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“Fine. Whatever you say.” I hate the idea that he’s right, but I know enough to leave open the possibility that he knows more than me in this area. Maybe I need to get in better touchwith popular culture. Maybe it will help the next space mission, although I can’t imagine how.
“Noted.”
“I made some calls, all under the veil of secrecy, of course.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I can get you an exclusive interview with Chantal.”
A laugh peels from my throat. It surprises me because it’s the first thing I’ve found amusing in weeks. I guess I owe Paul something for that.
“Why in the world would I want to do that?”
He explains his reasoning. Then he explains it again, standing up with his arms waving. “For weeks, you’ve been telling me that your friend over at Buttercup Hill does my job better than me, and while I call bullshit, she may have a point. Maybe it’s time you opened yourself up and talked about everything. Tell people about your desire to go green, make yourself sympathetic. Be smart and forward-looking, and people will eat it up. Just…say what you need to say. I’m not saying it’s the right decision, but we’ve tried it the other way, so…”
The reference to PJ sets off a drumming in my chest that I haven’t felt in weeks.
I miss her.
I want her.
There’s no debating that. But instead of listening to those feelings, I let them scare me. I ran back to the haven of work when I should have been running toward her.
So, if I’m going to spill my thoughts to a celebrity interviewer, there are a few important things I need to get off my chest. And none of them have anything to do with astrophysics.
Chapter
Thirty
PJ
I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I’ve said that before, but this episode of self-delusion really takes the cake.
Somehow, I allowed a tiny thought to enter my head like a seed planted in fertile ground. At first, it was just a vague whimsical wish that Colin Hathaway, billionaire astrophysicist, would have room for me in his life.
I should have nipped that thought in the bud rather than letting it germinate and take root. Okay, enough plant analogies.
The point is that I allowed myself to think—and then, to believe—that the whisp of a relationship could survive in the real world. Sure, it felt so easy and right when he was hiding out at the vineyard in vacation mode. Who wouldn’t make an ideal date and an even more perfect fling?
Bluebirds flitter in and out of the tiny square houses mounted on the tops of the vines outside my house. I can hear them twittering, happy in the morning light. They suck.
I tried with a yoga class and an afternoon hike yesterday. I tried with a glass of wine and a bubble bath the night before.I tried by burying my head under my sheets and blankets and blocking out the world.
The world came a-knocking bright and early in the form of my brother carrying a latte. But for the coffee, I might have turned him away. Not that he gave me a choice, walking past me and turning to survey my oversized, raggedy tee and baggy sweatpants.
“You look good.” His sarcasm doesn’t even bother me because nothing bothers me. I’m already in the pit of despair after letting my heart have its way with me. Stupid, stupid.
This is what I get for thinking I could make a relationship work with a smart older man who was never going to take me seriously.
“I know, I’m a mess.” I can’t even look Archer in the eye. Everything he warned me about has come to pass, so I need to own my mistakes.
“You’re not a mess. Get that out of your head.” The words are kind, but his deep voice makes it hard to discern the tone. He sounds angry, and I figure I deserve it. He did warn me to stay away from Colin, after all.
“I don’t even care enough to argue with you.”
Lying on the small couch in my house, I shake my head and throw an arm over my eyes. The daylight feels too perky, and I can’t keep up. I’m not expecting my brother to walk over to my supine body and lift my arm from my eyes. Why isn’t he taking the hint?
“Sit up, Peej.”
