17. Marley

17

MARLEY

“ S hit,” I mutter to no one as I dash through the cold rain to work on Monday morning. The drops feel like ice pellets and as usual, I’m woefully unprepared.

Could I have gone back up to the apartment to grab a coat or an umbrella once I discovered it was raining? Yes. But did I want to risk running into Liam again? God, no.

You’d think receiving the best kiss you’ve ever been given would be a wonderful gift. And it probably would be if the giver wasn’t going out of his way to avoid you. Every time I think about that moment—and it’s a lot —my stomach rolls upwards with joy and immediately crashes the moment I remember we haven’t spoken a word since.

My last words were, ‘I think I’m going to take a nap.’ That’s it—end of the love story. And the longer it’s been since his lips owned mine, the more and more I worry about what I would say to him if I even had the chance. How do you even bring it up?

The biggest fear, I realize as I shove my key into the lock of Paintbrush Post, is that it was good for me and only me. Because the only reason I can figure that he’d avoid me flat out is that it was the worst kiss of his life and he’s too nice to tell me.

I sigh with relief when I stumble, soaking wet, into the building I’m starting to love. I know it sounds wild, what with half of it still in reno, but Mr. Schuster has let me make all the decisions and it’s nice to see my vision coming to life—even if I’m terrified the newspaper won’t fly.

I flip on the light in my office and smile at the space. It’s nearly finished except the ceiling is still open, waiting for electricity to be fully wired. That’s been the most challenging part—bringing the turn-of-the-century building up to the electrical needs of the digital age.

I’ve heard more than one colorful swear word from the very patient but clearly frustrated team of electricians.

Once that’s done, we can start installing the print equipment and wire the place for super-fast WI-FI. As of right now, we’re operating off a router that could probably attend middle school at this point.

I settle into my chair and fish my laptop out of my bag. I have a lot to get done before Finola gets here and since I’m not sure how much I’m going to have to babysit her, I want to make sure I make some progress on the website I’m designing to allow people to subscribe, run ads, and submit editorials.

I like the work, and as I sink into the nitty-gritty of ensuring codes are correctly injected and the wording tight, the few hours of quiet passes quickly.

Only the tinkle of the bell above the front door alerts me to Finola’s arrival and I take a deep breath and steady myself. My first impressions of the stunning young woman were less than kind and I remind myself that I need to give her a chance. Just because she wears Louboutin’s in Paintbrush Peak doesn’t mean she can’t be helpful.

I paste a friendly smile on my face and enter the foyer and find Finola completely wrapped in a Barbie-pink raincoat that definitely costs more than my car, sunglasses even though it’s grey and raining, and heels that make my knees hurt just looking at them.

“Good morning, Finola,” I greet her, rushing to help her out of her raincoat before it leaves a puddle on the paper that protects the newly installed floors from the workmen. “How are you today?”

“Ugh, this weather,” she says, handing me the coat with her thumb and forefinger as if it disgusts her. “It’s hell on my hair.”

I hang the coat on the coat rack and eye her perfectly placed, not a bit frizzy hair and wonder what a good hair day looks like for her. It must be something to behold.

I pat at my hair, now slightly self-conscious because I can’t remember even looking at it before I twisted it into a messy bun. I’ve seen the frizz this kind of weather brings out and let’s just say, I probably look a little more like I’ve been working on the electricity than the website. “I know what you mean,” I laugh awkwardly, taking in her expensive, tailored dress. “You know, you don’t have to dress quite so fancy here. Especially with all the work going on. I wouldn’t want anything to get ruined.”

Finola waves her gorgeously manicured hand through the air. “Oh, don’t worry about this, it’s last season.”

“Right,” I answer, wondering what she would say if she knew my jeans were all season, every season, for the last five-ish years.

She looks around the place and smiles. “It’s come so far even since last week,” she mentions. I detect a genuine excitement that calms my nerves a bit. “I love the color combo you’ve got going on.” She turns and bestows a compliment on me with a pointed finger as if she is a fairy godmother. “You have exceptional taste.”

“Thank you,” I answer, feeling more pleased than I probably should. I motion to her desk. “I got your station set up this weekend. It’s fully adjustable.” I hit a button to raise the desk. “You can stand, sit, whatever works for you.”

Her eyes flash. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you. I get fidgety if I sit too long. This will be perfect. Do you mind if I accessorize a little bit?”

“Not at all, it’s your space. I want you to feel comfortable. And let me know if you don’t like the chair. I’m putting in an order next week for the conference room and I can throw it on there.”

Finola smiles at me even though I’m talking too fast and too much. “Thank you.” She sets her tiny pink clutch down on her desk, essentially planting her flag. “Now, what do you want me to work on today?”

I grimace just a little before answering because I’m not sure if she’s going to like my answer. “There isn’t much to do yet in terms of the paper, but there are tons of old issues, articles, and receipts that need to be sorted and scanned into our new system so we can make room.”

“I can do that,” she answers brightly, and I wonder for a moment if she was nervous too about what I might ask of her. “Show me where to start.”

With an almost relieved smile, I lead her to the boxes in the second office. “You can start here. Use whatever system works for you. The conference room is still being worked on, but there is floor space in the printing room if you need to spread out. I trust you.”

Her eyes flash to mine at the last sentence, and the confidence typically on her face slips for a moment. “You trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.” Her face brightens into a smile. “Thank you. I’m going to get to work.”

“I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

She nods, already picking up a box that spills over with yellowed documents, and I leave the room understanding a little more about her. Gorgeous, doted on, pampered, but never given anything to really do.

I can work with that.