Page 50 of Drawn Together
Thirty-four
Word of the day: thantophobia
Definition: the fear of losing someone you love
“So, after you knew it was me working with you—what then?”
“I waited a few days, trying to think if I wanted to tell you now or wait. And it was in the closet when I decided I had no choice but to tell you. I asked Todd for the regulations on the NDA.” Of course he did.
Fletcher Harding was never going to break a contract.
“And he made it clear it wasn’t possible.
Breaking the NDA for anyone that wasn’t directly approved by the publishing house would end in a lawsuit of up to three million, and if I couldn’t pay that, then ultimately, jail. ”
A cold dread wraps around my chest, and I struggle to draw a breath. Fletcher pushes a glass of water closer to me, and I take a sip with my eyes never leaving his.
“So, I just kept pushing. I kept asking for changes, and since you were working on the project, I thought maybe we could find a loophole. I hired two different lawyers to go through all the papers and find some kind of slip up where I could tell you and just leave it at that.” He grabs my hand and laces our fingers together.
“I didn’t care about anyone else knowing, but I needed you to.
You have to know that. I never wanted to take this kind of role on, especially without you knowing. ”
“You could have told me. I never would’ve said a word. Not to my family or Lennon or anyone.”
Fletcher shakes his head frantically, “Of course you wouldn’t have. I know you, Flora. You are the most loyal woman I’ve met. Loyal to a fault, really. I didn’t want you to know and carry this weight of trying to make everything perfect for someone like me.”
“So…”
“So, I had a meeting with Todd and my editor, and we decided the only other choice was retirement. Which meant retiring Cedric Brooks as a whole.”
“Fletcher—”
“And retiring,” he goes on, squeezing my fingers, “meant I could not tell you until the announcement was official at a ‘press conference,’ of sort.”
“That’s why Lennon came up with the idea of the event?”
“I thought maybe it would help out the store and wrap up the whole Cedric Brooks thing.”
“Why would you retire and leave all this behind, just so you could tell me?”
“I don’t want there to be a world where I don’t get to tell you my every thought.”
The silence between us is a plea of sorts. Of wanting more and not knowing enough and dying for a thread to pull us closer.
“I used to write at night, you know,” he says, throat hoarse.
“I would spend all day doing normal, mundane tasks, then as soon as night fell, the world would come to a close so easily around me. Now,” his laugh is a tired one, “I’m in bed by eight.
Trying so hard to fall asleep, because I know the second I wake up, I get to run across the street and see you again.
My eyes close and it’s like I’m…time traveling to a place where I know you are, and I can’t get there fast enough. ”
Fletcher’s thumb raises, swiping along my cheek bone, and it comes away wet from a stray tear.
“It’s funny,” he takes one of my curls and gently holds it there in his palm, “how my favorite thing in the world has been so easily replaced by someone I met just months ago.”
My mouth falls open, then closes just as quickly. What do you say to that? What do you say to a man so…Fletcher?
“You understand why I couldn’t tell you, right?”
My head is feverishly nodding. “Yes, I know.”
“Because I couldn’t have you, not while you hated me still. You know I had to get you to love me, because of me and not that guy, right?”
“You’re both though, aren’t you?”
“I like to think I’m more of one than the other.” He blows out a breath. “You said once that you wished you were the first person someone went to. I wanted to be that person for you.”
“You were,” I rear back and correct myself. “Are.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not just the first one for me, you’re the only one.”
I lift one hand up to my hair, smoothing it down and pulling a single curl tight, his eyes watching the encounter, pupils dilating. “So, when I emailed Cedric last night saying I enjoyed working with him and that I was going to miss him—”
“It broke the last thread of control I had.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay?”
I nod, shaky and a little unsure, and a whole lot obsessed with this man.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I think you love me. Maybe as much as I love you.”
A ratcheting breath leaves his chest, and I feel it in my blood. “Let’s be honest here, we both know it’s more.”
A smile pulls at my lips. I very, very much doubt that.
“You retired from your day job today.”
“I did.”
“What are you going to do with all this extra free time?”
“I was hoping a certain artist would let me move her book club meetings up to daily ones. And maybe read a little less vampires and a lot more dinosaurs.”
“Sounds excellent to me.”
He leans in to kiss me, and I pause just before our lips can touch. “You know that book where the children's book illustrator and the author fall in love?”
“I do.”
“And do you remember what they do after?”
“No,” he smiles, “you’ll have to remind me.”
I happily do, stretching high to plant a soft, slow kiss on his lips.