Page 83 of Love and History
Hewasmine, and I had to fucking fix this.
He ran his finger over the packages of dried pasta I’d left on the counter and crossed his arms. “You’re cleaning?”
“Organizing…kind of. How was your day?” I asked stiffly.
“Okay. I talked to Val. She’ll be singing your praises for a while. Your boss’s check was obscenely generous.”
I winced. “I’m really sorry about Rossman and all the BS with Mallory. You’re right. It was a lie of omission. Or a half truth. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I have a habit of only wanting to know what’s convenient. It won’t happen again.”
“I understand. He’s your boss and it’s your job. And—”
“I quit.”
Holden frowned. “What? Why?”
“It didn’t feel like such a good fit after all. I’ll look for something else. I can always do temp work until I find out if I passed the bar. I’ve saved a lot of money and…I’ll be all right.”
“Oh.” He inclined his head and fiddled with the crinkly wrap on the pasta some more. “I noticed the boxes in the foyer. Are those yours?”
“Yeah, I’ll try to be out by the weekend.” I hated the uber-polite tone our conversation had taken, but I was drowning here.
Tell him the truth, Ez. Just tell him.
His nostrils flared as he adjusted his glasses. “Right. Okay. Um…can I help you?”
No, I didn’t want his help. And no, I didn’t want to go anywhere.
My lungs were on fire. I hadn’t dealt with this many bottled-up emotions in eons.
In a rom-com, this would be where I’d get on my knees and beg him to give me another chance. I’d have one of Shakespeare’s best lines at the ready too. He’d be so blown away by my chivalrous display that he’d jump in my arms and agree that we should give us a chance.
But you know…I was me and I didn’t know how to do romance. So like an idiot, I took him up on his offer to help me pack instead. Like we could somehow be what we never were…boring roommates who bent over backward to be polite.
Sirens were roaring in my head now.Think, think. Say the words. Tell him the truth.
I had to get his attention and I—
A lightbulb went on in my head. It was a lame, silly, stupid idea, but maybe it was enough.
“I’m gonna grab something from the garage. Hang tight.”
I hurried to pull his cooler out of storage, dragged it into the kitchen, and set it on the table.
Holden pointed at the cooler, then finished drying his hands on a dish towel. “What’s that for?”
“I’m out of boxes. This’ll work in a pinch.”
Holden put his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow. “You can’t use a cooler to move things.”
“Why not? The last of my books will fit in nicely, and it’s better for the environment,” I replied matter-of-factly.
“No, it’s a cooler. You’re supposed to put food in it.”
“You’re right.” I opened the refrigerator, gathered a handful of his neatly stacked blueberry yogurts, and dropped them in the cooler.
“You’re stealing my yogurt?”
“I believe the correct term is pilfering, but you know what?” I snapped my fingers and pulled a notepad and pen from our community “junk” drawer. “I’ll replace them and I’ll even write it down so you have a record. Here you go…”