Chapter 16 Lottie
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LOTTIE
When I worked in fashion, I was fantastic in crises.
Thrived in them, even. I was the goddamn problem-solving queen of luxury.
Even now, through this whole bookstore renovation, I’ve felt myself slowly awaken from the state of numbness I’ve been in.
Problem-solving has always made me feel professionally empowered and knowledgable.
I love it. But when it comes to my personal life?
Experience has taught me I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I need help.
Are you there, Goddess? It’s me, Carlota, your favorite hot mess. I’m in my mid-thirties and my life is a goddamn joke. Any tips?
Though, if I’m honest, I don’t think appealing to any sort of deity will do me any good here.
Because I’m a coward, I avoid the store and day-dreaming about our amazing make-out session all of yesterday. Daydreaming about how close we got to getting together again, and mortified because of how abruptly it ended.
We definitely need to have a conversation—that’s clear.
The other night proved to me exactly why we wouldn’t be good together: he’s asking too much of me—or at least more than I can give.
And though I know all of this and I’ve had time to think about it, when I walk into the store Monday morning, even thirty-six hours after the incident, I still have no idea what to say.
How exactly would it even go?
Hey, Knox. Just wanted to say sorry for making out with you and then shutting you out emotionally.
Truth is, I’ve liked you since the second I met you—a fact that terrifies me to the bone—and don’t know how to handle it.
I want to jump your bones and stay in bed all morning the next day, cuddling and laughing and just being with you, but I’m fucked up and you’re too young, and we’ll never be able to be anything at all.
I’m a failure at life and love and work and I really don’t want to get attached to you because it’ll kill me when you go.
Yeah, no. I don’t think honesty is the right plan here. He’d run for the hills, screaming the entire way there, regretting the second he got into bed with this crazy-pants.
Still, I know I owe him some kind of explanation.
And even though I had mentally prepared myself to have a difficult conversation, my stomach still drops when I walk into the office and find him making himself a cup of coffee.
I was already struggling through paininduced nausea (the stress of everything was causing me to have an endometriosis flare-up, which was super fun), but seeing him standing there, watching his muscles move beneath his tshirt as he poured himself a cup, made everything I’d eaten since yesterday rise up in my throat with even more intensity.
I fist my hands at my sides and swallow hard. “Hey,” I squeak.
He tenses, his body frozen for a few seconds before turning to face me.
“Hey.” I can barely hold his glacier-blue eyes. The hurt from my rejection is still clear on his face, and it kills me. Because I know this isn’t because I turned him down for sex; it’s because I shut him out emotionally. Knox is an open book and I’m just… not.
“I was hoping we could talk?”
“Really?” He nods and looks down at his coffee, stirring it occasionally with a frown on his face. “About what? The weather? What kind of sports you’re into? Or is that too personal a conversation for you to have?”
Ouch.
I nod. “I deserve that, I guess. But you need to realize it’s not that easy for me to open up. I’ve been through… some things. And being so honest and transparent about everything isn’t in my nature.”
“We all have our shit, Lottie. But we gotta work through it.”
“I know.” I sigh, adjusting my oversized sweater over my stomach, praying it hides how bloated I look today. “But it’s not like I didn’t share anything. I told you about my divorce.” He raises a brow. “Yeah, but I didn’t get the whole story there, did I?”
“No.” The word comes out whispered, followed by his scoff.
I blow a puff of air through my lips. “Anyway, I’m sorry that I closed myself off and I’m sorry that I keep pushing you away, but it was never my intention to hurt you. I’m just not someone who opens up easily.
“I think you’re an amazing person, Knox. Truly. I really like you, but I’d like it more if we were able to work well together—I think it’s the right thing to do here. So I was wondering if it were possible for you not to hate me.” I pause for a minute to let him absorb my words.
He nods once, still not meeting my eyes.
“Thank you.”
But I’m not done: “I appreciate you understanding, but I do need to let you know, however, that I am entitled to privacy. To decide what I share and when and with whom. So while I get where you’re coming from, I hope you get where I’m coming from, too.”
His uncharacteristically hard eyes turn soft, pleading. “I like you. So much. So please don’t blame me for wanting to get to know you better.”
