Page 49 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

LUCA

I feel better than I have in years, and I can’t tell if it’s because for the last week I’ve been hydrating properly, sleeping better, or spending my days in the company of Juliet Marigold.

If I had to guess? All three. It doesn’t hurt that things in the office are starting to look up, too.

Juliet goes where I go, smiling cheerfully and chattering with everyone, reminding me to finish my water bottle before the end of the day, helping me phrase things less confrontationally.

Everyone genuinely likes her, and the employees are starting to relax around me, too.

Ironically, it’s this relaxation that will prove helpful for getting the sales and marketing teams back on track. What they really need is a stern talking to, but I tried that the first week I arrived, and all I got was wide-eyed stares and scandalized whispers when I walked away.

It might be time to try again, with Juliet by my side, and maybe fewer overt threats.

We’ve more or less figured out what the Lucky community wants from an outdoor supply store.

Now we just need to get it into their hands effectively, and the sales and marketing teams need to be on the top of their game.

I need to be on top of my game, too.

It’s a thought that keeps inserting itself into my mind every five minutes. Different wording, but always the same sentiment. Because as surprisingly good as I’ve been feeling—more energized, even more optimistic—there’s something I know I need to do, and I haven’t done it yet.

Talking to Maura’s parents feels like the final boss I need to conquer in order to win the video game—although granted, I’m not a video game guy. It feels like the exam I need to pass to get into grad school, maybe. And I can sense that experience hovering on the horizon, looming.

It’s time. As scary as the prospect is, I know it’s time. I want to move forward with my life. I think I even want to move forward with Juliet, just to see where things might go.

But regardless of what shadows you’re stepping out of, they still seem comfortably familiar compared to the glaring light you’ve been avoiding for so long—the sun that could burn you raw.

Sometimes Juliet feels like that sun. Sometimes I look at her and worry she sees everything I’m trying to hide, whether I want her to or not.

She doesn’t ask permission. She just shines anyway.

“Juliet,” I say on Tuesday morning, exactly one week after my birthday.

Juliet’s head pops up from where she’s seated on my couch, shuffling absently through a box of files I’ve asked her to alphabetize. It’s big and bulky on her lap, covering most of her light blue skirt and hiding her standard ruffly white top.

“Mm-hmm,” she says. And even though there’s no real reason for her to smile when she looks at me, she does—abnormally pink lips curving up as she eyes me expectantly.

“I need to deliver bad news.”

Her smile vanishes. “To me?”

“No.” I don’t elaborate, but she doesn’t need me to; the confusion in her eyes lingers only a second before it’s replaced with something softer, more knowing.

“I see,” she says slowly. She hesitates briefly and then says, “Do you feel prepared?”

The sigh that whooshes out of me is long and slow. “No,” I say, allowing myself to lean back in my chair. The leather squeaks as I swivel to face Juliet more directly. I’m glad she’s asked this question, because I wasn’t sure how to say what’s on my mind. “I don’t feel prepared at all.”

She hums again with another nod, her gaze more intent on me now. She hefts the large box on her lap off to one side and then crosses her legs, propping her elbow on her knee and resting her chin in her hand. “It’s going to be painful?”

I think of the Delaneys, their warmth and kindness. “Probably,” I say, my voice breaking, and my heart does the same.

“But it’s something you need to do.” She’s not asking.

“It is,” I say with a nod. I can tell she knows exactly what I’m talking about, even if we’ve never discussed details, but I appreciate that she’s keeping things vague.

“Then I’m proud of you,” she says simply, straightening up.

“You’ll do well. Just remember to keep everyone’s feelings in mind.

Be as kind and loving as possible, regardless of what you need to say.

” She pauses, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear.

“And whoever you’re speaking to, trust them to understand. ”

I don’t know if they will, so I don’t respond. I just nod again.

“There’s something else,” I say, clearing my throat as though it will get rid of the unpleasant taste still in my mouth.

“Is it about how you’re going to date me soon?” she says brightly, and the way her eyes light up dispels what’s left of my lingering sourness.

“No,” I say, forcing myself not to smile. “We will not be discussing that matter further until a few other things are in place.”

“Boo,” she says with a pout, her shoulders curling in. “That’s what you said yesterday, too.”

