Page 73 of All's Well that Friends Well
She died.And it’s only when I see Juliet’s concerned gaze flitting over me that I realize how my posture has changed. My shoulders have curled in on themselves; I’ve slouched down in my chair, my head hanging. I force myself to straighten up and meet Juliet’s eyes.
I couldn’t tell you why, but when I see only concern and sadness rather than pity on her face, I have to fight an exhale of relief.
“And was it—did she?—”
“I don’t know.” The words are sharp, curt. “I don’t know if she—if it was—” My shoulders curl in without permission once more. “It was a crash. But I don’t know if she chose—” I break off, shaking my head, because I’ve learned over the years that I can’t dwell on the details of this idea too much.
“Mmm.” It’s a soft hum, full of understanding.
“Anyway, her parents are the Delaneys. I go eat with them once a month.”
Her eyes widen with a flicker of surprise. “Not a girlfriend, then,” she says as a smile spreads over her lips, still red from our kisses. “With cute chunky glasses and an insane IQ?”
I shoot her a questioning look, and she shrugs.
“That’s the kind of girl I thought you’d go for.”
“I don’t seem to have one specific type,” I find myself saying, the words musing as I look at her. “But no. Still no girlfriend, with chunky glasses or otherwise.”
“Good,” Juliet says, more playful now. I think she might be changing the subject on purpose. “Because we just kissed, if you remember?—”
“I remember,” I say dryly.
“Which would be rude to do if you had a girlfriend.”
“It would be rude,” I agree with a nod. I can feel the tension leaving my body, my breath coming easier.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then Juliet says, “You know what my mind tells me?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, going on instead. “It tells me to hide.” Her eyes pull away from mine as she swallows. “It tells me to be ashamed. But I think talking about things can be good. And I think your mind might tell you some of the same lies mine tells me.”
Her gaze is back on mine now, and she once again tilts her head in the little way she does—with interest, curiosity, insight. “But those are lies. That you need to hide, that you’re unredeemable, that you’re a bad person—those are lies.”
The words aren’t just words; they’reheavyblows, pummeling me one after another until I’m in physical pain. Ibreathe deeply, trying to wash the hurt away, trying to control the swelling emotions inside of me—emotions I can’t identify for how melded they are, how raw, how new—or, maybe, ancient and dormant but coming to life once more.
“Well,” Juliet says into the sudden silence that’s fallen. “I should head home.” She hops off my desk and lands on light feet, giving me a little pat on the knee as she scoots past. She makes her way to the door, and she’s almost opened it when she looks over her shoulder at me.
“Dream about me tonight, please,” she says, her eyes sparkling now.
“No promises,” I mutter.
She laughs at the response and then leaves. But my words echo through my head long after she’s gone—even after her strawberry shortcake scent has faded.
Because I know I’m a liar. This woman who’s about to become my assistant, the one Rod wants to help clean up my image, the one I absolutely cannot fall for?—
I’ll dream about her tonight.
LUCA
To my surprise,I actuallydon’tdream about Juliet the night after we kiss. In fact, I don’t dream at all. I sleep so deeply, so soundly, that when I wake up the next morning I’m briefly disoriented. I scramble to look at my clock, only to realize I was woken by my alarm. So while my pulse slows, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, taking stock of how I feel.
Rested. Genuinely rested. And calm in a way I can’t explain—I’ve woken with a faint sense of unease stirring inside for years and years. It’s simply a part of my life.
But as I poke and prod, I realize that feeling is absent today.
I shake my head, bemused more than anything, and hurry to get ready for work. I try to focus on the tasks I need to get done today—the forms I need to sign, the information I need to get sent to the Denver office, the candidates I need to vet for my eventual replacement—but despite my bestefforts, Juliet Marigold keeps slipping into my mind. I find myself thinking of her without even realizing it.
They’re not coherent thoughts, either. Nothing concrete or specific. She just floats around in there, hovering in the background.
I let out a bark of laughter at this, the sound filling the car as I pull into the parking lot at Explore. I don’t think Juliet has ever hovered in the background a day in her life. She could try, of course, but she’s not abackgroundperson. Whether she wants to or not, she’s going to be noticed.