The Reunion(34)

Cooper: That would be the gist of this loathsome and shameful interaction.

Nora: Loathsome and shameful . . . labeling it already?

Cooper: How would you label it?

Nora: Intriguing.

The tension and nerves that have built in my chest ease as the smallest of smirks tugs at my lips. Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Sure, she’s busting my balls, but I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Cooper: Intrigued, huh? Was it the hearting my own text?

Nora: It was, makes me think that even though you look like the modern-day man, you have the tendencies of an old curmudgeon which, oddly, fascinates me.

Cooper: Or a divorcé who is extremely nervous.

Nora: Oooh, interesting take. But I think I’m going to stick with the curmudgeon.

I laugh, immediately grateful for how easygoing Nora is. Not sure this would have gone as well with someone else.

Cooper: I think you just like saying that word in your head.

Nora: I’ve actually been saying it out loud and it feels nice coming off my tongue. Very pleasing to say. Try it.

“Curmudgeon,” I say, just for the hell of it.

Cooper: Hmm, it is pleasing to say out loud, but it isn’t as aesthetically pleasing as some other words I’ve come across.

Nora: Oooh, educate me, please, Mr. Editor. Dazzle me with your words.

That’s me—Mr. Editor. Not even sure how I got into the job, to be honest. I always enjoyed reading fiction, and when my plans for traveling around the world with Dealia didn’t pan out right away, I started freelance editing, something I’d done on and off in college for extra cash. Before I knew it, a nonfiction publisher picked me up, and I’ve been stuck ever since.

I only wish the material was more interesting.

But, on the positive side, I do know a lot of words.

Cooper: Splendiferous.

Nora: Sounds made up. Like someone doesn’t quite know if they’re trying to say an adverb, verb, or adjective and kind of threw them all together. Next.

I smirk and hunker down into my couch while propping my socked feet up on the coffee table.

Cooper: Cataclysmic.

Nora: Okay, Debbie Downer. I’m saying no not just because you went to the opposite extreme to splendiferous, but also because the C’s and T’s are harsh coming off my tongue. Next.

I glance up at the ceiling, trying to think of a word that would beat “curmudgeon”—which, honestly, feels jumbled on my tongue at times.

Oh, I’ve got one.

Cooper: Ephemeral.

Nora: Use it in a sentence, please.

Cooper: Palmer’s choice in cake flavors was ephemeral.

Nora: Ehhh, I know you can do better. You’ve got one more shot at this. Hit me with a good one or I’m afraid this texting conversation must come to an end, despite its brilliant and satisfying start.

I lean forward, a huge grin on my face as I stare down at my phone. One more shot, huh? Given where my head was at when I started this conversation, I have the perfect word.

Cooper: Incipient.

Nora: Please use it in a sentence.

My smirk grows even wider as I type out my response.

Cooper: Even though this energy between us is incipient, I would love to see where it goes.

Nora: I see what you did there.

Cooper: Did you like it?

Nora: You’ll have to text me tomorrow to find out. Good night, Cooper.

Hope blooms inside me as I text her back.

Cooper: Am I going to be required to dazzle you with my words again?

Nora: Possibly. We will see what I’m interested in tomorrow. It changes from day to day, after all. Until tomorrow . . .

Cooper: Good night, Nora.

I set my phone down on the coffee table and stand from my couch. Hands behind my neck, I let out a long breath of air and pace the length of my living room.

Holy shit, I can’t believe I just did that.

Looks like someone is back in the game.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





FORD


I knock lightly on Larkin’s door and then step back, hands in my jeans pockets. I slept horribly last night, probably the worst night’s sleep I’ve had in a really long time. And I know it had everything to do with how I treated Larkin yesterday.

After having to cool down the email battle between my siblings, I was pushed into the reality—not by Palmer but by self-realization—that the mock-ups we had done are all shit. And what sucks is that they were all my idea. The colors, the logos, the fonts. I spent hours and hours meticulously going over every last detail, and it’s all led to one terrible conclusion: not only am I not good at my job, but I apparently know nothing about the store.

But those mock-ups—although bothering me—are not what kept me up all night. It was what Palmer pointed out to me. How I spoke to Larkin, how her shoulders slumped as she walked out the door to “retrieve” our drinks. It was callous of me, and I’ve never spoken to her like that before.

It made my gut churn with guilt, and I couldn’t wake up quickly enough to apologize.

It’s early, only eight, but I wanted to clear things up with Larkin before I head to my parents’ for what I know is going to be an immeasurable amount of stress added to the stress I’m already carrying on my shoulders.

And to handle that stress, I need Larkin at my side. I need her . . . helping me.