5
I cried for three days.
Then I became productive enough to frighten people.
I finalized vendor contracts, secured two radio interviews, and convinced the mayor’s office to sponsor the performance stage. I repainted the back hallway at Margin Notes because apparently heartbreak gave me upper-body strength.
Keon stayed away.
He sent no emails.
Made no surprise visits.
Offered no excuses.
His absence hurt, but it also provided clarity.
Love alone could not make a relationship healthy. Chemistry could light a room while still burning down the building.
Two weeks before the festival, Maddox Restoration’s office manager emailed to ask whether Keon could use Margin Notes for a short portfolio walk-through.
A development group considering his company for a major contract wanted to see one of his recent commercial restoration projects. Since the roof, ceiling, and lighting work had been completed on my building, it qualified.
I almost declined out of pure emotional pettiness.
Then I remembered I was a business owner, not a teenager with access to somebody’s yearbook picture and a black marker.
I approved a twenty-minute visit for Tuesday afternoon.
At exactly two o’clock, a woman walked into Margin Notes wearing a camel coat, pointed brown heels, and enough confidence to own several parking garages.
She was tall, elegant, and deep brown, with a sleek ponytail, diamond studs, and a leather portfolio tucked beneath one arm. Her face held the calm, polished expression of a woman who never entered a room without knowing where the exits and power players were.
“Page Carter?” she asked.
“That depends on whether you’re serving legal papers.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Sabrine Holt. Holt Urban Development.”
I recognized the name before she extended her hand.
Keon’s former fiancée.
Of course she was gorgeous.
Men never described their exes accurately. Keon had called Sabrine regular. Sabrine looked like she drank imported water and could reject a mortgage application with one perfectly arched eyebrow.
I shook her hand.
“You’re reviewing Maddox Restoration for the Atlanta project?”
“I’m overseeing the regional expansion.”
Her gaze moved through the bookstore, taking in the exposed brick, restored moldings, track lighting, and polished hardwood floors.
“Keon said the owner had strong opinions about preserving the original character.”
“The owner has strong opinions about everything.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The words were polite.
The delivery wore expensive armor.
I smiled. “I’m sure you have.”
Sabrine looked at me more directly.
“So you’re Page.”
The way she said it told me Keon had spoken my name enough for it to become familiar.
“I have been for thirty-four years.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “You look different from what I expected.”
“Keon described me?”
“He avoided describing you. That was more informative.”
I folded my arms.
Sabrine rested her portfolio on the counter. “Relax. I’m here to inspect construction, not reclaim history.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“You’re gripping your elbow.”
I released my arm.
“I was stretching.”
“Of course.”
I decided right then that Sabrine Holt was the type of woman who could insult you while keeping perfect posture and plausible deniability.
She walked toward the repaired ceiling.
“The plaster work is clean.”
“It should be. The repair took six weeks and several emotionally sterile emails.”
She glanced at me.
“Ah.”
“Ah, what?”
“That explains why Keon postponed two Atlanta calls and arrived at the third one looking like somebody had repossessed his peace.”
“He survived.”
“He usually does.”
Something in her tone made me look closer.
There was history between them. Real history. It did not feel romantic anymore, but it had left edges.
“You were with him when he started his company,” I said.
Sabrine’s expression cooled slightly. “Keon discussed me?”
“Enough.”
“I imagine his version involved me abandoning a struggling man and driving into the sunset in a luxury vehicle.”
“He never mentioned the vehicle.”
“It was a used Lexus. The transmission failed three months later.”
I almost laughed.
Sabrine removed a small measuring device from her portfolio.
“For the record, I did leave when his business was failing.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I also paid our rent for nine months, handled his invoices after working my own job, and repeatedly begged him to tell me whether we were drowning or merely uncomfortable.”
That silenced me.
She measured the moisture level near the repaired wall.
“Keon’s favorite coping mechanism was becoming unreachable while standing in the same room,” she continued. “I got tired of loving a man who treated communication like a hostage negotiation.”
I thought about the storm.
The silence afterward.
His Atlanta decision.
“That sounds familiar,” I said.
“I figured it might.”
She slipped the device back into its case.
“I wasn’t wrong to protect myself,” she said. “I was wrong in the way I left. I said things designed to wound him because I wanted him to feel as powerless as I did.”
“You told him love wasn’t enough to survive struggle.”
Her eyes met mine.
“I told him love wasn’t enough to survive his version of struggle. He erased one word and built a worldview around it.”
That sounded exactly like Keon.
The front door opened.
Keon entered wearing dark slacks, a navy shirt, and an expression that changed the moment he saw us standing together.
“Sabrine.”
“You’re late,” she said.
“Seven minutes.”
“That is late.”
He looked at me. “Page.”
“Contractor.”
Sabrine glanced between us. “That explains the frost warning.”
