Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joey
The rain hammers on the rooftop in a ruthless fury as I huddle under a blanket on the couch, doing a crossword puzzle. Beckett should be home at any moment, meaning Barbara is curled up next to me as I consider twenty-seven across.
Good or bad vacuum review. What does that mean?
A lightbulb in my head goes off. Sucks!
This could be my future. Sitting inside on a rainy night, doing a crossword puzzle while I wait for my partner to come home.
I’d probably have some subpar meal cooked for him when he strolls in after a bad day at work.
We’d complain and laugh, wondering how people can be such idiots.
Afterwards, we’d cuddle on the couch and watch reruns of our favorite TV shows.
Maybe I’d make popcorn, and he’d jokingly complain that eating the entire bag will make me sick and that I should’ve eaten more at dinner.
But I didn’t eat more at dinner because I was too busy staring into his kind eyes as he talked about his day.
Too busy picking out each shade of green in his irises.
Maybe I was thinking about our upcoming weekend plans, which likely involved baking bread.
A sudden ache hits me deep in the chest.
Maybe I do want that life, but more than anything, I want a life with him.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, the low vibrations ripping me from my daydream. The number is unfamiliar, and though I’d normally let it go to voicemail, my gut is telling me to answer it.
I slide my thumb over the screen and bring the device to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hi! Joey?”
Unease curls in my stomach. “Uh. Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Bryan from Droplet. Sorry for calling so late. Listen, my whole team in Seattle is impressed with your work. We’ve got an open creative director position, and I would love for you to consider it.” His voice, upbeat and happy-go-lucky, grates on my nerves a little.
“Uh, I’m not sure what to say.”
Except, my overachiever actions are now formally meeting my impostor syndrome consequences.
“Take a few days to think it over and then give me a call. If you’re interested, I’ll take care of accommodations. All you have to do is bring yourself and your amazing creativity.”
I do appreciate the stroke to my ego, even though it doesn’t erase the uneasy feeling in my stomach.
“Sure. I can do that.”
“Great. Talk soon.”
Bryan’s off the phone before I can even say goodbye.
I slump back on the couch with my phone clutched in my hand. The room is quiet aside from the patter of rain on the roof and the circus music playing in my mind. The universe must be playing an elaborate joke. Nothing, and I mean nothing, about this makes sense.
Norma has surely blacklisted me, yet the very company she works for wants to bring me on?
I’m so. . .confused.
The front door swings open, and I jolt, my heart lurching.
Beckett removes his soaked jacket and shoes, then wanders into the living room. The bright smile on his face falls when he sees me.
“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He strides over and kneels down in front of me.
Right about now, I could use a ghost—specifically, the ghost of my dad. That man had a solution to every problem I encountered during the first twenty-nine years of my life.
He splays his hands over my legs, his warmth seeping into me.
“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”
I snap up straight.
Baby. That nickname.
There’s another topic I’ll be ruminating over tonight. Great.
“I—uh—I got a call,” I say, my voice trembling.
His brow furrows in concern. “Is everyone okay? Charlie? Jack? Lucy? Finn? Marnie? Frank? Vera? The tarot card lady?”
A smile tugs at my lips as he lists all the important people and animals in my life. I cup his face and stroke his stubbled cheek. “Yes. Everyone is fine. I got a call from the CEO of Droplet. They want to interview me for a creative director position.”
His eyes go wide. “That’s amazing. Wait. I didn’t realize you were thinking about changing jobs.”
I drop my hand to my lap and shake my head. “I wasn’t. He called me out of the blue. Said his team was really impressed with my work and they wanted to interview me for an open position.”
“That’s incredible.” He squeezes my knees. “When’s the interview?”
“I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to say. So he told me to think about it and call him back. But it sounded really promising.”
Head tilted, he studies my face. “Where’s the hesitation coming from, then?”
“I-I honestly have no idea. Maybe it seems too good to be true. Makes me wonder if Norma is playing an elaborate prank on me.”
“Joey.” He ducks, catching my eye, stopping me from letting my overactive imagination take over.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. That’s a bit melodramatic. I’m sure Norma’s off turning some poor, innocent employees to stone with her glare.”
He lets out a deep chuckle, patting my thighs. “How about we talk more about it over pancakes? I just need to shower first.”
“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?” I ask.
The moment the words leave my mouth, my stomach lurches.
Shit. “I meant that as a joke. You know, because I love breakfast for dinner. Actually, I love all dinner. The food you make is superb. And not just your food—anyone who cooks for me is a Michelin star chef in my mind. I’m not actually, or actively, falling in love with you.
Oh my god. That came out rude. It’s a figure of speech—”
“Joey?”
“Yeah?”