A deep blush creeps up my neck at his words as I marvel at how easily he’s able to express every emotion without fear when I’m barely able to admit I feel the same way about him to myself.
With a look of resignation, he says, “But you’re right about wanting privacy. You’re entitled to share whatever you want with me and I promise to adhere to your boundaries.”
“Wow. Okay. Thanks.” That was… surprisingly mature of him. I expected a little more back-and-forth, to be honest.
“You like me, though?” He asks, light in his eyes.
Ah. There it is.
“Of course that’s what you focus on.” I roll my eyes, though I’m happy to have left the uncomfortable tension behind.
“And I do. Obviously. But I don’t think that we should pursue this.
I do promise to stop being as snarky, though.
” I smile, trying to add levity to the situation.
“I’m just… disappointed you wouldn’t want to share things with me.
” I grimace because I wish more than anything that I could.
“What about a friendship? Is that a type of relationship you’d be willing to have with me?”
I bite my lower lip in hesitation. “Yes?”
He frowns, lips pressed together.
“I mean, sure. Yeah. Yes. Friends.”
“Great.” He smiles, back to his regular unbothered behavior. Knox, I’ve come to learn, bounces back faster than a dodgeball, most times. Even after his break down at the convention, he was able to get back to business after only a few minutes.
“Can I say something before we move on, though?”
I stifle a smile. “Sure.”
“You look really pretty today.” His eyes shine bright, but he isn’t joking, and I know he isn’t saying it as a line. Knox just wants me to know what he’s thinking, and I hate how I can’t help the way his words make me smile.
“Thanks. But I’m not even wearing any makeup.
I look like a mess,” I almost whisper, flushing.
I look down at my comfort-over-fashion outfit, reconsidering my leggings and old sweater combo.
Maybe I should’ve squeezed into something else?
But this morning was awful as I struggled to find something that fit me and made me feel comfortable at the same time.
I woke up more bloated than I have in months, unable to fit into anything that required buttons or a zipper. Stupid endometriosis.
“Nah. You look great.”
“Are you ready for today?” I ask, because we’re veering back into non-friend territory despite the conversation we just had.
“For the demo? Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I shrug, turning back to face him. “I don’t know.
Personally, I find it kind of sad. Although, I guess it’s different for me, you know?
I worked here. Walter gave me this job when I had nothing.
The bookstore means—meant—a lot to me. I guess it’s all kind of hitting me now, you know?
Some random retail store is going to take over this spot and it’ll all be gone. ”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “To me, it’s just something Walter left me in his will.” And something about the way he sounds feels like a stab to the chest.
Knox puffs out a breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound glib or indifferent or—I… I just realized last night that part of me might be a little jealous of you.”
“Of me?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, you—You got to know him well. I only knew him as a temporary father figure, you know? He wasn’t even in my life for a full ten years and it’s not like I got to know him the way you did.
I was a kid. But I know he was a huge influence and support for you and Jenn.
And I guess I can’t help but feel a little jealous.
” He shrugs, bashful. “I guess sometimes I’m not as okay with this whole thing as I expected myself to be, and Saturday proved that. ”
“Grief comes in so many different shapes and sizes,” I say, recalling my own experience—with Mom and Dad and with the life I lost back in New York.
“Speaking from someone who knows of loss, I can tell you that much is true. I remember the days and months after my parents’ death…
The countless emotions I went through. It’ll come in waves, and sometimes you won’t recognize it for what it is. Grief is fickle like that.”
“I didn’t know about your parents,” he says, his voice quiet.
I nod. “Yeah. It happened a while ago,” I shrug. “They both died in a car crash—drunk driver.”
“Jesus.” Knox winces, running his hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”
I take a beat, feeling the familiar sting behind my eyes whenever I think too hard about my parents’ death.
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not.” I shake my head.
“I want to say that you keep going, that you’ll find your groove again.
But it’s not true. You’ll eventually have to find an entirely new one and that’s okay.
It has to be. But you’ll never get over it.
Grief will forever be a part of your life. ”
“I’m not grieving him exactly—”