I wouldn’t change it for the world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NEELY
Focus,” I demand. Flexing my fingers, I start again.
Dear Mr. Snow,
Thank you very much for the invitation to interview.
My fingers stop working.
I throw my head back and sigh.
It’s taken me twenty minutes to type twelve words I don’t hate, and all I’m doing is thanking a man for an opportunity to interview. It’s a basic email. I should’ve been done with this nineteen minutes ago.
Alas, I take a deep breath and start where I left off.
I can be available for an interview at several times next week.
I groan. “All week because I have no life.” I start again but stop when a knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Come in.”
“Hey,” Mom says, poking her head around the corner. “I’m heading to the grocery for tea. You want anything?”
“I can’t think of anything.” Scooting my computer off my lap, I narrow my eyes. “You look different. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She says it too quickly. “Just running out for some tea.”
“Eyeliner. You’re wearing eyeliner.”
“So?” Her cheeks turn a shade of blush that isn’t natural. “Can’t a woman my age wear eyeliner?”
Grinning, I swing my legs off the side of the bed. “Yup. Especially if you want to look hot. Who you looking all spiffy for, Mama?”
The blush deepens. “Will you stop it?”
“Not until you answer me.” I walk across the room and pull the door open. “And you’re wearing a skirt.”
“A maxi skirt. For goodness’ sake, Neely. It goes to my ankles.”
“So you’re going for a classy look. A ‘you have to work for the goods with me’ type of thing.” I raise a brow. “I like it.”
Her hands fly through the air in exasperation. “When do you go back to New York?”
“Needing this as a love pad?” I tease. “I can stay with Claire, you know.”
“No, you may not. You’re staying here.” As she smooths down her skirt, the pink in her cheeks pales. “Mr. Rambis needed a few things, so we’re going together.”
“Mr. Rambis from across the street? The guy that taught algebra for a hundred years?”
“It wasn’t a hundred years, but yes. That’s him.”
I consider this. “Not bad. He’s cute. Could lose the mustache, though. But his lawn is impeccable. You might want to consider that.”
“And why should I consider his lawn when I’m just getting some groceries with the man?”
“Because,” I say, sitting back on the bed, “it starts with groceries. Then you start baking for him. Then he’s staying late into the night, and the next thing you know, he’s in your bed.”
“Neely!”
“It’s true. I’ve read articles on things like this because God knows I don’t have any experience. And they say if a man’s lawn is too tidy, that means he doesn’t spend enough time inside.” I waggle my brows. It brings the blush back to her face. “If you get what I’m saying.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
With a roll of my eyes, I lean against the headboard and bring my laptop back to my lap. “It’s been said.”
The banner on the screen is for a cosmetics line, and the logo is a bright green. That’s all it takes to send my spirits in a downward spiral.
I bite my thumbnail and try to shake the vision of Dane and Mia together from my brain. Looking up, I see my mother still standing in the doorway.
“What’s the matter, Neely?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on,” she prods. “You owe me after that Mr. Rambis crap.”
Guilt gnaws at my insides. I’d hoped it would be gone by now. I’d prayed that I would put some distance between us, get a shower, eat half a cheesecake, and fall into a carb-loaded bliss and not feel so bad about the things I said. Or implied. Or insinuated.
Didn’t happen.
Instead, there might be a hole in the wall of my stomach from this evening alone. It grows a little deeper every minute.
“Have you ever had a Rocket Razzle?” I ask.
Her eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “Yes. Why?”
“Well, it turns out those turn off a filter in me, and I say things I’m not proud of.”
Mom sits on the end of my bed. “What did you say? And to whom?”
I can’t look at her, so I look out the window at the dark night sky. “I said some questionable things to Dane.”
“Questionable, huh?”
“Fine. Maybe nasty.”
“Oh, Neely,” she mutters. “You’re better than that.”
“I know.”
She lays her hand on my foot and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Do I want details?”
“No.” I look at her again. “I don’t owe him an apology for anything. He hurt me. But I feel so freaking bad, Mom.”
“Honey,” she says, getting to her feet. “He might’ve hurt you, but hurting him back isn’t going to sort anything. Because you’re the one feeling bad right now, and if I were to guess, you hurt a lot worse than him.”
“This is so not fair. Why do I have to be a good person?” I pout.
Mom laughs. “Because I raised you to be one. Now, I’m not going to tell you what to do because you’re a grown woman and you know what you said and didn’t say. But I’m going to give you some advice.”
“Please do.”
She faces me. “The last time you left here in a fight with Dane, it wore on you for years. I could hear it in your voice. I saw it in your pictures. Your gymnastics even lacked a certain umph you had before.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, feeling worse.
“You’re going to leave here in a few days. That’s what you say, anyway.”
I shift in the bed, unable to sit still. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t leave like that again. If you have to suck it up and apologize, do that. Be the bigger person. Then you can leave and go back to your life without any extra weight.” She gives me a small smile, then disappears into the hallway. “That half a cheesecake missing from the fridge isn’t going to help either!”
“Hush,” I yell back at her. My laughter softens just as the snap of the door closing floats down the hall. I settle back against the pillows, mulling over her words.
I can certainly survive in New York without apologizing to him. Saying I was wrong after everything that’s happened between us doesn’t sound appetizing.
Glancing down at the unfinished email on my computer, I realize she’s right. If this interview goes well, I could be gone by next weekend. It would be really nice to start fresh with a new job and a new hobby, if I can get back into teaching gymnastics, and without any old burdens I don’t need to carry.
I hit “Save” on the draft, close my computer, and find my shoes.
I watch the house from the safety of my car like some kind of weirdo. There’s a single light on in the front. Through the shadows of the curtains, I’m guessing it’s a lamp.
Surely he’s not in bed already.
Shivering despite the balmy outside temperature and lack of air conditioner inside the car, I kill the ignition. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. It just ups the awkwardness as I climb out of the car, as if I’m being filmed for some made-for-TV movie.
“I’ll knock,” I tell myself. “I won’t ring the bell in case they’re asleep. If they don’t hear the knock, then I can rest assured I tried to apologize. The universe can’t hold that against me.”
The sidewalk is clean, the little rows between sections free from errant weeds or mud. There are neatly trimmed bushes along the front of the blue-gray-sided house with crisp white shutters. There aren’t any gnomes or little flags like many homes on this street have, but the mulch is black and looks new. As I take the three little steps onto the wooden porch, I remember what I told my mother about a tidy lawn and laugh.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I rap on the door. There’s no dog barking. No feet falling. Nobody on the other side announcing they’ll get it. Just silence. I wait a few moments before tapping again.
Just as I turn to head back to the car, relief filling my veins, the door opens.
Standing only a few feet away is a just-out-of-the-shower Dane. His cheeks are smooth and freshly shaven, a pair of red gym shorts showing off a set of toned calves. The gray T-shirt is unnecessary, but I do appreciate the slight clinginess of the fabric to the lines of his body.
His brows are raised, clearly in surprise, as he reaches above his head and grabs the top of the door. There’s no tilt of his lips, no outward expression that he’s happy to see me.
Talk fast. Get it over with.
“Hey,” I say, fidgeting with the hem of my tank top. “I hope you don’t mind me coming by so late, but I didn’t want to say this over the phone. Not that I had your number but . . .” I look down. “I’m rambling.”
I wait a few moments for him to say something. Nothing comes. Holding my breath, I look back up at him. He’s almost grinning.