Lincoln
Believe it or not, I’m not going to just flush the historical value of Madison Manor down the toilet because a Livingston decided to get married.
Ebony
Wow!
Lincoln
How about you let me take care of the restoration, and you handle the wedding planning? I’ve got a job to do. Is that going to be a problem for you?
The rest of the night, I check my messages again and again. I take a shower, eat, and turn down the bed, but Ebony still hasn’t replied. She’s left my message on read, and I should feel good—I made my point. I won. But as I lie in bed, I can’t shake this uncertainty.
What did I really win, and at what cost?
Chapter Seven
Snapped
Ebony
“Hi there, canI helpyou find anything?”
I look up from my phone, where I just sent another call from Mom to voicemail as a bright-eyed woman with long goddess braids and flawless brown skin weaves her way through the vibrant display tables of the boutique stationery store, heading straight for me.
I’ve been aimlessly browsing through a colorful sea of journals for the last half-hour, and spoiler alert, I still haven’t picked one.
“Oh my goodness.” I laugh nervously, suddenly feeling very self-aware. “You’ve probably been watching me this whole time, wondering if I’m really contemplating this deep or just dazed and confused.”
To my relief, she waves off my comment, flashing me a reassuring smile. “Honey, I’m a planner girlie. I, for one, am not judging. Choosing the right journal—or planner, or shoot, even the right pen—is basically a life decision. It’s as important as the words and plans that go in it.”
We exchange a wide-eyed look of silent solidarity.
A relieved sigh seeps out of me. “Okay, good, because I was going to stay home and search online. But foolishly, I somehow thought coming here, getting up close, feeling the textures, and letting the colors fuel my inspiration would make all the difference.” I smile, letting my nerves settle, like I’ve confessed some deep, vulnerable truth.
If she’s secretly judging, thankfully, she doesn’t let on. “You have definitely come to the right place,” she says.
“Of course. This is absolutely a me problem. Recently, I’ve just been generally…indecisive? I don’t know if that’s the right word.” I laugh. “But you get it.” I gesture to the journal stacks, like they’re the root cause of my woes when they’re barely the tip of my emotional iceberg.
The thing is, I could’ve worked from home today. I could’ve torn a sheet of paper from an old notebook to get my Hillary homework done. I’ve also got updates from Cornelia on the guest list, plus a flood of emails I need to send to beg vendors to pull this wedding together on short notice. It’s too late for save-the-dates, but Hailey needs to select invitations. Or, instead of staying home, I should head over to my office at Ellswood Mill, clean up the space, start sorting through my wedding arches and vases, and get everything looking presentable for client meetings—fingers crossed, those referrals come pouring in.
But how am I supposed to focus on checklists and an office moonlighting as a storage unit, or even my consultation next Friday with the dating concierge Savannah set me up with, when I can’t stop fixating on that dream?
I drag the tip of my fingernail over the edge of my teeth, still daunted by the heady rush of Linc’s throaty whisper.Look atme, Ebony.
Phew, Lord… It was so real.
The way my body prickled with awareness of his—
Too real.
See, this is why today, it’s homework over working from home. I cannot afford to be distracted. I’ve got too much riding on this wedding.
But even Savannah’s homework has been weighing on me. Not so much reaching out to Hillary or dating—more like, where do I start withThe Divorcétante Chronicles? What’s the logistics of building a social media series as an outlet? What’s my real end goal with it? And, all things considered, am I ready to put myself out there to be judged even further?
After a beat, I realize I’ve been standing here, and the woman has been quietly watching me, lost in thought.
“Sorry.” I laugh again. “My head has been all over the place. A gratitude journal was supposed to be my easy task.”
