Page 85 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
I faced her. “You know why. Beck told me that you know.”
“Please, just answer it.”
I glanced at the box where the lantern I’d lettered poked out. “He feels like it’s a betrayal to Poppy.”
Victoria looked down. It was a long moment before she responded. “He doesn’t tell people that, Emily.” She pushed her hands through her thick curls. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the group harasses him about coming with us? Do you honestly think they’d give him so much shit if they knew?” She took a step in my direction. “If you know, it means he trusts you. It means he does love you.”
I looked at the floor. The picture swam in my tears.
He loved me.
And I broke his heart.
“I really need to get started,” I said. Please, go. I mentally begged.
“You have my number if you need anything,” she said quietly.
I waited until I heard the door click shut before sinking into the closest chair and letting the tears consume me.
Chapter 25
Ihated that my canvas was a mirror. I tried not to meet the eyes of the girl in the reflection. She had a blotchy mask around her red-rimmed eyes, and the light had been snuffed from her irises.
I tried to go through my ritual as much as possible. I knotted my hair in its same low bun. I shuffled the same playlist I always used for calligraphy projects. I tried to trick my mind. It’s just me doing another project.
But it was no use. Everything had changed.
The only good thing about this heartbreak was that I didn’t have the bandwidth for nervous energy. What was the worst that could happen? Misspell a name? Omit a table? Not write perfect h’s?
None of that mattered. Not when my heart had been torn like wet paper and then left in my chest to mold.
An hour into lettering, my phone rang. My fingers ached for a break, but I scowled when I saw Wesley’s name on the screen. I answered, shouldering it so I could roll some relief into my wrists.
“Hello?” My swollen, waterlogged sinuses made it sound as though I’d caught a cold.
Thankfully, Wesley either couldn’t hear the difference between my regular voice and my I’ve-been-ugly-crying-since-sunrise voice, or he simply didn’t care. “Emily, I saw you were able to get some of the reconfigurations done that I asked for. Thank you for taking the initiative.”
Okay, off to a good start. Maybe he’ll let me keep my job. Or, at least, let me come on with the janitorial staff. I could scrub toilets if it meant I didn’t have to sleep in my Prius.
“Sure,” I said, “no problem.”
“I also wanted to see if you could head a Zoom meeting with a team from corporate so we can start process modeling on the newest project.”
“Today?” I asked. My mind felt less like a brain and more like two marbles, a paper clip, and half a stick of gum. I pulled back to look at the time. It was four thirty-three already. “When?”
“At five.” He seemed unbothered by the idea of giving me twenty-seven minutes to prep for a meeting I didn’t know about until now. I eyed the mirror. I’d only completed a quarter of it.
“Wait.” My mind reeled. If he wanted me to lead a meeting for an upcoming project . . .“So, I’m not . . . fired?”
“God, no.” He said it as though our last conversation wasn’t about insubordination and how he’d practically have to sacrifice his firstborn to keep us on board.
“What about the forms? HR hasn’t sent me anything over.”
“Surely Beck has spoken to you.”
The strained silence served as an answer.
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Beck quit this morning. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
