“Which is exactly why you should be doing it for a living,” she says. “I know you love working at Fred’s, and I can’t believe I’m agreeing with your mom here, but God, you’re so fucking talented.”
I sigh. “Remember that guy Oliver gave my info to a while back? The one who asked him about his logo?” I ask, and she nods. “He owns a brewery and they’re opening a new location. I woke up to an email from him with a proposal to build his site, the retail page, and design all the promo materials. It’d be the biggest job I’ve ever done—huge—and I’d probably have to do it full-time to meet his deadline, at least for a while.”
“No more Fred’s?” she asks.
I shrug, wincing. “I’m going to quit Bliss first, but even so, I can’t imagine how I’d make it work.” The idea of not working with Fred makes my heart droop, but the idea of doing this full-time? I can’t even imagine how great that could be.
“Sounds like it could be amazing.”
“Sounds like being a grown-up,” I counter.
She puts her arm around my shoulder again and squeezes. “Imagine all the time that could leave for . . . other things.”
I reach for the laptop and tap a few keys. “I don’t think I’m going to have to worry about other things for a while.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened yet?”
I feel my shoulders sag with the weight of all that’s happened today, and slide back down to the chair at her side. I tell her everything; about how scared I’ve been to let Luke in, his saying he loved me, about the texts he didn’t see and how I blew up at him this morning. I mean to keep everything matter-of-fact, but my voice comes out thin and wobbly.
Lola makes a tiny sympathetic noise and I look up at her. “Honey,” she says, reaching for my hand, “I think you’re a badass.”
I laugh and wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “What? Why?”
“You put yourself out there. And so did he. You know, Luke was the perfect boyfriend. He was attentive and loyal—then the accident happened and it’s like he and Mia were such different people afterward.”
I nod. I’ve heard some variation of this from almost everyone who knew him back then.
Lola frowns, drawing her finger across a pattern in the tabletop as she continues. “Mia stopped talking and Luke slept with one girl after another, but in a way . . . it’s like they did the same thing. They were both doing what they thought they had to to protect themselves. Something huge changed inside Luke after the accident: he put this wall around himself and wouldn’t let anyone in,” she says, and her thoughtful expression shifts into a smile. “Sound familiar?”
“A little,” I say, bumping her shoulder lightly. “He said falling in love isn’t about who makes you feel the best, but who could make you the most miserable if they leave.” I swipe the side of my hand across my wet cheek. “Which is basically what I told myself every day before I met him.”
“Is that still how you feel?” Lola asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think he really believes it, either.”
Lola toys with a tiny sapphire pendant around her neck that I’m pretty sure was a recent gift from Oliver. “So tell him.”
“It’s so scary,” I say.
“Sometimes scary can be good. He said he loves you. He’s yours now, don’t you get that? You’re the one person who can be with Luke anytime you want.”
An explosion of fireworks goes off in my chest at the revelation.
He’s mine now.
I’m the one person—the only person—who can see him every hour, of every day.
If he’ll forgive me.
Lola continues, oblivious to the thunder going off inside me. “Or pull a Harlow and show up on his doorstep wearing nothing but a trench coat. Simple, but effective.”
“As hilarious as I suspect his reaction would be, I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”
“I’m just watching you freak out on about a hundred different levels right now, aren’t I?”
Laughing now, I sniffle and say, “Yes.”
“If this helps you sort through what’s going on up here,” she says, motioning to the laptop before tapping my forehead, “then finish up. Email the brewery guy—because that’s for London, and London only—and then call Luke.”
* * *
I WORK ON the final touches to Lola’s site while I work up the nerve to talk to Luke. It takes a while . . . I’m not used to having to reach out, apologize, and ask for something like this.
Finally, I close my laptop when there isn’t any other work to be done. His number is at the top of my recent calls list, and I take a breath before pressing his name.
His phone doesn’t ring, and instead goes straight to voicemail.