In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(92)

Though I bet Josie is dying to break out a tiny violin.

“I’m so appreciative of everything your team has done for me,” I tack on lamely when I get no response. “I’ve, uh, I’ve really enjoyed working with all of you.”

Josie snorts and I drive the heel of my boot into her Converse beneath the table.

I wonder what Beckett is doing right now. If he’s out in the fields or at the bakehouse, stealing snacks from the front case when he thinks Layla isn’t looking. He doesn’t know it, but she puts the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in the bottom right just for him, half-hidden behind the lemon bars so he has a chance to grab one after his morning list is done.

I picture him there, leaning up against the counter. Flannel rolled to his elbows and hat backwards. The slightest curl to the ends of his hair behind his ears.

This time, Josie has to step on my foot.

I glance down at her and she raises both eyebrows expectantly.

Ah, that’s right. A room full of people.

I glance sheepishly at Leon, sitting at the head of the table with both palms flat against the wood. He looks lost and a little desperate, his dark brown eyes resigned behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

“What was that?”

“I asked if there is anything we can do to convince you to stay on?”

“Not unless you grow some scruff, adopt one hundred cats, get full sleeve tattoos and develop a six pack,” Josie mutters under her breath. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing.

“I don’t think so.” I gather the small stack of papers laid out in front of me. Notes from Josie with tiny, handwritten scribbles at the bottom telling me to STAY STRONG and DO THE DAMN THING. Oddly motivational, when it came down to it. “Thank you again, for everything.”

Now I just want empanadas.

And a plane ride back to Maryland.

We all file out of the room in a slow slog, hindered by two people at the front too busy on their phones to watch where they’re going. I’m surrounded by people with hunched shoulders and drawn faces, actively avoiding eye contact. One guy wipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand. Someone wanders into the kitchen and turns off the pink neon light above the refrigerator. There’s no place like Sway stutters and then blinks out, the kitchen oddly cold without the fluorescent, glowing light.

It all seems a bit much.

Josie leans into me as we walk towards the elevator. “That was nicely done.”

I glance back over my shoulder at Kirstyn, sitting at the edge of the long table in the center of the room, her forehead flat against the surface. I frown. “It didn’t feel very nice.”

Josie shrugs and jams the elevator button. She does it again when it doesn’t light up right away. They’re going to have to replace the damn thing when she’s through with it. “Sometimes the right thing for one person isn’t the nice thing for someone else.” She turns to me and gives me a grin. “Hey, do we have any pizza leftover from last night?”

We do. Barely. I’d much rather walk across the street and devour the entire menu of empanadas. The elevator finally arrives and Josie storms the doors, muttering something about pizza with croquetas on top while digging for her phone in her bag. I follow in behind her and pivot on my foot, trace my eyes over the ferns on the wallpaper. Beckett would hate it. Too green, he would say. The coloring is all wrong. I can practically hear his voice in my ear, telling me the difference between vascular plants and … non-vascular plants. What kind of sunlight they need. The perfect soil consistency.

I’m so lost in my little Beckett bubble that I almost don’t notice it.

A few things happen at once.

My phone begins to go wild in my pocket. Josie whispers a quiet oh my god that gains volume as she repeats it over and over again. Several people stand up at the long coworking table and—the most jarring—I see Beckett’s face suddenly appear in the conference room, ten times larger than usual on the screen that’s dropped from the ceiling.

I slam my hand against the elevator door to hold it open, a dip in my belly. It feels like this elevator just dropped all the way to the basement and I’m along for the ride.

Josie reaches for my arm and squeezes. “Evie.”

I take a step out and then another. I watch Beckett’s mouth move silently through the industrial glass window. He looks—god—he looks good. Two days and I feel like some of the details have already dimmed. How did I go weeks before? How did I go months?

How did I ever slip out of his bed to begin with?

“What is—”

Josie trails after me, her gaze stuck on her phone. “Your mentions are going absolutely insane,” she says.

I watch Beckett’s eyes crinkle slightly at the corners through the window, a barely-there smile on his handsome face. I can hear the muted rumble of his voice, the low tones of him speaking on camera, but I can’t hear any of the words he’s saying. “Why is there a video of Beckett playing in the conference room?”

Josie’s head snaps up and her eyes narrow. “I guess it’s hit the blogs already. He must have posted it while we were in that meeting.”

We watch together as the video ends and then starts up again. It looks like—it looks like it’s a TikTok video, pulled up on the browser. It’s hard to tell with people standing in front of the screen watching. None of this makes any sense. And as far as I’m aware, Beckett doesn’t have online banking. His coffee maker has a single switch on the bottom. I find it hard to believe he has a TikTok account.