Page 6 of One Last Thing Before You Go

Damn this small town life.

“Never. Ne-ver.”

“That is categorically false. I’ve been on tons of dates. It’s just been a while.” Which is a bit of an understatement, but whatever.

“A while,” she says, voice flat, brow raised, hands on her hips.

With a sigh, I admit, “Three years.”

Jenn scoffs and follows me around the store as I ready it for our meeting with Walter’s lawyer, her red-haired space buns bouncing with every step. Nervously, I rearrange some books here and there, making sure everything is clean and organized before our meeting. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my pelvic area, followed by a steady throbbing that leaves me gasping for air. I try to inhale, to breathe through it and act natural, but it takes a minute for me to be able to speak again, praying the entire time that Jenn doesn’t notice or bring it up.

Keep going, keep going.

When I can speak again, I face her head-on, fighting through the pain: “And anyway, this wasn’t a date. Date implies that there was some sort of planning involved. Premeditation. I just met a nice man, we got to talking, I got hungry, and he took me to dinner. It was nothing more,” I lie. But I’m not about to prove her right and give this girl ammo to question me further. “And can we stop talking about my personal life, please? I’m your boss. This isn’t appropriate.”

She snorts—the idea of boundaries hilarious to her, apparently. “You went on a date and you expect me not to say anything about it? You’re going to pretend like it’s super whatever and nothing new when you and I both know that you haven’t shared a meal with another man in years.”

“How would you even know? You’re basically a child, Jenn,” I tease.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” I wince. Such a low blow. “But this is a small town, in case you haven’t noticed. People talk. And I am nineteen years old. Of age. I know stuff.”

“You’re giving me a migraine,” I lie taking the very familiar bottle of naproxen out from behind the register. She grimaces as I pop two pills with a sip from the water bottle I keep hidden back here, because we both know she’s not the reason I need them now.

Stupid uterus.

I cannot wait to get rid of it. Just two more weeks until my hysterectomy.

“C’mon.” Her tone turns gentler, and I can tell it’s to get my mind off the pain she knows I’m currently battling with. “Tell me about it. I love this for you.”

“Stop,” I plead, not wanting to dwell on it. The truth is, my mind has been jumbled ever since that night. I had never felt a connection so quickly or as strong as I did with Knox—not even with my ex-husband, Finn, on our best days. And yes, I let Knox take me to dinner. And yes, I did feel like I was glowing around him—or at least something akin to it. But he was just a transient late-night companion I will never see again.

I try to push the sadness I feel at that little factoid out of my head and heart as soon as it pops up. There’s no reason I should feel this attached to a man I spent less than twelve hours with.

And yet…

“Please tell me you went home with him. Poppy said the man was gorgeous. Are you seeing him again? Is he from around here? Because Lizzie said she’s never seen him in town.”

“I hate everyone,” I mutter.

Bringing the heels of my hands to my eyes, I push my reading glasses up over my nose, willing Jenn to disappear. I don’t want to think about that night anymore—but it’s all I’ve been able to do. It was amazing, in every way possible. The conversation, the chemistry—in and out of bed. Because, yes, I did go home with him (or at least to his hotel), and yes, I did have the best sex of my life. But as soon as I snuck out of his room at the crack of dawn, it was over. It’s time I move on—something that hasn’t been particularly easy given the aforementioned chemistry and sex and just general gorgeousness of said man and how quickly this story has spread all through town.

“Jenn, I’m trying to move past this man, not relive every second with him.” At least not in public—I save the steamier parts for when I’m alone.

“Trying? Does that mean what I think it means?” Her grin is giant and a bit mischievous, the excitement she feels for me having potentially found someone making her jump in place. It would be extremely adorable if she weren’t so annoying right now.

“Listen, I’m not judging. I’m all for you exploring your sexuality and hooking up whenever you want with whomever you want. You know, feminism et cetera et cetera. God knows you deserve it—especially after the last few years you’ve had. When I think of everything you’ve had to go through⁠—”

“Jennifer,” I snap. There are few things I hate more than whenever people bring up the failed state of my existence. “I said stop. This is my personal life. You are my employee. It isn’t appropriate.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It’s giving denial, Lottie. You know it’s a big deal, or you wouldn’t be this upset. I’m just saying it’s a good thing.”

I go back to impatiently tidying things that don’t need tidying annoyed because Jenn is right: it was a big deal. I never go on dates. Flirt with the occasional tourist passing through town? Maybe. But go out for an actual meal with someone? Talk to them outside of the darkness of the one and only bar in town? Nope.

So, though I can blame her for putting her nose where it shouldn’t be—because, since when is it okay for my Gen-Z bookseller to talk about my sex life so freely with me?—I can’t blame her for being shocked by my behavior. Especially when I can’t believe it myself.

“Let’s just finish getting things ready for when the lawyer gets here, okay?” I say, my voice softer now.

Jenn nods once. Pouting, she grabs a spray bottle of Windex and a rag, and proceeds to wipe down the display cases. “When’s he due?”