CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JENNIFER
For someone who cleans for a living, I’m actually a pretty unorganized and messy person.
Maybe it’s because I’m tired when I come home to my little one bedroom one bath apartment at the end of the day.
Or I’m simply lazy. Either way, when I put down my phone, I eye the mess that is my place and go into full-on ‘yikes, Seth is going to see how I live like a pig’ mode.
I zoom around the apartment, stuffing loose odds and ends into an empty laundry basket, which I plop into the bathtub and pull the shower curtain to hide, patting myself on the back over my cleverness.
I then spend a few precious minutes vacuuming, dusting, and loading the dishwasher before I head to shower.
Only to realize there’s a basket in there.
So much for my so-called smarts. Oh well.
I haul the basket back out, shower, and then put it back in there.
Being apart from Seth has been torture. Almost every moment of the days since I left I’ve spent wondering and worrying over how he’s doing.
I’m still supposed to be cleaning and cooking for him.
Oops. But I figured he wouldn’t rat me out to Mrs. Avery, and if things stretched on too long, I would confess everything to her.
Another reason for my relief at his text.
But mostly I’m just thrilled that he reached out. Still, he made a report. Part of me wants to laugh. Of course, he made a report. That's so perfectly Seth- turning a life-or-death decision into a presentation with data and charts.
But another part of me is terrified. What if the report is just more empty promises? More “I'll try” and “I'll do better” without any actual change?
What if I have to say no again?
The brisk knock on the door makes me jump.
I smooth my hands over my jeans, take a breath, and open it.
Seth stands there in jeans and a navy henley, his hair slightly disheveled, no doubt he's been running his hands through it. He looks tired with dark circles under his eyes, but his blue eyes are clear and bright, and to my adoring gaze he’s never looked more handsome.
And he's holding a three-ring binder that makes my lips lift in a smile.
“Hi,” he says quietly.
“Hi.” I step back to let him in. “That's... your report.”
He smiles. “Our report. Forty-seven pages.” He says it like a confession. “I know it's excessive. But I needed you to see that this isn't just talk.”
I close the door and lean against it, crossing my arms. Not defensive, just... protecting myself. “Okay. I'm listening.”
He sets the binder down on my small living room table, then turns to face me. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t reach for me, he just stands and shoves his hands into pockets. Honestly, it’s a pretty casual stance for him.
“I need to start by saying I'm sorry. Really, truly and unbelievably sorry for all that I put you, and us through.” His voice is steady, but I can hear the strain of emotion underneath the calm.
“You were right about everything. When that call came in, my first instinct was to fix it, control it, and be the hero.
I didn't think about my health or my promises or you.
I just... reverted. To who I've always been.”
I nod but don't say anything. What is there to say? It’s all true.
“These past days without you have been the worst of my life. Worse than the hospital. Worse than the initial collapse.” He takes a deep breath.
“But they were also necessary. Because you were right about something else. I needed to sit with this alone. To figure out what I actually want, not what I think I should want.”
I moisten my lips, feeling myself trembling as I force out the question, “And what do you want?”
“You. This life. To be healthy enough to grow old together.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and pulls up a familiar app.
“My blood pressure has been climbing since you left.
Look- 142 over 89 that first night. 145 over 91 yesterday afternoon.
My watch kept warning me about elevated stress.
I wasn't sleeping, eating properly, and could barely move.”
He shows me the graphs, the red zones creeping back in.
“And then last night, after I made real decisions, after I took real action, it started coming back down. 132 over 84 by bedtime. 128 over 82 this morning.” He meets my eyes. “My body knows what's good for me even when my brain takes longer to figure it out.”
Despite myself, I feel a flutter of hope. “What real decisions?”
“That's what the report is for.” He gestures to the table. “Can I show you?”
I move to the small couch I salvaged from the curbside on trash day and sit down.
He sits beside me, our thighs touching, and I breathe in the amazing scent of him as the warmth from his big body takes my chill away.
He opens the binder to the first page, and my gaze moves over the page, and I read.
Operation: Choose Life the title reads. A Comprehensive Plan for Not Being an Idiot
I snort despite myself. “Subtle.”
“I am nothing if not self-aware.” He flips to the next page. “This is the six-month transition timeline. I called an emergency board meeting yesterday. Presented my resignation as CEO.”
I freeze. “You what?”
“I'm stepping down. My COO, Allen, is taking over.
He's been ready for two years, but I've just been too controlling to let him. The board approved it. Reluctantly, they approved it.” He shows me printed emails, meeting notes, and the formal transition plan.
“Months one through two, we announce and start leadership training.
Months three through four, he shadows everything, and I step back from daily operations.
Months five through six, final handoff. By the end of month six, I'm a board member only. Quarterly meetings. That's it.”