He beams up at me, his eyes full of kindness and deep understanding. “I know what you meant,” he says gently. “You don’t need to over-explain.”
“Then why did you let me go on for so long?”
A warm chuckle escapes him. “I wanted to stop you at the chef comment, but I was curious about what else you would say.”
“Jerk,” I tease.
“You love it. . .or maybe you don’t?” He hits me with a heart-stopping wink.
I wrinkle my nose in feigned disgust. “Go shower. You smell like latex and bleach.”
With a shake of his head, he cups my face. Then he leans in and places the most tender kiss on my lips.
A kiss that says Don’t worry, I have you. I know you. I understand you.
It’s a kiss that lingers long after he pulls away and disappears up the stairs.
When his bathroom door closes, I slump back into the couch with a heavy sigh. For a moment, I was free of my spiraling thoughts, but now that Beckett is gone, they’re back and in full force.
Is this the universe testing me? What the hell is happening? Is this a sign from above?
More and more, I’ve been thinking about what a future with Beckett would look like.
But if I take this job, what would that mean?
Would he want to stay in one city for the rest of his life?
Could he imagine staying with me? Would it be fair to him if I expected that?
Though he did seem genuinely excited for me.
But of course he did. He’s a beautiful anomaly and unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Of course he cared. That’s who he is. He’s the kind of man who shows up when I need him the most, always murmuring soft reassurances, soothing my self-doubts with kisses, and picking up on the smallest details.
Am I getting ahead of myself? Am I caught up in the ideas of potential, half-formed dreams?
I don’t have the faintest clue.
Maybe this relationship we’ve fallen into is temporary. A scenic stop on a long road trip. One that deserves to be fully explored but isn’t the end goal.
A cherished memory. The kind that leaves a lasting impression, lingering in a person’s mind for decades to come.
But not the destination.
No. He’s so much more than a stop along the way. He deserves the love of someone who knows what she wants, knows where she’s going. And right now I am not that person. My direction is akin to using a broken compass—lost and uncertain.
Maybe I need to take this next step.
Me? A creative director?
The mere thought is thrilling and daunting.
Do I even have what it takes for this type of role?
I guess the only way to know is to take the plunge into the unknown.
While Beckett and I briefly discussed not wanting this to end when our time in Hemlock is up, this new development adds complications.
It made sense to date long distance while we both traveled. We share an insatiable sense of wanderlust, both reveling in the adventure of exploring a new city and creating new memories with each road we travel.
Now, with the prospect of an on-site job on the horizon, it all feels a bit too complicated for my liking.
And at what point does this become too much for him?
“I can feel your mind overworking again,” Beckett murmurs into my hair. “What’s going on in there?”
Rather than talk over pancakes, we ate mostly in silence. Now, like this, tucked into his side on the couch while Barbara is sleeping peacefully on the top of the cushion behind us, I know I should be completely honest with him, but I’m petrified.
Burying my face in his shirt, I murmur, “I really like you. I like this. I like us.”
His muscles tighten a fraction. “I’m afraid of where this is going.”
“Don’t be. I’m being dramatic. Again. I’m wondering what the plan is after, you know, all of this.” I wave a hand, face still buried because this topic is making my eye twitch.
The vibration of his soft laugh reverberates through my cheeks. “After our time here is up, I assumed we’d follow each other around. I’d discuss my assignment locations, you’d give me your thoughts, and we’d choose any destination. . .without snow, of course.”
I huff out a laugh. “I know I’m putting the cart before the horse, but I like to prepare for disasters. So what happens if I get the job? That’s a disaster I need to prepare for.”
“First of all, stop burrowing yourself into my side. I can barely hear you,” he teases, “and you’re digging into my ribs.”
With a huff, I sit up. My hair falls into my face and Beckett, like he always does, smooths the strands back.
“Second,” he says, cradling my cheek, “say the words and I’ll follow you.”
A surge of emotions knocks all the air out of me. Happiness blooms while fear lurks in the shadows.
“We barely know each other,” I say. “I’m not worth the hassle. You can’t give up what you want in life for someone you barely know.”
He angles in, expression intense. “Not acceptable.”
Confused, I frown. “Huh? What?”
He cups my face in both of his hands now, holding me as if he’s afraid he’ll shatter me. “Do not talk about yourself like that. I never want to hear the phrase ‘I’m not worth the hassle’ come out of your mouth again. You’re not and will never be a hassle.”
“Following me is a big commitment,” I argue, “and we’ve only known each other for a couple of months.”
“Josephine, let me make something clear to you.” His palms still rest against my cheeks—grounding, soft. “I am very certain about how I feel about you. I stand by what I said. Say the words, and I’ll follow you.”
More words. More words to ruminate over.