Page 31 of About that Fling (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #2)

Several members of the group frowned at the backhanded compliment, but no one argued.

“As I was saying,” Adam continued, “there were a number of examples of judgmental language in the dialogue John and I just had. One example is something you may not have picked up on because it sounded very much like I was trying to be sensitive and express an emotion. Did anyone catch that?”

He surveyed the room, wondering who’d picked up on it.

On the far side of the room, his ex-wife tapped her pen three times on her notepad.

A familiar gesture, one Adam remembered well.

She had a thought, and was wrestling with whether to voice it.

When she looked up, her eyes met his, and Adam forced himself not to look away.

“You said ‘I feel like you never listen to me.’” She glanced down at her notes as though confirming she’d gotten the words right, then looked back at him and nodded. “ Never is a very inflammatory word.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice hitching a little on the second syllable. “And that’s only part of what makes the sentence so judgmental. Can you pick up on anything else?”

She hesitated, tapping her pen again. “I’m not sure.”

Adam swallowed. How many times in their marriage had she uttered that phrase? Never, not that he could remember. She’d always been so goddamn certain about everything, sure he was working too many hours and not being spontaneous enough, sure he should be listening better instead of?—

“It’s the word ‘like,’” he said. “It’s a tricky one. On the surface, it sounds as though I’m trying to express a feeling, right? The sentence began with ‘I feel like,’ so it’s gotta be an emotion, right?”

She shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Something in her expression said Mia was dangerously close to tears, and Adam had no earthly idea what he’d done to provoke that. So much for being a perceptive professional mediator.

“Generally speaking,” he said, softening his voice a little. “If the word ‘like’ follows the words ‘I feel,’ you’re expressing a judgment, not a feeling. For instance, ‘I feel like you’re being unprofessional,’ or ‘I feel like you aren’t hearing me’—those are judgments, not genuine feelings.”

Mia nodded, then looked down at her notebook again. She began to jot something in earnest. She was taking this whole process very seriously. Part of him wanted to be flattered. Hell, had Mia ever hung on his every word before?

Part of him just wanted to be pissed that the answer was no .

Adam took a breath. He needed to move on.

“The worksheet I handed out at the start of this exercise has a list of universal feelings,” he said.

“These are internal sensations without reference to thoughts or interpretations. They can range from embarrassment to uneasiness to suspicion to helplessness, and they are feelings everyone can relate to. Every single one of us.”

Every eye in the room was watching him now, and for the first time in days, Adam felt sure he was getting somewhere with the group.

He held up his copy of the sheet and pointed to the list at the top.

“Up here we have a list of universal human needs. I want you to study these without reference to specific people, actions, or things.”

He gave the group a moment to look at the sheet.

He stole a glance at Jenna and saw her staring down at the page.

She had a furrow between her brows that Adam wanted to stroke with the pad of his thumb, caressing the worry away.

He forced himself to look someplace else, turning his attention back to the CEO.

“Okay then. John, could I get you to walk through that example with me again?”

“Sure. Yes, absolutely.”

“This time, I’d like us to use language that expresses feelings and needs.

I’ll start by being Ms. Archibald again.

” He looked down at the sheet, though he pretty much had it memorized.

He hadn’t always known how to work through conflict like this, but it had become second nature to him now.

How would it have changed his marriage if he’d found the tool seven or eight years ago?

He folded his arms across his knees and cued up his Sharon Archibald voice again. “John, I’m feeling anxious and overwhelmed and a little helpless.”

“Okay,” the CEO said, looking leery, but he didn’t interrupt.

Adam continued, treading carefully. “When it comes to the household, I have a real need for order and harmony. It’s what helps me feel safe in our home.”

He heard someone on the opposite side of the room mutter “cheesy,” but everyone else was paying attention. Even the CEO sat blinking at him in surprise.

“Did you catch how I expressed both feelings and needs?”

John nodded, saying nothing.

“Now it’s your turn,” Adam said, skipping the part where John needed to repeat everything back to make sure he got it. It was clear from his expression that he did. “Tell me how you feel and what you need. Use the sheet, it’ll help.”

