Chapter 30
The sound of someone knocking on my door wakes me from a dead sleep.
I bolt upright in bed at the same time my heart jumps into my throat.
I don’t know about anyone else, but being startled awake by a loud noise twenty feet away when you live alone in the country is enough to make my mind jump to serial killers.
Thankfully, my adrenaline-pumped brain chimes in and reminds me that a serial killer probably wouldn’t knock if he wanted to break in and murder me in my sleep.
“Who is it?” I call as I swing my legs out of bed and stuff my feet into a pair of slippers.
“It’s Julien” comes the muffled reply.
Now my heart is racing for an entirely different reason.
The “Flight of the Bumblebee” tune starts going through my mind as a soundtrack to my franticness.
I look down at myself and take in my sleep set.
He’s already seen me in my pajamas multiple times, so there’s no use trying to change clothes.
My hair is a hopeless cause too, although I do find a scrunchie and quickly pull it up into a messy bun.
My breath, though . . . I cup my hand over my mouth, breathe, then race to the bathroom.
“Just a minute!”
I swirl mouthwash around, gargle, then spit. That’s as good as it’s going to get at the moment. I’m attractively (yeah right) rubbing sleep out of my eye when I open the door.
“Good morning,” Julien says way too cheerfully while he looks entirely too handsome in his pristine blue suit. He holds out a to-go cup from Cotton-Eyed Cup of Joe. “The barista said Mexican hot chocolate is your favorite.”
Just the mention of the drink makes me think of our kiss last night.
I take the warm beverage and duck my head, taking a sip even though my mouth is still minty from the mouthwash, simply so I can have a minute to comport myself.
The memory of that kiss makes my stomach flutter in the most delicious way.
“Can I come in?” Julien asks, and I realize I’m blocking his path into the apartment like a dunderhead.
I step aside, then close the door behind him. When I turn back around, he’s staring at me, that soft expression back on his face.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how you look first thing in the morning.”
I pat the topknot that’s slipped to a weird angle on top of my head. “Like a mess?”
“Adorable.” He takes a step closer, invading my space. “Kissable.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my lips to prove his point before wrenching himself away and physically pushing me back a step with his hands on my shoulders. “Nope. Can’t get distracted. That’s not why I came this morning.”
I’m not complaining, and I definitely don’t mind if he lets himself get distracted, but I am curious. “Why are you here so early this morning? I thought you’d be at the office all day.”
“I need to talk to you, and I wanted you to hear this from me and not some news circuit. Knowing my dad, he’s likely to put out a press release before the dust has any time to settle.” He unbuttons his suit jacket and then takes a seat on my tiny sofa.
I look at him there, in my space, and I’m hit again by how right it feels, him here with me.
I wonder if I’d look just as right in his space.
In the life he’s made for himself. He pats the cushion beside him, inviting me over.
And, I think, that’s exactly what he’s doing—inviting me into his life. Making room for me.
I sit beside him, but not too close. Instead, I angle my body so that I’m facing him.
This seems like a serious face-to-face conversation about to happen and not a cuddle-on-the-couch-and-relax kind of dialogue.
Even so, my knee presses against his thigh.
I’m thankful for the point of contact. For the warmth flowing from his body into mine. The reassurance it brings.
“From your body language, I’m assuming whatever you want to say isn’t good news.”
Julien takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. “Dad finally admitted that it’s time to retire. There’s a board meeting later today where he’s officially naming me as CEO and president of King Publishing, effective immediately.”
“Julien, that’s wonderful!” I launch myself into his arms, happiness filling my heart to almost-bursting levels.
This is what he’s wanted. What he’s spent so long working so hard for.
Not to mention he can stop worrying so much about how the stress of work is affecting his dad’s health. “Why, it’s terrific news.”
He hugs me back, squeezing me tight. For some reason, his arms around me feel less like a celebration and more like he’s trying to protect me. Like he’s physically trying to wrap himself around me to keep me safe. Against what, I don’t know. We should be firing off confetti cannons right now.
His arms band about me even more. “Do you remember in Florida? You asked what I would do if it was my choice?” His lips are by my ear, his words coming out low and slow, as if each one is barbed and lacerating his throat on the way out of his mouth.
His breath is warm as it passes over the shell of my ear, but his question causes a shiver of premonition to race down my spine. I close my eyes as what he’s saying lands like a punch in the center of my sternum.
He’s closing Squire.
My Max and Layla books aren’t getting published after all.
This was supposed to be my open door. The silver lining. The library is already closing the first door on me, and now Julien is slamming the other shut as well. Does no one want to let me in? Am I not good enough for anywhere?
If this is another of Julien’s grandmother’s divine signs, I have no idea how to interpret it.
I didn’t think it was possible, but Julien holds me even closer as tears spring to my eyes and the familiar taste of disappointment and crushed dreams clogs my throat.
