All I Ever Wanted(113)

I packed up my books, my plants, samples of my work over the years. Quite a few clients had e-mailed when they’d heard the news of my departure, and Damien, in a rare fit of thoughtfulness, had printed them all out for me. Several clients had sent gifts, too…a complimentary stay from a B&B in Burlington, a gift certificate for a car detailing from the dealership in Stowe. John Hammill, my maple syrup zealot, had sent a gallon of each of his eight strains of syrup, so I’d be all set in terms of pancakes for some time.

He’d also offered me a job—director of marketing, which he admitted wouldn’t be a huge challenge for me. “You’d get as much syrup as you can hold,” he said hopefully, and I laughed and pointed out I had eight gallons to go through as it was.

“Let me know. The job’s yours if you want it,” he said, and a lump had risen in my throat. People were awfully nice, but Hammill Farms was a little too far to commute. Then again, a move might not be the worst thing for me.

A soft knock came on the door. I looked up. Mark. “This is a tough day for us,” he said quietly. “Losing you.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning back to my packing.

“Is there any way you’d stay, Callie?” His voice was forlorn.

“No.”

He flopped on the couch where he’d sat so many times these past four years. “I wanted to apologize for the other day, Callie.”

“Go right ahead,” I said frostily, wrapping a picture of Bronte in tissue paper.

“To tell you the truth, I’d have said anything to get you to stay here.” He toyed with his cuff and didn’t look at me.

“Yeah. I got that.” I reached for the lumpy mug I’d always used for coffee.

Mark sighed, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees. “I’m sorry I didn’t fall in love with you, Callie. I wanted to. Back then, I mean.” He looked at me, but I just kept packing. “I wanted to feel the way you did, but I…didn’t, so I said it was a timing thing. Figured it would be easier that way.”

“What about Muriel?” I asked. “Did you really love her, or was she just part of the BTR account? Because that would make you a whore, of course.” I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the ice princess.

“I…I thought I loved her. She was…” He paused. “Different. Confident. In California, she seemed really…well, smart, and she didn’t seem to care about anything except work. Like me. I thought we were kindred spirits. I didn’t expect her to be quite so…clueless.” He looked down. “Maybe the only thing I’ve ever really loved is this company.”

“Don’t forget your reflection,” I said.

“Touché,” he muttered. “I deserve that.”

I sat down in my chair and looked at Mark, the first boy who’d ever kissed me. He was so handsome. And shallow. And heartless, not in a ruthless way, but just…lacking heart. At least now he was being honest.

And just like that, I decided to forgive him. Because I’d learned something from Ian. Forgiveness is what really sets a heart free.

“You were a great boss, Mark, and I really loved working here. Thank you for the opportunity.”

He looked up, startled, and after a second, his eyes grew wet. “You’re welcome. Good luck with everything, Callie.”

Then he stood up, extended his hand. I shook it, and then there was nothing left to say.

As I was just about ready to go, Fleur returned to her office, smelling like a wet ashtray and clutching a container of yogurt. She pretended not to see me, despite the fact that our work areas were separated by glass. I grabbed the gift I’d brought her and knocked loudly. “Hi,” I said.

“Callie! Right! Someone said you’d be in today. Well. Best wishes and all that.” She smiled, remorseless as a great white. Just following her instincts.

“Listen,” I said. “I know that scene at the regatta was awkward, but…well…” I faked a smile. “I always enjoyed working with you. So here’s a little farewell gift. I know living in Britain got you hooked on tea.” I handed over a little basket containing a china cup, a tea ball and a little bag of loose tea, all wrapped in cellophane and tied with yellow and orange ribbons.

“Wow, Callie, thank you!” she said, forgetting to sound British. Her face flushed. “That was really nice of you.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck with your career.”

“Same to you,” she replied, untying the ribbon. “I’ll have some right now.” She seemed to remember her accent. “Right. Could murder a cuppa.” She sniffed the tea. “Yummy. Herbal, is it?”

“It sure is,” I replied. “One hundred percent, all natural organic.”

Then I hefted my box into my arms and left Green Mountain Media for the last time, somehow forgetting to mention that the tea just happened to be Dr. Duncan’s Cleanse ’n Purge Weight Loss Jump-Start. When Fleur discovered an alien in her stomach about twelve hours from now, I hoped she’d think of me.

“BOWIE, DO YOU FEEL OKAY?” I asked my dog as I got dressed a few days later. “Do you need a checkup? Huh, buddy? Feeling a little off?” Bowie leaped in a circle, howling with joy, then froze, motionless, quivering with attention. Do I smell bacon? Somewhere, someone is cooking bacon!