Page 44 of Barron's Second Chance
"Are you thinking of...?" her Mom prompted.
"No." She paused before shaking her head. "I don't know," she amended.
"So much has happened. I'm still so hurt and angry by everything, although it's drained a little bit after our talk tonight."
She shrugged. "Too much has happened between us. We both have separate lives and have grown in different directions now for so long."
She took a bigger gulp of her wine. "I just don't know him anymore. And I don't even know if I could trust him not toderailagain. Not that I'm entertaining the idea of being with him like that," she shook her head.
"How's the attraction?" Her Mom asked.
She blushed as she remembered the feel of his arms around her. Trust her Mom to ask the tough questions.
"It's still there," she softly confessed. "But I'm not sure what to do with it. Or even whatitis." She shook her head. "Is it a leftover attraction that will fade now that we've talked? Is it a new attraction that could blossom into more? Is it just me reliving old memories and being sentimental?"
Her Mom nodded slowly in understanding. "Are you looking to find out?"
She shrugged. "He wants to talk more. Emotions ran high tonight, so I left. I couldn't commit to further talks with him."
She was silent for a long time while her Mom sat patiently beside her.
"Committing to further talks means that there's something to salvage. Something that we can work out."
"And is there?"
She took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I just really don't know."
12
The Jock and His Girl
"HowarethingsinNew Hope?" Eden’s agent, Linda Harold, pushed her dark-framed glasses up her nose as she peered into the screen at her.
"NewHaven," she corrected. Eden had mentioned the name of her hometown no less than fifty times in all the years she’d known Linda, yet the other woman still butchered it.
"That's what I said," she waved her hand dismissively.
Eden rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she threw a few almonds in her mouth.
"It's fine," she mumbled uncomfortably. She didn't really have a firm answer to that question. It had certainly not been what she'd expected.
"Good to be home. See my Mom, friends, and all that."
"Good. Alright, you have a fitting with Versace on the 26th at 9 am, a fitting with Michael Kors at 11 am -"
Used to Linda's no-nonsense attitude, Eden grabbed her notebook to take shorthand notes on the tidbits of information she could catch.
Her agent was a mile-a-minute type of woman, always on the go, always rushing off to meetings or thumbing at her phone. When she spoke to you, it was with the rushed voice of a woman who had a million tasks to complete, and you were number five on her list. If you didn't pay attention when she spoke, you were dealt with a steely glare, no doubt useful in disposing of her three former husbands.
But once you got used to her personality, she was actually a very lovely lady.
The lead-up to Fashion Week was always a flurry of final fittings and rehearsals. Eden had already started cleaning up her diet and adding an extra workout in the evening. It might sound strange to some, but the preparation for Fashion Week, a key date for anyone involved in the fashion industry's calendar, was akin to an athlete training for a race.
The hours were long and arduous, with little to no sleep and barely any time to eat.
Her face was prodded with a hundred different creams, lotions, powders, and brushes. Her hair was yanked, scraped back, curled, straightened - you name it; it had been done to her.
She was constantly running from show to show, and more often than not, she was down to the wire in getting clothes fitted.
