Page 42 of Promise Me Never

“You promised me you’d help me with my writing. And now you’re making me feel like some…some…I don’t even have the word.”

He jumped up and tried to pull her to him, but she pushed him away. “Savannah, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. You asked me not to sugarcoat it, and now you’re blaming me for being honest. You can’t have it both ways. You’re being way too sensitive.”

That word again. Her mother’s voice rang in her mind. You always take things too seriously. Don’t be so sensitive. You’re such a baby. Confusion filled her. Were they right about her? She had asked for the truth. It hurt, though. But it wasn’t Bennett’s fault if her writing still needed work.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s hard to hear.”

He put his arms around her. “I know, babe. But you’ll get there. You have to be patient. In the meantime, why don’t you focus on redoing the bedroom. Maybe shifting gears for a bit will be good for you. The writing life isn’t for everyone.”

She disentangled herself from his arms. “Are you telling me to give up on my book?”

“No. I’m saying give yourself some distance from it. Sometimes that helps.”

“When I said I wanted to get a job, you berated me for not focusing on my writing! Now you’re telling me to take a break. Which is it?”

He shook his head. “A job is long-term. All I’m suggesting is a little breather. Why do you have to be so extreme? Chill out.”

“I need to keep at it. I’ll look at your notes, get back to work.” Especially as you’re too busy, she wanted to add but didn’t.

He shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy. Let’s go sit. Dinner’s getting cold.”

She was unsettled as she joined him at the kitchen table, thinking of what had just transpired. Maybe she had misinterpreted the condescension in his voice. He was only trying to help. But when she thought about his comment about her focusing on decorating instead of writing, she couldn’t help but wonder: Was she more afraid of failing or of Bennett hoping she would?

| Thirty-Seven |

Before—Poppy

I have another show coming up in four weeks. Part of a group exhibit, and I plan to include a few pieces that focus on the exploration of the evolution of time, incorporating old pocket watches, calendars, clock radios, and modern technology. A few of my friends will be coming from New York, and of course Henri and Victor will be there too. Bennett invited Felicia, but she said she was going to visit her sister that weekend. But I knew it was because she doesn’t like me. Despite my best efforts, she hasn’t warmed up to me. Or maybe my efforts had been less than stellar, but she’s an employee, not a friend, and I find her familiarity off-putting. But she’s been with Bennett forever, so we pretend to like each other for his sake.

Things have gone back to an even keel with Bennett. I talked to Isabel about the way he reacted after the show, and she gave me more context for why he behaved the way he did. I didn’t realize he’d lost his sister and that his father blamed him for it. Then having his fiancée leave him out of the blue further eroded his confidence. You’d never know how vulnerable he was by looking at him. His confident and stoic front is just that, and I knew as well as anyone how easily scars bleed when cut open again.

I was on my way to meet Henri for coffee. I decided to see if Bennett wanted me to bring anything back to him. I was about to knock on his office door, when it opened.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

I was struck by the sudden urge to show him how much I loved him. I leaned in and kissed him, and he returned the kiss, his arms encircling me.

I started to push him toward the office, thinking it would be spontaneous to make love there, but he stopped me.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Ravage me on your desk.”

He frowned and pulled back. “You know how I feel about my writing space.”

“Maybe it’ll inspire you to write a sexy scene,” I joked, trying to push my way in again.

He shoved me. Hard. I slammed into the wall. My mouth dropped open in shock. “What’s wrong with you,” I asked, rubbing my arm.

He was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. Look, I need to get back to work.”

I glared at him. “I’m meeting Henri. I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

“Poppy, please don’t be—”

I walked away before he could finish.

An hour later I was complaining to Henri. “He practically knocked me over. What the hell is the big deal?”