I stare at the documents, trying to process everything. From what I’m understanding he’s giving everything up. I shake my head, certain I’m mistaken. “Seth, this is your company. You built this from nothing. You’re leaving it? ”
“Yes, it will be fine without me. Better, probably.” He flips to another section.
“Here's the data on successful founder transitions.
Sixty-three percent of companies that do planned succession with strong COOs actually perform better after the founder steps back.
The ones that fail are the ones where the founder can't actually let go, where they keep interfering.”
He looks at me. “I'm going to let go. Really let go.”
Hope fills me, but I’m cautious. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I have an accountability plan.” He shows me another section. “Weekly therapy appointments. I've already contacted three therapists in town and narrowed it down to two I want to interview. The daily health tracking continues along with monthly reviews. And I've built in an exit clause.”
“An exit clause?”
“If I start slipping back, if I start taking crisis calls, working more than twenty hours a week, letting my health metrics decline, there's an intervention plan. You, Allen, and my future therapist are the intervention team. You can force me to step back further or exit completely.”
I flip through the pages, and it's all there.
Property listings for houses in town. THIS town.
Home office setup plans. A list of potential consulting opportunities that are time-limited and project-based.
Research on local doctors. Heart-healthy recipe collections.
Exercise routines that include morning walks and yoga.
“Phase three,” he says, pointing to a section. “New life. I've been thinking about what I actually want to do with my time if I'm not running the company. Advisory work, maybe. Limited consulting. But also...” He hesitates. “I've been researching the hospitality industry.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“I’ve been enjoying my time here. The area is peaceful, and the cabin is comfortable.”
A grin tugs at my lips. Leave it to Seth to term a luxury cabin merely comfortable instead of extravagant. How many real cabins have huge showers, jacuzzi tubs, espresso machines, and come with housekeeping services? Silly man.
“I've been looking into things, and Mrs. Avery mentioned she’s been thinking of selling the resort.”
My heart starts beating faster. This is the first time I've heard of this. Guess I’ll be job hunting soon.
“What if we bought it?”
The words hang in the air between us, and all thoughts of my lack of job security disappear.
“We,” I repeat slowly, unsure if I’m hearing him correctly.
“We. As in both of us. Partners.” He flips to a section labeled “Resort Opportunity” and I see he's done full research.
Market analysis. Financial projections. Comparable properties.
“It's a good investment. The property is undervalued. With some renovations and better marketing, it could be very profitable. But more importantly...” He looks at me.
“It would be ours. Something we run together. I could help with the business side, but it would be your vision and your decisions.”
I'm overwhelmed. It's too much. The report, the planning, the resignation, the resort idea. And yet so much planning but a very important thing hasn’t been mentioned at all.
“You've thought of everything,” I pause, “except one thing.”
His blue eyes flare wide, and he starts flipping through all forty-seven pages of his binder.
I watch him and wait for him to realize the huge flaw in all his planning.
With a huff, he goes back to the first page and glances beseechingly at me. “What could I have forgotten?” he asks with a furrow between his brows.
I take pity on him because he genuinely is trying, and he’s been a businessman all his life. “Me,” I say simply. “You forgot me.”
“No, I didn’t.” He pages forward and starts pointing out the various parts where I’m listed in his plans.
I take his hand and carefully close his binder. “Seth, you never asked me if I was okay with any of this. You never even asked me to be your girlfriend.” I lick my lips. “Or more.”
Understanding dawns, and my sometimes clueless, but utterly adorable tech genius drops down to both knees, squeezed between the couch and the coffee table, and he takes my hand. “I don’t have a ring. I’ll buy you whatever you want, but Jennifer, will you-”
My palm goes over his lips, stopping him as I smile. “I don’t need a proposal. Not just yet.” My smile grows. “I’d settle for being your girlfriend.”
He kisses my palm and pulls his head back slightly. “You’re so much more than that to me,” he whispers in a husky voice that makes my core tighten up. “Jennifer, I love you. You are my everything.”
I shove at the table and then I’m on my knees on the floor with him. Our hands reach and grab, our mouths meeting with a satisfying crash as we kiss. My entire body is on fire for him, but mostly my heart is so full that tears leak from my eyes and soon our kisses taste salty from them.
Seth pulls back in panic, his gaze darting over my face. “What’s wrong? What have I done?” he asks with anguish in his voice.
I cover his hands holding my face and smile through my tears. “You’ve done everything. Everything right. I love you so much, and I’m so happy.”
His thumbs brush my damp cheeks. “These are happy tears?”
I nod. “I tend to get emotional at times. You’ve been warned.”
“Warning noted.” He leans in and captures my lips again in a soft and gentle kiss that soon turns heated.
Between frantic kisses we somehow make it back to the bedroom, leaving our clothes all over as we strip. Once on the bed, we waste no time showing each other just how much we were missing the other.