More Than I Could (48)

These Marshall men are damn good men.

When I first met Chase and Gavin, I thought they were opposites. Chase was a grumpy cat. Gavin was a goofball. But now that I’ve spent more time with them, I see them more clearly. Sure, they’re still broody and carefree, respectively, but they both carry a heavy sense of responsibility. Kindness. They may wear it differently, but they wear it—impressively—nonetheless.

My throat is raw, as if the words scratched the thin lining of my esophagus. My body tingles like it’s suspended in time, and I’m waiting for something to break me out of the spell.

“I’ve never believed that anyone wouldn’t hurt me,” I say, my voice falling away.

His jaw clenches shut. “Has someone hurt you?”

“No, not like that,” I say, grinning softly, touched by his concern. “I’ve just not had many reasons to believe that the love you read about in books is real. And if it’s not, I’d rather save myself the time and energy.” And heartache when they cast me aside.

Tabitha places my bill on the table. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m good. Thank you,” I say.

Gavin whisks the bill off the table and hands it back to the server. “Put it on my tab, please, Tab.”

“No. I’ll pay. Please.”

Gavin gives me a look like Chase—the one I know not to bother arguing against.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Yeah, well, I owed you one. I promised I’d buy your dinner after you went to Chase’s if it went bad, but he raced up here and got it before I could.”

I grin. “It’s not a competition.”

“Oh, I know.”

He stands and waits for me to get to my feet too. I grab a final drink of Sprite, leave a tip, and follow him outside.

“What are you doing today?” I ask him.

“Going back to work. You?”

I glance at my phone to check the time. “I’m heading to the school to pick up Kennedy in a little bit.”

“All right. Have fun. Tell my niece I said hi.”

“Will do.”

I turn toward the parking lot when Gavin calls out.

“Hey, Meg.”

Looking over my shoulder, I pause. “Yeah?”

“Do you know why it’s not a competition?”

“Why?”

He smiles. “Because Chase has already won.”

“Hardly,” I say, chuckling.

“You asked me why Chase wouldn’t want me asking you out. It’s because he’s trying to figure out how he feels about you—just like you’re doing the same with him.”

“Again, hardly.”

He shrugs.

“Didn’t you hear a word I said?” I ask, laughing. “I’m trying not to set myself up for failure anymore. I’m trying to outgrow that specific behavior.”

He walks backward toward his truck, his hair bouncing with every step. “Suit yourself.”

“Goodbye, Gav.”

I head to my car, leaving him behind me.

If only his words would stay back there too.





Chapter Eighteen





Megan




I hit the speakerphone button. “Hello?”

“Hi, Megan. It’s Dorothy from Iyala. How are you?”

I stare at the screen. Sure enough, the number printed in white is one of the Iyala Nails office numbers. What in the world do they want?

Sure, the company and I parted ways without bad blood. They gave me a glowing reference as a going-away present, and I know they were disappointed to let me go. I was disappointed to be let go but also relieved to get out of the city in a strange way. Nevertheless, it was clear that there was no room for me at Iyala. So why is she calling now?

“Hey, Dorothy,” I say, looking through the window over the sink. The sky darkens over the treetops. “How have you been?”

“Honestly, I’m a mess over here.” She chuckles. “We just finished an audit, and you know how stressful those are.”

“Yeah. I don’t miss that.”

She sighs. “I was hoping that maybe you did.”

Huh?

I spin around and rest my back against the sink for support. Surely, I misheard her.

My brain kicks into overdrive, working hard to make some sense of the vice president of operation’s sentence. “I was hoping that maybe you did.”

What does that mean?

“Our summer line didn’t hit our goal,” Dorothy says. “To be honest, it didn’t come close.”

My spirits sink. I can imagine how the team felt when they got the final season reports. We always knew when they were coming in and would practically make ourselves sick for the couple of weeks leading up to it. The report numbers affect everything—how the next budget is divided, who gets bonuses, and who does not. And, in my case, who gets fired.

Despite having been let go from the company, my heart still hurts for them. I understand why I was let go. At the end of the day, it felt right for me anyway. But I can’t help but be bummed for my former colleagues.

“I’m so sorry, Dorothy. I know that’s extremely hard.”

“Yes, it is. And we’re looking for ways to make up the difference in the spring campaign. Unfortunately, it’s already too late for winter.”