Chapter 46 George
GEORGE
I pull off my glasses and rub my eyes. Faint light is just starting to spread into the sky from below the horizon. I’ve been up for hours, ever since I gave up any pretense I was going to get any sleep.
I figured I might as well work on my Steele edits. Combing through the manuscript fixing all the little details is my least favorite part of the process. But, at least it’s letting me focus on annoyance over that instead of the nagging ache in my gut over what happened with Owen.
Jesus, what is wrong with me, though? Of course he and I weren’t going to ride off into the happily ever after together.
That was never what this was. I just went temporarily insane and made a complete ass of myself.
Oh, and drove a George Knight-sized wedge of awkwardness straight into what was otherwise developing into an actually decent friendship, probably making Owen so uncomfortable, he’ll be afraid to talk to anyone new in the future.
Oh, God.
Right. Steele.
I turn back to my laptop, positioned at the kitchen table, and poise my fingers over the keys. The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can go home and get on with whatever it is I am going to get on with.
Although that’s not strictly true because we agreed to swap through the third.
And I guess I could talk to Owen about switching back sooner if I really wanted to…
but that would involve talking to Owen. Not to mention being back in the city just in time for Luca’s wedding, which was kind of the whole point in coming here to work in the first place.
And also, there’s the small detail that I have no idea what I’ll be getting on with once I am getting on. So, in short, everything blows.
Jesus, I have to pull myself together. None of that is true.
Well, okay, no, half of it is true. But I definitely know what I’m getting on with.
Anabel basically gave me the green light for the historical romance manuscript.
She’s already texted twice asking when she’s going to see some pages (in a good way).
It’s everything I could have hoped for. I should be over the moon. I am over the moon.
The implications are still hitting me. New books, new readers, a brand-new chance to do something I truly love. I wouldn’t even have considered the possibility of it a month ago.
I wouldn’t have considered the possibility at all if it weren’t for Owen.
I drop my forehead onto my keyboard dramatically, letting out a groan. When I sit up again, I’ve managed to replace a good half of the current scene with keyboard mash.
So now I’ve made a mess of Sebastian’s life too. His, fortunately, can be easily fixed with the undo keystroke. Mine, not so much.
I sigh. It’s my own fault. I know better than to want things. I know nine times out of ten, all I’ll get is disappointment and frustration and a mild feeling of guilt because I have so much already.
The problem is, I don’t know how not to want Owen.
Outside, a bird trills once, then stops. The sound fades into silence.
But enough about me! My super-sexy superspy has a Russian mobster to chase through the Altstadt. Might as well make myself useful in someone’s life. Even if it is fictional.
The manuscript has enough problems and my will to forcibly distract myself is strong enough that I don’t look up again until about ten a.m. when my phone rings.
It’s Zoe.
I let it go to voicemail and try to focus on coming up with different words for “sly” (since I’ve somehow used it three times in one page).
She calls again.
I haven’t talked to her in a few days. I should really pick up.
The problem is, I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone. But if I don’t answer, she’ll just try again. Or text. Or send me GIFs of Jamie from Outlander shirtless.
What does it say about my current state of mind that that sounds like a bad thing?
I pick up the phone. “Hi, Zo.”
“Hey, stranger! How’s the big book coming? I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’ve been exercising tremendous restraint and have left you alone to work for three whole days. So I assume you’ve made marvelous progress.”
“I’m doing okay.”
There’s a pause. “Okay. Well. Good!”
Apparently, I’m not doing a very good impression of a functional human. I try again. “Doing really well, in fact. Almost finished! And actually, there’s another project that’s come up.”
“Really?” She sounds excited.
“Yeah. How about I tell you about that another time?” I don’t have the energy.
“Oh. Sure.” Another very un-Zoe-like silence. She rallies, though, asking in a teasing singsong. “So, whatever happened with that Owen character?”
I cough. “What?”
“In your book. You said you wanted to base a character on Owen?”
Ugh. I forgot about that.
“I decided not to do that character.”
“Oh.”
Now I feel like a jerk. I try to remedy it. “So how about you? Usually, you have at least three hilarious anecdotes saved up when I haven’t talked to you in this long.”
“Pff, yeah, well, usually I haven’t spent the whole time running around doing last-minute wedd—” She cuts herself off with a little yelp.
“Zoe?”
“Mmm?”
“You don’t have to tiptoe around me. It’s okay to mention Luca and his wedding.”
“Well, I don’t know. Sue me! Something’s clearly bothering you.”
Crap.
“It’s not that,” I say quietly.
There’s silence, and for a minute, I’m terrified she’s going to ask me to elaborate on things I don’t want to talk about. Can’t talk about.
But Zoe is a true friend. Because when she finally speaks, she just says, “You know how to reach me if you need me.”
“Thanks, Zo.”
“Now go back to work before that bitch of an editor sends the overdue book police to come arrest you!”
I can’t quite manage a laugh, but I do smile. “One of these days I’m going to sit the two of you in a room and force you to work it out.”
“Ha!”
“Also, wouldn’t the overdue book police work for the library, not a publishing house?”
“Goodbye, George…”
“Also, my manuscript isn’t overdue, it’s just due!”
She blows a kiss into the phone with an exaggerated mwah, and then she’s gone.
I tap a key on the laptop, which has fallen asleep. Then I stare at the wall of my own words and try not to notice how utterly, totally alone I am.