Chapter 18
Erin
“You should’ve seen the look on his face!” I dropped my head into my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. “I completely betrayed him.”
Monica sat forward, grabbing the box of tissues from the table and passing it to me. “I think you’re probably overexaggerating, don’t you? What did you say to him that could’ve been that bad?”
“I told him he shouldn’t come to my office, especially without calling me first.” I shrugged, grabbing for one of the tissues as my throat tightened with another wave of guilt. The last thing I had wanted to do was hurt Jacob.
“So you can tell him not to come at all?” Monica crossed her arms, resting her hands on her lap. “Why is that?”
I sighed. “I don’t know.” It was a lie. I knew exactly what it was when my stomach sank as soon as Jacob entered my office in a worn uniform. I didn’t care what he did for a living, but it was clear that he stuck out. “I guess I was worried about what people would think.”
“People meaning your coworkers?” She seemed more interested in the conversation than normal, and I sighed.
I nodded and then pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and pointer finger. “It’s stupid, I know. But he showed up in a dirty uniform, and his hands were dirty. There was dirt on his face, and I know he didn’t make it through the lobby and to the fifth floor without getting stares.”
“He’s a hard worker, but what you’re feeling isn’t unusual either. It’s not uncommon to feel pressure to date people that are in the same line of work as you are. You’re used to dating men in suits. Maybe you even feel an obligation to it.” Monica looked sympathetic, scooting forward to the edge of her seat and leaning across the coffee table. “Is that what you’re feeling?”
Did I feel pressured to date men that wore suits and ties? Rich men like Demetri? The kind that was more invested in the early morning meeting at the office than he was in going to get cinnamon rolls to eat with me in bed? I shook my head, then I stopped and nodded briefly before shaking it again. “Well, yes, but not now.”
“What do you mean by that?” Her eyes got wider, and I knew she was expecting me to say or do something concerning. It was the only reason she would look at me that way.
I shrugged, dropping back against the chair. “I mean that, yes, I think I was embarrassed when he came into my office, but now I am realizing nobody has ever brought me flowers to work for no reason except to see me.” Butterflies danced in my throat, and I swallowed, trying to calm them. “The other day he made me dinner, and then he went and got us these cinnamon rolls for breakfast…”
“Dinner and then breakfast.” Monica could make the assumption and fill in the blanks herself. She didn’t need the details, and she wasn’t going to ask for them. I was glad for that, even as a fresh wave of arousal rushed to my core. “So things are getting pretty serious between you?”
Maybe before yesterday.
I sighed. “They might have been, but I’m sure I messed it all up.” I blinked back the tears that welled on my eyelids. “He didn’t deserve to feel like I was ashamed of him. I feel horrible.”
“So tell him that.” Monica handed me a tissue when a tear slipped past my eye and raced down my cheek.
I closed my eyes, and a small sob broke from my chest. “I don’t think he wants to hear from me.”
“You can’t know that if you don’t try.” She was going to convince me to take the shot. I knew it before she asked. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I looked at her like the answer was obvious. “He could reject me.” The way I rejected him? I groaned, resting my head on the back of the chair. When I closed my eyes, I saw Jacob, and when he smiled the dimples in his cheek showed above his beard. My stomach flipped. “I know you’re right. You don’t have to say it. I’ll call him.”
I tried calling Jacob when I left Monica’s office, and again when I pulled into my parking spot at home. He didn’t answer either time. Was he ignoring me or was he busy? I hoped it was the latter, and I pulled up a blank message to text him.
ME:Please talk to me.
I waited in the car, listening to the nearly silent hum of the engine fan. No music was playing, and I zoned out, ignoring the sounds of the people on the streets around me. When I the message showed read, I held my breath and waited. No response came through.
“Damn it,” I whined, silently urging him to respond. Please?
I should have gone inside and let Jacob come to me when he was ready to talk, but what if that day never came? What if he didn’t want to talk to me anymore? My fingers hovered over the screen and my mind went blank. I had so much to say, but I couldn’t figure out how to say any of it.
ME:I’m sorry. You’re more than good enough. You’re too good for me.
I tossed my phone into my purse and cried. I cried until the fan in my engine shut off and the salty drops soaked my sweater. My mind flashed back to the first day in his kitchen, and my stomach sank.
My sister never treated you the way you should be treated.
Apparently, neither did I.