Page 52 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

“Excellent,” she says. “Because I want to take you to my favorite bakery, and there’s a little bookstore right next to it. I think you could use some romance novels in your life, you know?”

I shrug. “I’d read a romance novel, if I had time.” Then I hesitate, searching my words carefully, until I finally find the ones I want. “Do they have audiobooks? That’s what I prefer.”

She shoots me a surprised smile. “Me too,” she says.

“Yes, they do.” She tugs on my hand, and we continue walking.

“Speaking of audiobooks. I’ve actually been thinking about what I want to do.

With my life, I mean,” she goes on. “I took that assessment, but it suggested something in social work or psychology, and I don’t want to do that.

It would be too heavy. I wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize the way I would need to.

” She hesitates, swinging our clasped hands in between the two of us, and I wait for her to speak.

“I’ve sort of been noticing, though…” she finally says. Then she shrugs. “I like what I’m doing here. I know what I’ve been helping you with isn’t the extent of public relations, and I know it’s different because I know you. But I thought I might look more into work that requires people skills.”

“Giving up on the dance thing?” I’m not sure asking this question is a good idea, but I do it anyway.

“No,” she says, and I’m surprised when she laughs. “If another job presented itself, I’d take it. I loved teaching dance. I’d even like to open my own studio someday, if I had the funds and the space. But that’s not in the cards right now.”

“It’s something you could do in the future, though,” I say with a twitch of my shoulders. “If you saved and worked toward all those things. It wouldn’t be impossible. You like cooking, too—you could do something there.”

“Baking,” she corrects me. “I like baking. And yes, I’d love a job doing that, too.” She hums as our pace slows to something easier, more leisurely. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m feeling very optimistic about the paths I could take.”

“Good.” I squeeze her hand. “Because this job you’re doing now…it was never supposed to be permanent. ”

“I know,” she says simply. She squeezes my hand too. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll help.”

“You’d better.” She shivers, and I stop in place.

“You’re cold.”

“A little chilly,” she says, rubbing her arm with her free hand. “I should have put on a jacket. But I kind of wanted you to find me attractive.”

I blink as once again she speaks her mind without any censor, but I recover quickly.

“I find you devastatingly attractive,” I admit, tugging my hand out of hers and then removing my jacket.

“But if we’re dating, I’m getting to know you.

Your insides. Not your…outsides,” I finish awkwardly.

Slowly, carefully, I drape the jacket over her shoulders as she looks up at me, her expression difficult to read.

“I told you your appearance was the least interesting thing about you; I meant it,” I say, using the lapels of the jacket to tug her closer. “Understand?”

In the glow of the nearby street lamp I can see the glaze of tears in her eyes, as well as something like surprise. But there’s sadness there, too, and I don’t understand.

“Does that bother you?” I say when she doesn’t respond.

Slowly, she shakes her head. “No,” she says, her voice quiet.

“What bothers me is that when I wanted to be attractive to you, I just tried to be sexy. I hadn’t even realized, but…

that was my go-to.” She swallows, her gaze far away for a moment, and then she meets my eye again.

“When I could have been reading you poetry or something, you know? I was trying to be sexy when I could have been feeding you peach crumble instead, or teaching you how to plié.”

She means what she’s saying, I can tell as she babbles on, but she’s also deflecting. So I take my cues from her, and we spend the rest of our stroll discussing places we want to go together until she’s back to herself.

“There’s a place in Boulder that offers cooking evenings,” I say when we reach her house, the windows shining with cheerful light. “That’s where I want to go with you.”

“Ooh,” she says, her eyes widening with excitement. “I would love that.”

“I know you would,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. It’s almost embarrassing how easily I thought of that idea when I first considered where I might take her for a date.

I could love her. If I let myself…I could love her. I could choose to love her, and I would fall into those feelings with ease.

I think I’m almost ready for that. So I squeeze her hand one last time. “I’ll take you on a date soon,” I promise. “Let’s see how things go, okay?”

She folds her arms and gives me a grumpy look. “I want more than that.”

I don’t try to hide my smile. “Goodnight, Miss Marigold.”

When she cocks her brow at me, I remember her insistence that I call her something else. So I open my mouth and make myself say the words—speak the name that’s been trying to escape for days, every time I talk to her.

“Goodnight, Jules. ”

When I visit HR the next morning and inform Susan Miller that I’m entering a personal relationship with my PR assistant, Susan doesn’t look surprised. In fact, if anything, she looks happy.

Or—well, I think she looks happy. Susan is tricky to read. She has very few facial expressions, so it all comes down to the corners of her eyes and the set of her mouth. I’m not good at deciphering things like that. Juliet probably could, but she’s not with me.

Susan gives me some paperwork to fill out and then asks if I’ve discussed this change with Mr. Ring, at which point I decide that maybe I don’t like Susan so much after all. She looks too smug, the same expression I know Rod will be wearing when he finds out about this.

“Thanks, Susan,” I say, but it’s more of a grumble.

I hand her the form I’ve filled out and then leave the office with long strides, just to avoid any more conversation about the topic.

I pause just as I’ve reached the door, though, and turn around to face the desk again.

“By the way, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Ring started dropping by more than usual.

Just a heads up.” I pause. “I also—” I clear my throat and then go on.

“Thank you for your help with the breakfast. I wouldn’t have been able to do it myself. ”

Susan blinks at me, this time with an expression I can easily decipher: surprise.

I just nod at her, and then leave the office, turning into the hallway.

It’s time for one last attempt at getting the sales team back on track.