Page 92 of The Sweetness of Life

“Shelby . . .” She crosses her legs and leans forward. “I talked to you on your third day there. You told me how much of an ass he was being, but instead of leaving, you chose to suck it up because this article—this opportunity—was worth it, no matter what. You made your own plan to stick it out, period, a plan that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with your goals. The only difference between you and him is that he talked about this with his friends, and if he hadn’t shown up to take you on a tour of the property, we would have formulated one, too.”

My head becomes cloudy, and I pause to sort through what she’s said.

“But he crossed the line.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her. He made me believe there was something more, something real—he hurt me.

“Did he? What about you?” She picks her coffee up and stirs it with the straw, looking calm and composed. This infuriates me even more.

“That isn’t fair! I never hated him. He disliked me from the minute he saw me last fall, judged me for something I wasn’t involved in, and then tricked me. He tricked me into liking him beyond a professional acquaintanceship.”

“I don’t know if he really ever tricked you. I think he was hopeful you’d write the post, but based on what you’ve told me, he wasn’t suggestive toward it, and if he had been, you could have said no.”

“That’s the thing—I probably wouldn’t have said no. Actually, I’m certain of it, and you know why? Because I thought we had become friends, more than friends, when all the while he was only pretending to be nice to me.”

The timer on the oven dings, and I grab the mitts off a hook on the wall so I can take the biscuits out and place the tray in the warmer. Meg is watching me, but everything inside me is screaming.

Returning the mitts, I turn to face her, and her determined expression slips a little at the sight of me. Persistent in continuing this discussion, she sits up straight.

“Okay, maybe at first, but anyone who spends any amount of time with you sees how amazing you are. Everyone adores you, Shelby. Is it so hard to believe he might have had a change of heart? Seems to me he was pretty taken with you by the end.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.” I shake my head, and the grief I’ve felt over the finished label I stamped on us returns.

“Why not?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Because, no matter how we ended, I’ll never forget how we began.”

Knowing she’s not getting through to me, she frowns and then lets out a deep sigh.

“So, now what?” she asks.

“Now there’s nothing.” I move to sit back on the stool next to hers and look down at my hands in my lap. “I promised myself years ago I wouldn’t let anyone, man or woman, use me as a stepping stone to get themselves something greater, and that’s what he did.” I raise my eyes to hers. “I promised myself when I found someone, any successes we had would be because we worked independently or together. You know how important character is to me, kindness, loyalty, honesty . . . Zach lied.”

“He also apologized to you, repeatedly. I know this all stems because from the situation with your father and your mother, but Zach is not your father. Your father never said he was sorry for what he did, just that he got caught.”

“Why are you pushing this so much?”

She leans over and places a hand on my knee. “Because I think he’s worth it. Don’t you?”

“You don’t even know him.”

A small smile lifts one side of her mouth, and in a mocking tone, she says, “No, but Lexi does.”

“You talked to Lexi about this?” I don’t know whether to be shocked or pissed.

“Of course I did. He called her, and she called me. Seems I’m your gatekeeper since you won’t turn on your phone.” She glances at it over on the prep station.

“I don’t want to turn it on.” I’ve been using it as a clock, but it’s been in airplane mode for almost two weeks now. I check it occasionally for missed messages, but that’s it.

“Why? Are you afraid you’ll answer one of his many calls?”

I don’t respond because she’s right, and I hate it. I want to talk to him, I do, but I don’t know what’s left to say.

“Shel, you like him—a lot. This is the first guy I have ever seen you like. Nobody can fake anything for two weeks. Whatever you saw in him—whatever you found so alluring and wonderful—that’s who he is. Hearts speak to hearts, regardless of what comes out of the mouth. What he gave of himself to you and vice versa—there’s no pretending, only genuine truth.”

Hearts speak to hearts.

Oh, for cryin’ out loud, she’s right again. His did speak to mine. I know it did, and that’s why this has been so confusing.

“Food for thought,” she says. “Maybe you should take one of his calls and hear what he has to say.” Her eyebrows rise in challenge, and then with her coffee in hand, she slips out of the kitchen, leaving me to sort through this mess.