“I’ll also say it tomorrow,” I say as my eyes drift to her lips. “So stop asking, Miss Marigold.”

“It’s just that I think you like me,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice. “And I’m technically outside your chain of command. So we could date.”

“Be that as it may, I’m not ready to have this conversation.” It’s true. If I take one step toward Juliet, I’ll want to take another, and another, and another. But until I’ve wrapped a few things up, I can’t.

Juliet’s eyes dart over my face for a second, and then she sighs. “Oh, all right,” she says, the words more genuine now. “I’ll stop asking.”

My shoulders relax. “Thank you.”

“What else do we need to discuss, in that case?” she says.

“The sales and marketing teams, and how they don’t do their jobs. I don’t want to scare them or fire them all, but… ”

She grimaces but makes a little sound of agreement. “What have you done about it already?”

“I talked to them the first week I came here,” I say, reclining further. “But it didn’t have much impact.”

“No,” she says musingly, her eyes darting over me with something like amusement. “I don’t imagine it did.”

I grunt and pull off my glasses, tossing them onto my desk. “Right. So I think we should try again. They’re warming up to me now, aren’t they? So I want you to help me formulate a—a?—”

“A rousing speech?” Juliet says.

“I—sure. If you want to call it that,” I say with a shrug.

“I don’t know about a speech, but I need them to do their jobs, or I’ll hire someone else.

I don’t want to do that, but I will. They’re sloppy out there, undisciplined and unprofessional.

” I hesitate, thinking. “What’s a nice way to say that? ”

“Let me think about it,” Juliet says slowly. Her foot bobs at the ankle, her shiny silver heel catching the light as she moves. “You know, I think you just need to motivate them properly.”

“How?” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “A Salesman of the Month wall?”

“ Sales person of the Month ,” Juliet corrects, totally seriously, “and actually yes, that wouldn’t hurt. But I was thinking more along the lines of a genuine, frank conversation. You don’t want to scare people, but they also need to understand the situation as it stands, pleasant or not.”

“I’ve been saying that since day one,” I grumble.

Juliet’s lips twitch. “Yes, but you’ve been saying it rudely.”

“It’s not my job to coddle their feelings. This is a workplace . ”

“I know. But I think we can probably find some middle ground,” she says. “In fact, I might even have an idea.”

My dinners with the Delaneys are monthly affairs, and always on a weekend. So the fact that I’m making the trip on a Tuesday, and less than a month after I last visited, has me feeling distinctly off-kilter. Thinking about what I need to tell them is just the cherry on top.

I’ve come to dread this drive, but this evening it’s worse than usual. My mind is busier, more lively and yet more frightened too. My hands are too tight on the steering wheel, and I think I’m going to develop a crick in my neck from how tense all my muscles are. But I can’t help it.

This is a good thing. It’s what I tell myself over and over. This is the right move. But my words aren’t convincing when I’ve spent years training my mind to drown in guilt.

I don’t know. I’m not sure I know anything. I just know that I’m so, so tired. That my back aches with a burden I want to set down.

When I pull into the Delaneys’ driveway, they’re waiting on the porch.

I’m not surprised; I was the one who called them and asked if I could come, and I didn’t tell them what I wanted to discuss.

They’re smart people, and they know me, so they probably understand that this visit is different.

Their faces, dear to me in their own ways, are lined with worry as I get out of my car and approach on heavy feet.

Mrs. Delaney has her hands clasped tightly in front of her, and Mr. Delaney is standing up straighter than usual.

What will they look like when I leave again ?

“Hi,” I say when I reach them on the porch. I don’t want to meet their gazes, but I don’t think I can do anything else. Not when I’ve come to talk about Maura. “I hope this isn’t too inconvenient.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Delaney says immediately, unclasping her hands and waving at me, gesturing for me to come inside. I nod at Mr. Delaney and then follow them in, sitting on the love seat I usually choose when we’re in the living room.

It occurs to me for the first time that I usually sit here because there’s not room for anyone else to sit next to me. This thought, for some reason, pulls Juliet’s face into my mind, with the same expression she wore after finding out that I didn’t celebrate my birthday.

I shake my head and try to banish the image, because tonight isn’t about Juliet. It can’t be about Juliet.