Page 43 of All's Well that Friends Well
He could have reported me to the police. He maybe evenshouldhave. But he didn’t. So what can I do for him?
I straighten up as new excitement rushes through me. Here’s something I can do, something I can focus on. I need aplan. A plan to be a good friend. A confidant, a partner, someone Luca can depend on.
He even said I could try to get him to fall in love with me. He said it straight to my face. So maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll make a plan to win him over. And if he’s still not interested?
I swallow and nod my resolve.
If he’s still not interested, I’ll finally let him go.
JULIET’S FOOLPROOF, NON-STALKER PLAN TO BECOME MRS. LUCA SLATER
1. Proximity! He won’t fall for you if he never sees you. HOWEVER, when he does not want you there, you should see yourself out.
2. Friendship! Be a good friend!
3. Impress him! Show him your worth. Prove yourself an asset to his life.
4. Flirt! Make yourself memorable in a good way. If he’s uncomfortable, back off.
5. Do your best to look your best.
6. Last of all…if who YOU are as a person seems incompatible with who HE is as a person, then look yourself in the mirror and LET GO OF THIS MAN.
LUCA
This week has beena feat of time and space. It went both impossibly quickly and impossibly slowly, and my already short fuse seems to be running even shorter this evening.
I usually keep myself busy on Saturdays. I run, I finish up odds and ends from work, I even read if I’ve got time.
Setting up for breakfast picnics is never on the to-do list. But today it was. Susan Miller—who I apparently cannot say no to—was over here bright and early with several rented tables, a bunch of folding chairs, and a few plastic tablecloths. She had me move things around, unload chairs, provide feedback, and I went along with all of it. When she finally left this afternoon, I found myself even more tired than usual, and grumpier too.
Maybe it’s because I own exactly one pair of good blue jeans, and I’m wearing them now. The seams are digging into my thighs, just uncomfortable enough to be irritating.Maybe that’s why I’m in such a foul mood at the moment, my hand gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force.
“Sure,” I mutter under my breath as I come to a stop at a red light. “That’s why.”
It’s not why. The cause for my irritable mood has nothing to do with the pants I’m wearing or the slightly too warm evening that leaves a sheen of perspiration on the back of my neck—the one place my car’s air conditioner can’t blast directly.
My mood is more complex than that this evening. I’m headed to see the Delaneys, which means the next several hours will be nothing short of hell for me, made more full of fire and brimstone by the fact that Maura’s parents genuinely adore me. Their smiles and hugs and unconditional love will suffocate me, until I’m drowning in guilt and regret with no one but myself to blame.
I don’t even have a right to complain, because I’m the one who keeps visiting them. They ask, but I could say no. I could tell them the truth, that by the end of our relationship I no longer had any intention of marrying their daughter.
That I loved Maura, but I loved myself more.
And at this thought, my mind somehow flits in the last direction it should ever go: to freaking Juliet Marigold, who loves everyone and everything with reckless abandon.
I groan as the light turns green and put a little too much force on the gas, causing me to burst forward like a driver in Mario Kart. I jump, adjust the pressure, and then clear my throat, my cheeks heating from embarrassment over my sheer stupidity. It takes a second for my pulse to settle down, but then my brain wanders right back down the path it just tried to take.
Juliet.
It’s just…I never thought I would feel sorry for Juliet Marigold. She’s a Disney princess who bakes and probably sings to animals and looks beautiful at all times. She has a wonderful family, sisters who clearly love her enough to face me down when they’re concerned I’m firing her.
There’s no reason for me to feel sorry for her. There was no reason for me to dig through the closets in my rental, searching blindly for anything that looked work appropriate so that I could give it to her.
She’s just so unapologetically herself, and she doesn’t try to fit in with anyone else. As her boss, I’m concerned people will take advantage of her, or misunderstand her and cause problems. That’s all.
Is that why you agreed to be her friend, too?my traitorous mind says.Is that why you indulged in a childish back-and-forth game of messages on sticky notes? Is that why you took the time to explain that her behavior was inappropriate, rather than just shoving her away?
“I just don’t want people to misunderstand her unnecessarily,” I say firmly.
