Evangeline answers on the first ring. “Good morning, Mr. Rochester.”
“Are you comparing me not telling you about my writing to Mr. Rochester’s hidden wife in the attic?”
“Obviously.”
“I told her she had no room to speak, but she can’t help herself if there’s a literary reference to be had,” Hayley says.
“Naturally.”
“Okay, so, first things first.” Evangeline once again commandeers the conversation. “Please tell me book two is finished and that you’re emailing it to us right now.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “You guys actually liked it? You’re not just saying that or pretending to be interested to spare my feelings?”
A snort sounds over the line. “We kept saying ‘just one more chapter’ until the book ended, and we looked at the clock and it was three a.m. Do you know when the last time I stayed up past 9:30 was?”
“Okay,” I say, dumbfounded. “So, it’s not garbage?” I’m not sure how long it will take for that to sink in. I’ve been operating under the umbrella that no one would like my stories for so long that this paradigm shift is hard to accept at face value.
“I loved it,” Hayley says matter-of-factly.
“Me too,” Evangeline agrees. “I think you should let the dreamy publisher make all your dreams come true.”
Hayley groans, and I feel a twin sound stuck in my own throat. “Do you have to turn everything into a romantic innuendo?”
She tsks. “His looks are dreamy, Squire is your dream publisher, and I’m betting that it’s always been your dream to be an author. I stand by what I said.”
I shake my head. Evangeline will always be the hopeless romantic.
“Real talk, though,” Hayley interjects. “Howarethings going with Julien?”
“Oh, instead of just a book series acquisition, he could have himself an ever-after acquisition.” I can practically see Evangeline waggling her eyebrows.
My stomach clenches in yearning as I glance through the glass door to where Julien is sitting up against the headboard. He takes the nose pillow off and removes the headgear, then runs a hand through his tousled silver hair.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “I need to go. Thanks for reading the book and giving me your honest opinion. I’ll swing by the library when I get back to town. I want to hear all about how the music event went with Mr. Hunter.” I’m hanging up as they’re voicing their objections.
There are probably a million reasons to stay silent about everything said between us yesterday. To not stir the pot, so to speak. Both of us are so close to getting something we’ve wanted for so long. I’ll be able to hold my books in my hands and see them on shelves. Julien will be able to (hopefully) be the hero for his parents and those who work at Squire, since he’ll have saved their jobs. Knowing how he feels about romance in the workplace, if I bring up yesterday’s conversation, I’ll definitely be forcing him to make a choice. One that I’malready aware of the outcome of and that will leave me with nothing more than a bruised and battered heart.
Then, of course, I doubt his father would be too keen on the idea of his son getting involved with the daughter of his hired help. I’m sure Julien’s parents always hoped he’d fall in love and settle down with a woman of their own class. Someone educated and cultured, not someone who knows the best products to polish silver or how to prune the hydrangea bushes. I doubt when they pictured holiday get-togethers with the in-laws that their gardener and housekeeper were anywhere in sight.
A million reasons to stay silent, but the hum under my skin tells me I’m going to disregard them all. Maybe it’s because I’m thirty-eight and he’s forty-six, but I just can’t ignore the pull between us or pretend that nothing is happening when something clearly is. I’m not going to make up excuses or try to convince myself I don’t know where my feelings are coming from or what they mean. Honestly, that sounds exhausting.
I’m too old and have too much life experience to not demand that we have a mature conversation instead of sweeping everything under the rug. Even if nothing changes, everything will be out in the open, we’ll know where the other stands, and there won’t be any disappointments from miscommunication.
My skin is hot and tight, but I’m not sure if the blame can be cast on the conversation about to go down or the effects of getting too much sun yesterday. Gathering my resolve, I stand and push the sliding door open.
Julien lowers his hands from where he’d just been rubbing his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” I nibble on my bottom lip. “Sleep well?”
“What little I got. I stayed up late reading your manuscript.”
A nervous laugh pushes its way up my throat. “Should I apologize?”
“Never.” He gives me one of his boardroom looks. “Say Squire can publish it.”
My weight shifts between my feet. “Julien, I think we need to talk.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” He scrubs a hand down his bristly cheek.