Keon set a tube of blueprints on the counter. “I thought you were meeting me at the office.”
“You asked for a site assessment. This is the site.”
“I meant we’d meet at the office first.”
“Your assistant sent me here. Efficient woman.”
Keon’s gaze returned to me. “I didn’t know she was coming alone.”
“I didn’t know you were applying for a project in Atlanta.”
Sabrine became very interested in the decorative molding.
Keon’s shoulders tightened.
“Page—”
“What Atlanta project?”
“It’s still in negotiation.”
Sabrine closed her portfolio. “I’ll inspect the rear room.”
She walked away with the unhurried elegance of somebody refusing to run from an explosion she had technically helped cause.
Keon lowered his voice.
“Maddox Restoration was invited to bid on twelve commercial properties in Atlanta.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“Before the rooftop?”
“Yes.”
“Before you stood in my bookstore and told me you were trying to figure things out?”
“Yes.”
“You never thought your possible relocation was relevant?”
“I hadn’t made a decision.”
“You had enough information to involve your former fiancée.”
“She works for the developer. I didn’t choose her.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I know how it looks.”
“It looks like you were building an exit while keeping a key to my apartment.”
His face tightened. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“What did you think would happen if you accepted?”
“The contract requires me to live in Atlanta for at least a year. Tavron can run the Riverton office.”
“And where did I fit?”
“That’s what I was trying to figure out.”
I laughed once, but nothing about it felt funny.
“You had already assigned me a position. I was the woman you enjoyed until your real life started.”
“That is not true.”
“You made a life-changing decision while keeping me outside the conversation. That tells me everything.”
“I haven’t accepted the contract.”
“You also haven’t declined it.”
“This opportunity could change my company.”
“I hope it does.”
“Page.”
“I mean that. I want you to succeed. I refuse to be the woman sitting in Riverton waiting for updates.”
“I never asked you to wait.”
The sentence struck the center of my chest.
Keon’s face changed as soon as he heard himself.
I nodded slowly.
“That might be the most honest thing you’ve said.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You meant you never made me a promise. You’re right. You didn’t.”
Sabrine returned from the rear hallway.
Her professional mask had slipped just enough for discomfort to show around her eyes.
“I can reschedule the assessment,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “Finish it.”
Keon kept his attention on me. “Page, please.”
“I gave permission for a business appointment. Complete your business.”
I stepped behind the counter.
Sabrine remained where she was for a moment.
Then she spoke carefully.
“Keon, I’m going to inspect the exterior. You should handle this.”
He looked at her. “There’s nothing to handle right now.”
“There is. You’re simply doing the thing where you decide silence is safer than saying the wrong sentence.”
His jaw hardened.
Sabrine held his gaze.
“Silence is still a sentence,” she said.
Then she walked outside.
The front door closed behind her.
Keon turned back to me.
“I was afraid to ask you to come with me because I hadn’t given you a reason to trust the offer.”
“You were right.”
“I also knew that if I asked, I would be responsible for what you gave up.”
“I own a business here. My family is here. My life is here. Did you imagine I’d fold Margin Notes into a suitcase and follow your work truck down the interstate?”
“No.”
“Then you knew asking me to come wasn’t a plan. It was a fantasy that kept you from having a real conversation.”
He rubbed a hand over his beard.
“I don’t know how to do this right.”
“That stopped being a complete excuse months ago.”
Pain flashed across his face.
I hated myself for noticing.
“I need you to leave,” I said.
He remained where he was.
“Please.”
Keon nodded slowly.
He gathered his blueprints.
At the door, he turned.
“I’m sorry I made you feel temporary.”
I held his gaze.
“You didn’t make me feel temporary. You treated me that way.”
The words landed.
He left without defending himself.
Sabrine returned several minutes later. Keon’s truck was already gone.
She placed the completed assessment form on the counter.
“For what it’s worth, there’s nothing romantic between Keon and me.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You do?”
“You look at him like a former business investment with complicated tax consequences.”
Sabrine laughed.
It transformed her face and made her look younger.
“That might be the most accurate description of our relationship.”
I glanced at the assessment.
“Will he get the contract?”
“He’s the strongest candidate.”
“Then choose the strongest candidate.”
“You don’t want me to punish him?”
“I’m heartbroken, not unprofessional.”
Her expression softened, although the polished armor did not disappear completely.
“You’re good for him,” she said.
“I’m not interested in being good for a man who refuses to be good with me.”
“That was better stated than anything I said at your age.”
“You’re forty-one.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Keon told you that?”
“I guessed.”
“You guessed correctly, which makes it worse.”
I smiled despite myself.
Sabrine picked up her portfolio.
“I hope he learns faster with you than he did with me.”
“I hope he learns for himself.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded.
“That would be the better reason.”