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She’s going to hate me when I leave. Guilt zings me, but also a kind of sadness. I like Joy, what little I know of her, and I’m not eager to be on her bad side.
But it’s what I have to do. Brantley certainly didn’t waste a moment’s guilt about taking my promotion.
“Where would you like to have your office?” Joy asks.
“I imagine I can do most of the work from home. There’s no reason to spend time and money making a place for me here.” Especially when I’m not staying. Especially when I’d prefer to avoid getting to know the Lovemore employees better.
Joy frowns, and nerves shiver through me. I’m screwing this up. “For the time being, I’d like you to be in the office so we can get a feel for how you work and you’ll be close by if you have any questions. Once you’ve been here for a while, we can talk about you working remotely.”
“That’s not a problem.”
“Great. I’ll put you on the porch with Gloria, so you two can work together as needed. It’s beautiful out there this time of year.”
I swallow hard and lace my fingers together to keep my hands from shaking. Working so close to a woman who’s already suspicious of me is terrifying. “It’ll be fine.” A little discomfort is the least I deserve for lying to them all.
“I’ll have to order a desk, chair, and computer for you, but for now, while you’re reading the slush pile, you’re welcome to set up anywhere you’re comfortable.”
Hopefully, a desk, chair, and computer is something they’ll be able to use for whoever replaces me when I leave. “That sounds great.”
By the time Joy’s gone over the hiring paperwork and set me up to receive a paycheck, the game in the main room has ended and everyone’s back in their offices working. I take a pile of manuscripts and spread out on the couch.
I pick up the first manuscript and stare at the handwritten page in confusion for a long moment. I flip through the pages to find they’re all handwritten. At Tenth Avenue Books, we don’t even consider manuscripts that don’t meet our rigorous submission standards, which includes them being typewritten, and we rarely consider a manuscript that doesn’t come in through an agent, but Lovemore appears to consider every manuscript that comes to them.
After I’ve gone through the physical manuscripts, Joy’s going to forward on digital submissions to me as well. I imagine they probably get enough submissions to give someone a full-time job just looking for another potential author.
I settle into the surprisingly comfy couch and start to read.
Chapter Nine
Noah
The house is empty. All the sisters are out working or having fun. I’ve had a shit day and all I want to do is see Daisy.
The alternative is curling up on the couch mindlessly watching television to avoid thinking about Gentry possibly quitting or my lack of patients.
If I focus on that too much, I might start searching for a new small town that needs a doctor, or I might just sign up for another tour with Doctors without Borders, because as much as I want to settle down permanently somewhere, my natural, bred in the bone instinct, is to run. Nothing’s ever magically better in a new place, but there’s always lots to distract me from the mess I left behind.
Before I slide too much farther down that spiral, I head for the kitchen. Assuming no one has used the groceries I bought last weekend, I should have enough ingredients to make a meal that will make Daisy want to marry me.
“Nope,” I say aloud. “Not getting married.” That’s the third time I’ve said it today. The first was when Gentry suggested I marry Daisy immediately to save our business.
Dating is hard enough. A fake marriage would break me.
I’m rinsing veggies for a salad when I look out the back window and see Zephyr, head over the fence, staring back at me with an intimidating scowl.
Horses are huge animals, and I was kicked by one when I was seven. Had a bruise on my thigh that lasted nearly a month and hurt like hell. They intimidate me just by existing anywhere nearby.
The front door opens and closes and, based on the light, quick way the footsteps tap on hardwood, it has to be Daisy.
“Hey, Noah,” she says. “How was your day?”
I shake out the salad greens and lay them in a strainer before I turn and face her. “Gentry thinks we should get married.”
I mean to make her laugh, and it works, her delicate, beautiful face brightening. And then it’s less funny, because she doesn’t stop laughing, but clutches her side like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
“Can you imagine?” she asks straightening, her smile made of glass. “The charming, handsome small-town doctor married to the woman who…” She clears her throat and looks away. “The woman who prefers books to people?”
And just like that, frustration overtakes me, because she thinks she’s beneath me. As though she doesn’t understand that just lying in the grass watching the sunset with her is the best part of my day.