“I am so sorry, Martha.”
It takes me a second, but I manage to swallow so I can speak. “It’s okay.” I pat his back between his shoulder blades, offering him what comfort I can. I know telling me this is hurting him too.
There’s a rebellious part in the recesses of my mind screaming to argue and fight back.
Why couldn’t he stay the course? Why couldn’t he keep Squire open a little longer?
Just a few days ago, he believed in me and my books enough to think they could save the dying imprint.
Had he been lying? Couldn’t he give me a chance to see if I’m good enough?
Or maybe he realized his father’s opinion of my work had been right all along.
I stay like that, hugging him. Letting him hug me. Trying really, really hard not to follow down the path of hurt that will leave me in a hole of self-pity and resentment. Once in those depths, it’s near impossible to claw oneself out.
“Your book is going to be published,” Julien reassures me softly.
That stops me in my mental tracks. I pull back so I can look him in the eye. His expression is a bit anguished but also determined.
“What?” I ask, afraid I’ve heard wrong. My books won’t fit with any of King’s other imprints.
“Your book is going to be published,” he says again. The straight line of his jaw could cut glass the way he’s firmed it with resolve. “I know it is. I’ve already reached out to several editors at other houses. I wouldn’t be surprised if the manuscripts go to auction.”
My heart cracks a bit more, but this time the fissures are letting the hurt seep out and the love soak through.
This man. He didn’t have a change of heart.
He actually believes someone other than himself will find worth in my stories.
So much so that editors would fight over the right to publish them.
“I thought about waiting to tell you until I heard back from one of them. That way I would have good news to go along with the bad.”
“Your father recognizing your hard work and dedication is good news,” I say. Yes, I’ve suffered yet another personal blow, but I will not let that diminish the amazing thing that Julien has done. My losses shouldn’t dampen his victory.
He completely ignores what I’ve said in order to apologize again. “I really am sorry, Martha.”
“I know you are, Julien.” I run the backs of my fingers down the sides of his face, hoping to reassure him.
A sigh so deep it seems to come from my toes crests over me and escapes my lungs in total deflation.
Suddenly, comforting him takes more energy than I have.
I need space. A moment to lick my wounds.
Extricating myself from his arms, I stand and pace to the kitchen under the ruse of needing some water. I go through the motions of filling a glass and even take a sip.
What am I going to do now? There aren’t any assurances that the library trustees are going to offer me my job back.
And despite Julien’s confidence, there isn’t any guarantee that a children’s acquisitions editor from another publishing house will offer me a contract for my Max and Layla books.
I know Ryan said not to give up hope, but at this point hope seems nothing but a cruel mistress that likes to play hard to get.
I’m only going to keep getting my heart broken if I keep chasing after it.
“Don’t do that.” Julien stands as he says this, his voice the strongest it’s been all morning. His gray brows are slashes over his blue eyes as he strides purposefully toward me.
“Don’t drink water?” I ask on a forced chuckle, a weak attempt at humor and distraction, and make a show of taking a big gulp.
His warm palms grip my shoulders. He squares off with me, his gaze boring into mine, both his eyes and his hands holding me in place. “Don’t give up on yourself, on your dreams.”
Why not? You already have. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite the caustic words back. They aren’t fair, and they aren’t true, and I still have enough sense to know that voice is the voice of my pain and not my reason.
Julien’s palms slide across my shoulders, up the sides of my neck, then cradle my face. “Tell me what I can do. Please, I want to help.”
He probably means professionally. Who can he call? What favor can he cash in on my behalf? How can he make this dream of mine a reality?
But I don’t want to think about any of that right now.
I don’t want to think about rejections and words like “not a good fit” or “not what we’re looking for at this time.
” I don’t want to think about the library trustee board meeting next week.
I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel something other than this deep aching pain.
“Make me forget the hurt. Even for a moment,” I whisper, not knowing how he could even do such a thing. It seems impossible.
Confusion crosses his features. He searches my eyes, then his gaze dips down to my lips. He seems to question himself, his entire body stilling. But then he immediately lands on an answer to his unasked question as his fingers press into the base of my skull, pulling me toward him.
As soon as our lips touch, my brain stills.
A quiet hum settles between my ears as my senses override the downward spiral of my previous emotions.
Julien’s lips are soft and warm, and the spicy scent of his aftershave is heady.
His hands are firm as they frame my face, holding me in place, communicating that he’s got me.
That he’s not going anywhere. That he’s strong and capable and I can rely on him.
That I’m no longer doing this thing alone.
He tilts my head, asking me to follow his lead.
To trust him. I’m no longer thinking, only feeling, and relax further into him in response.
He kisses me like I imagine he commands a boardroom, confident and capable.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every caress of his lips, every stroke of his touch, is doing exactly what I asked him to do.
Julien is quite literally kissing away my sorrows.