An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(15)

“Got it,” he clips, then points at the computer. “Sales summary.”

“Right.” Filling my cheeks with air, I manage to access the report he’s looking for and send it to the printer. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

When my gaze pans to the wall clock, I see that it’s already five-past-six, signaling the end of my shift.

Cal must notice at the same time. “You’re free to go,” he says flatly, turning to walk away with the printout in his hands. Before he moves out of sight, he wavers for a moment, and then my name falls from his lips. “Lucy.”

I freeze. “Yeah?”

Facing away from me, the muscles in his back twitch as he curls, then uncurls, his fingers. “Good job today. The way you diffused the situation with Allanson…” He pivots then, looking at me as he lifts an arm to palm the nape of his neck, causing his bicep to bulge. “I was impressed.”

Pride and elation trickle through me, and I suck in a breath, a smile lifting. “Thank you.”

He sends me a curt nod before stalking away, heading toward the back room.

Despite the pitfalls and first-day hurdles, the genuine smile stays put as I fetch my purse and punch out, waving goodbye to Dante, Kenny, and Ike, who are gathering their own belongings.

Cal doesn’t exactly smile, or even say goodbye, but his eyes catch mine before I slip out of the break room.

There’s a softness staring back at me—something tender, filling me with shimmery warmth. The moment doesn’t last long, as he quickly dips his head and turns around, his shoulders square and rigid, but that look follows me home.

So do his words.

“Good job today.”

It wasn’t a great first day, but somehow, it feels like it was.





Chapter 6





1/3/2013

“Heart Broken”



Lucy is sick today. She gets sick a lot, but she doesn’t like to talk about it, and just tells us she was born with breathing problems.

She never wants to worry anybody. But when you care about someone, you worry about them, no matter what. That’s just the way it is.

One time, we went swimming in a pool with extra cold water and Lucy had trouble breathing. She had to go to the hospital in an ambulance. When she came back, she had a heart monitor.

It doesn’t seem fair that Lucy needs a heart monitor. She has a perfect heart.

The best heart.

A heart like Lucy’s should never be broken.



Toodles,

Emma





Only one week on the job, and I had to call in.

I woke up this morning with severe shortness of breath, feeling overly winded, so I decided to check in with my physician. After a chest x-ray revealed nothing too concerning, I was prescribed beta blockers and told to take it easy for the next few days. Being that it’s Saturday, I’m grateful for the extra recovery day tomorrow so I can get back to work on Monday.

Cal didn’t say much when I called him at seven a.m.

“Yeah?” came the husky, sleep-ridden voice.

“Cal? Hi! Um, sorry to bother you, but I need to head to the doctor today. It’s nothing serious, and I’m sorry it’s interfering with my work schedule, because I know I said it wouldn’t, so I apologize that I need to—”

“You okay?”

A heavy pause hummed between us, and I couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed. I swallowed. “I’m okay.”

“See you Monday,” he murmured, then hung up.

Since I’m unable to handle abrupt lapses in communication, I immediately started word vomiting via text, in desperate need of closure.

Me:



Hi again!





I hope you’re not mad.





I feel horrible.





I’ll come in early on Monday and deep-clean the waiting area and bathrooms, and bring some knick-knacks to spruce the place up.





Have a great weekend!





:)





He didn’t respond.

Nearly twelve hours later, he still hasn’t responded, nor opened the message. The only conclusion I’ve drawn is that he hates me, and I’ll be jobless come next week.

“It’s okay, though, really,” I mutter, partially to myself as Key Lime Pie drags me forward down the sidewalk, her attention on another dog a few blocks away. “I’ll find something else. Honestly, this will be good for me. I haven’t had a lot of experience in the working world, so it’s important to start growing a thicker skin.”

“You’re being dramatic, Lucy, just like me. It’s a genetic condition, and I’m sorry for passing it down to you.” Mom shakes her head as she shuffles beside me with Lemon Meringue’s leash wrapped around her palm.

My mother is right.

I inherited a touch of her dramatics and anxiety, and a pinch of Dad’s devil-may-care optimism, molding me into the erratic person I am today.

The thing about me is I’ll often jump to the worst possible conclusion while simultaneously convincing myself that it’s totally fine if the make-believe disaster somehow comes to pass. It’s like I’m trying to get all my ducks in a row before chaos unleashes, so I’m prepared to march through the fire with a megawatt smile and bright-eyed ducks.