John nodded and looked down at the page.

When he looked up, his scowl was gone. “I feel exhausted. I work long days, and I come home and just want to relax, but instead I feel like—” He stopped there, grimacing at his slip.

Adam could have kissed him, but instead he let him keep going.

John trailed a finger over the page, looking for the right words on the list. “I feel discouraged. I want to do a good job, and I just need acceptance and trust and maybe a little space.”

The room fell silent. Adam let the silence hang like that for a few beats. The first voice to break it was one he knew well.

“Wow.”

He looked over at Mia. Her mouth was open, and her pen was dangling from the tips of her fingers. Adam turned back to John and nodded.

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

The CEO beamed. “Thank you.”

“It’s powerful stuff, isn’t it? When you share feelings instead of judgments, it compels people to relate to you.”

“And hearing what someone needs instead of a list of complaints—it’s kind of empowering?”

Adam looked at the nursing manager who’d spoken and gave her a quick nod. “Exactly. And empowered is a much better way to feel than attacked and helpless. Not a bad shift, with just a few changes in wording, wouldn’t you say?”

Several heads nodded. A few people looked uncertain, but nearly everyone in the room was looking at the list with renewed interest.

“Okay then,” Adam said, standing up and beginning a stroll around the room.

“I’d like you all to pair up with someone else in the room and practice running through scenarios until you feel comfortable with this format.

For now, stick with personal examples—no talk of company business until we’re all sure we’ve got the hang of the tool. Any questions?”

“Yes.” Adam turned to see Nancy Jensen smiling. “Will you come home with me?” she asked. “I’d love to have you teach my husband and me to relate to each other like this.”

Adam laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “I can certainly recommend a number of excellent resources for Compassionate Communication training. There are plenty of NVC specialists in Portland.”

“Are you single?” Adam looked to the corner of the room where Susan Schrader was smiling at her own joke. “It’s hard for me to imagine someone with communication skills like this wouldn’t be snapped up pretty quickly.”

It took every ounce of strength he had not to look to the other corner of the room. “You’d be surprised.”

Later that week, Adam stood the produce aisle staring at a limp-looking cauliflower. His hotel suite had a kitchenette, which should be all the motivation he needed to whip up home-cooked meals each evening when he finished his workday at Belmont.

But between working late and feeling out of sorts living in a hotel, he hadn’t managed to assemble anything more complicated than a veggie omelet one morning last week.

He had the skills to do it. The cooking class he’d taken last spring had seen to that, and he’d gotten pretty good at making impressive meals from scratch since he and Mia had split up. What was his problem now?

“Salmon chowder,” he decided, setting the cauliflower down and snatching a few large carrots. He turned around to add potatoes and onions to his basket, trying to remember the rest of the recipe he’d learned in his last cooking class.

That’s when he spotted her. An elderly woman teetering on the second row of shelving, scaling the display like a monkey as she stretched up to reach something on a high shelf.

“Ma’am, stop!” Adam called, dropping his basket and hurrying over. “Let me help you, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The woman turned and blinked at him. There was something familiar about her startlingly blue eyes, but Adam pushed the thought aside as she started to wobble.

He got there just in time as the woman toppled backward, falling into his arms. She felt surprisingly light, and he half expected her to smack him with her purse and accuse him of molesting her as he set her back on solid ground.

“My, my,” she said, fluffing her hair. “I haven’t had a man sweep me off my feet like that for some time. You’re a regular romance novel hero, aren’t you?”

Adam stepped back, a little surprised by her sass. “Nope, just a man who doesn’t want to see a lady get hurt. Climbing on store shelves is a pretty much a recipe for a lawsuit.”

“Do you work for the store?”

“No, but I practiced law for a number of years. You fall and break your neck here, that could turn into an ugly legal situation for everyone involved.”

The woman’s face lit up, and she gazed at him with renewed interest. “A lawyer? That’s wonderful!”

Adam laughed. “I don’t hear that very often. Usually people make jokes about how many lawyers it takes to screw in a lightbulb.”