Page 65 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“What do you want me to say, Beck? That I’m miserable at the trade I spent thousands of dollars in college loans to learn? That I’m fucking sick of Excel? That I’ve only been at the job for five years, and I’m already burnt out?”
“Yes. I want you to say those things because you have an out.”
“I don’t.” I slipped my feet into the water and watched the ripples. “I really don’t.”
“Why not quit? Focus on calligraphy. You could take on more jobs that way. Let it be your bread and butter.”
“Because I can’t, Beck.”
“I need you to help me understand why. I know what my sister is paying you for this wedding. It’s more than I make in a paycheck, and it’s just one wedding.”
“I’ve told you all this already. I can’t give up a stable job to pursue something flimsy. My mom tried that, and look what happened to her. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of restless sleep in a stuffy van with no air conditioner, my stomach hollow and rumbling. How every sound outside the van’s doors would send a surge of fear down my spine. I would never do anything to risk going back to that place, to feeling like a starved animal.
We sat quietly for a long while, swishing our feet in the water until Beck finally spoke again, low and careful. “I mean no disrespect to your mom, but Emily, you are too detail-oriented to let something like that happen. Tell me you don’t watch your account like a hawk. That you don’t have a padded savings account? That you don’t have a budget to keep you in check.”
He had me pegged, but I knew the fear would always act as a gatekeeper to what could be. “I’d rather play it safe.”
“Okay, then play it safe. But don’t stay at The Arlow Group.”
“Trying to get rid of me, are you?” I asked, looking to find that easygoing, jovial place we usually frequented together. But, again, it was a bust.
“I don’t want you to feel stuck. That’s a dangerous place to be. You have options. Maybe you just need to get out of that place. Hell, be a greeter at Walmart to support yourself while you get into calligraphy. Or wait tables. Something. Anything. But do me a favor and go somewhere you’re appreciated. We both know you should have gotten my job, but they hired out instead. It’s bullshit.”
“It is bullshit,” I agreed. “But it would have been a shame if they hadn’t.”
The air between us seemed to get thicker, like someone turned up the humidity. “Because we wouldn’t have met?” Beck finally asked.
I threw a pebble into the water to give me something other than his face to look at, sure my cheeks had turned strawberry red. “Yeah,” I said. “And then I’d never have gotten this free vacation.”
Beck threw his head back in contagious laughter. “Speaking of this vacation,” he said after regaining his composure. “It’s time to upgrade this experience.”
He pointed to a woman sliding down the waterfall with an elated scream, then peeled his sweaty shirt off. And damn. I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times at the gym’s pool. Why? Why did the sight of his chest and those abs and that line of hair trailing from his navel still make my insides feel like cotton candy being stretched too thin?
“Wait,” I said, my brain groggy from lust. “You’re going in?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, like duh.
“But it’s a body of water . . . that’s outdoors . . . I don’t know. I’m trying to understand your rule. So, it’s just beaches you avoid?”
Beck nodded, jaw tight. “Just beaches.”
“Have fun, I guess,” I said, leaning back on the rock, content to lay out like a lizard while watching him enjoy his adrenaline rush.
“Oh no, no, no. We are taking the plunge, Lane.”
Before I knew it, Beckett Atteridge had persuaded me off that rock, and I found myself at the bottom of a cliff, ready to climb iron rungs.
“Wow,” I said, grabbing the first of the rungs, which looked like giant-sized staples hammered half-assed into the cliff. “I’m so glad I decided to come with you today instead of going with the group to the beach,” I called out flatly. “Such a peaceful getaway.”
Beck halted his climb to look down at me, clearly amused by my discomfort. “I never promised a serene hike.”
“If I die, donate my pen collection to a local school.”
“Great idea. I’m sure teachers would make good use of your Bics.”
I snorted.
