Page 46 of One Last Thing Before You Go

We definitely need to have a conversation—that’s clear. The other night proved to me exactly why we wouldn’t be good together: he’s asking too much of me—or at least more than I can give. And though I know all of this and I’ve had time to think about it, when I walk into the store Monday morning, even thirty-six hours after the incident, I still have no idea what to say.

How exactly would it even go?

Hey, Knox. Just wanted to say sorry for making out with you and then shutting you out emotionally. Truth is, I’ve liked you since the second I met you—a fact that terrifies me to the bone—and don’t know how to handle it. I want to jump your bones and stay in bed all morning the next day, cuddling and laughing and just being with you, but I’m fucked up and you’re too young, and we’ll never be able to be anything at all. I’m a failure at life and love and work and I really don’t want to get attached to you because it’ll kill me when you go.

Yeah, no. I don’t think honesty is the right plan here. He’d run for the hills, screaming the entire way there, regretting the second he got into bed with this crazy-pants.

Still, I know I owe him some kind of explanation. And even though I had mentally prepared myself to have a difficult conversation, my stomach still drops when I walk into the office and find him making himself a cup of coffee. I was already struggling through paininduced nausea (the stress of everything was causing me to have an endometriosis flare-up, which was super fun), but seeing him standing there, watching his muscles move beneath his tshirt as he poured himself a cup, made everything I’d eaten since yesterday rise up in my throat with even more intensity.

I fist my hands at my sides and swallow hard. “Hey,” I squeak.

He tenses, his body frozen for a few seconds before turning to face me.

“Hey.” I can barely hold his glacier-blue eyes. The hurt from my rejection is still clear on his face, and it kills me. Because I know this isn’t because I turned him down for sex; it’s because I shut him out emotionally. Knox is an open book and I’m just… not.

“I was hoping we could talk?”

“Really?” He nods and looks down at his coffee, stirring it occasionally with a frown on his face. “About what? The weather? What kind of sports you’re into? Or is that too personal a conversation for you to have?”

Ouch.

I nod. “I deserve that, I guess. But you need to realize it’s not that easy for me to open up. I’ve been through… some things. And being so honest and transparent about everything isn’t in my nature.”

“We all have our shit, Lottie. But we gotta work through it.”

“I know.” I sigh, adjusting my oversized sweater over my stomach, praying it hides how bloated I look today. “But it’s not like I didn’t share anything. I told you about my divorce.” He raises a brow. “Yeah, but I didn’t get the whole story there, did I?”

“No.” The word comes out whispered, followed by his scoff.

I blow a puff of air through my lips. “Anyway, I’m sorry that I closed myself off and I’m sorry that I keep pushing you away, but it was never my intention to hurt you. I’m just not someone who opens up easily.

“I think you’re an amazing person, Knox. Truly. I really like you, but I’d like it more if we were able to work well together—I think it’s the right thing to do here. So I was wondering if it were possible for you not to hate me.” I pause for a minute to let him absorb my words.

He nods once, still not meeting my eyes.

“Thank you.”

But I’m not done: “I appreciate you understanding, but I do need to let you know, however, that I am entitled to privacy. To decide what I share and when and with whom. So while I get where you’re coming from, I hope you get where I’m coming from, too.”

His uncharacteristically hard eyes turn soft, pleading. “I like you. So much. So please don’t blame me for wanting to get to know you better.”

A deep blush creeps up my neck at his words as I marvel at how easily he’s able to express every emotion without fear when I’m barely able to admit I feel the same way about him to myself.

With a look of resignation, he says, “But you’re right about wanting privacy. You’re entitled to share whatever you want with me and I promise to adhere to your boundaries.”

“Wow. Okay. Thanks.” That was… surprisingly mature of him. I expected a little more back-and-forth, to be honest.

“You like me, though?” He asks, light in his eyes.

Ah. There it is.

“Of course that’s what you focus on.” I roll my eyes, though I’m happy to have left the uncomfortable tension behind. “And I do. Obviously. But I don’t think that we should pursue this. I do promise to stop being as snarky, though.” I smile, trying to add levity to the situation. “I’m just… disappointed you wouldn’t want to share things with me.” I grimace because I wish more than anything that I could.

“What about a friendship? Is that a type of relationship you’d be willing to have with me?”

I bite my lower lip in hesitation. “Yes?”

He frowns, lips pressed together.