “I think maybe it’ll be good if I’m out of your way as you get the new store up and running. You need the freedom to run things according to your vision—”
“We had a vision together , Ryan. Remember?”
“I know, but unfortunately, that didn’t work out.”
The regret in his voice makes my tears well up again. This whole thing is my fault. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. I really thought it would work. I tried my hardest, I gave this everything I had, and—”
“Shhh,” he says, pulling me against him. He kisses my head; strokes my hair. “It’s not your fault. Let’s just be glad I have something else to fall back on.”
I hear his unspoken words: Because you don’t.
It’s true; I have nothing else, no other job, no direction, and it’s so completely Ryan for him to consider that. But nothing will be the same if we’re separated—with both of us in new positions, launching new stores, we’ll be lucky to get the same day off at the same time. That’s no way to start a new relationship. Surely he knows this.
Unless…maybe he wants some distance from me.
I try to brush the thought aside, but it sticks in my mind like a splinter. Since our first night together, we’ve had countless discussions about our future as it pertains to the bookstore— but nothing about us. Our relationship. Now here we are, facing a crossroads, and he’s taking a detour.
He’ll only be a few hours away, I remind myself. He’s trying to do what’s best for both of us. Ryan Lawson is the kindest, most generous person I’ve ever met; he would never hurt me on purpose. I know this. But my logical brain doesn’t stand a chance against the old, familiar feelings of abandonment bubbling up. The feeling I used to get when Mom would disappear without warning, leaving me to figure everything out alone.
The same tightness grips my chest now, making it difficult to breathe. I know Ryan isn’t Mom, but the scared kid inside me is panicking, terrified of being left behind again. I’m spiraling, drowning, and I can’t seem to stop. Ryan’s leaving. He’s leaving the store, he’s leaving me, and my heart feels like it’s ripping apart.
My mother’s face flashes in my mind. Her desperate need to prove that permanence and stability and everlasting devotion aren’t just plot devices. I’ve never believed in any of that. Why would I? I’ve never seen any evidence that it’s real. Like I told Mom when she was in Mexico, left behind by yet another man: If he loved you, he wouldn’t leave you.
If Ryan loved me…
Abruptly, I stand and walk toward the windows. Tears blur my vision. Georgia pointed out that I’ve never had much of an emotional connection to anyone I’ve dated. Well, there’s a reason for that—I’ve never allowed myself to care too much.
And god, it’s so much easier that way.
Maybe I had the right idea all along, burying myself in books so I don’t have to feel all this. Some distance from Ryan might be good—I’ve started relying on him, and that’s never a good idea. I learned that with Mom. Now it’s happening again—I’m letting myself need someone, handing them the power to break my heart.
So I do what I’ve always done: pack up my emotions—confusion, hurt, abandonment—seal them in the farthest corner of my heart, and ice them over so they’ll never, ever thaw.
“When are you leaving?” I ask without looking back at Ryan.
“I was thinking I’d drive down tomorrow. Do you want to come with me? We could stay the night at a bed-and-breakfast—I’d love to get your opinion on everything.”
The thought of seeing him in some other bookstore makes my eyes flood with tears again. But I know this isn’t how he wanted things to turn out, and I never want to make him feel bad for trying to do what’s best.
So I blink away the tears and smooth my hair before turning around. Ryan’s sitting on the edge of the couch, watching me with a concerned expression.
“I don’t think so,” I say, “I have so much to do at the bookstore this weekend. I’m overwhelmed as it is.”
“I don’t have to go tomorrow; we can find another time—”
“No, you should go,” I say, and give him a smile that I hope looks genuine. Supportive. “You can call me and tell me all about it.”
He looks disappointed, but nods. “Yeah, of course. I understand.”
“I’m really excited for you,” I say. “Congrats on this new opportunity.”
If he catches the lie in my voice, he doesn’t let on. “Thanks. I wish…” He pauses, and I wait for him to say more: I wish our plan had worked ; I don’t blame you ; I don’t want to go. But instead, he clears his throat. “Thank you.”
“Can I help you pack?” I ask.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to spend time with you.” If he doesn’t let me stay a little longer, I really might start begging, and that would be a disaster.
His face softens. “Sure. I’d love that.”
—
Ten minutes later, we’re packing a duffel bag in his bedroom, a place I never even got the chance to spend time in. There’s a king-size bed with a blue comforter covered in an insane number of pillows—more than I’ve ever seen on a man’s bed, but it’s so Ryan. Big, comfortable, inviting. One entire wall is a bookcase, bulging with messy stacks and rows of paperbacks.
I’m over by his dresser, which is littered with odds and ends. Including the pink lanyard covered with colorful romance-related buttons with their inside jokes I’ll never understand. I assume he’ll get a new one at his new store, where he’ll probably meet women who share his passion for romance.
He deserves someone like that. The thought wriggles into my mind, and I try to push it away, but I can’t. Ryan deserves someone softer than me. Someone sweeter, warmer, easier.
What do I know about happy endings, anyway?
“I guess I don’t need that anymore,” he says, coming up behind me. He’s close enough that if I lean back, he might wrap his arms around me. Maybe he’d take me to bed, and I could stop thinking about what’s happening.
My eyes land on one button in particular: Stfuattdlagg .
“You never told me what this means,” I say, touching the letters.
There’s a pause. A long pause. I turn around; he’s awkwardly shifting his weight.
“It’s, uh, something that got popular on social media,” he finally says. “The romance community picked it up, and…it’s stupid, honestly.”
The evasiveness in his voice sparks a jolt of anger. Okay, he’s leaving, and I have no say in the matter, and he didn’t even tell me until after he’d decided. But can’t he tell me this ?
I face him. “I want to know what it means.”
“No, you don’t.” There’s a stubborn edge to his voice.
“You don’t get to decide what I want.”
That’s the crux of it: he’s made a choice that affects my life, and I don’t have a say. And just like that, all the feelings I stuffed down surge up again, a red-hot flame bursting to life. Because guess what? It’s so much easier to be angry than sad.
He’s inches away, looking down at me, his eyes memorizing my face—my lips, my hair, my neck. There’s a pained expression in his eyes, a tiny crack in the mask he’s wearing. I want to rip it off.
“Tell me, Ryan.” Heat crackles between us, like it did during those first few weeks of our battle.
“It’s nothing,” he says, sharper.
“What does it mean?” I’m egging him on, poking his chest with my index finger. “Shut the fuck up and…?”
“I am not saying those words to you.” His voice is a growl.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I stick my finger in his face. “I swear to god, if you don’t tell me—”
“Shut the fuck up and take that dick like a good girl.”
And my knees hit the floor.