Then there was the fact that, should she take the job, she would be Kenzie’s senior. The entire marketing department’s senior. What better way to prove that her ex had made a mistake than Harper working as her boss and earning more money than Kenzie in the process? Kenzie wouldweep. She would regret. She wouldpine.
Harper had always wanted to make someone pine.
But did she wantthis?
Of course, she wanted stability. She missed knowing that she had money coming in. She missed feeling satisfied by her work not just when she hit a word count milestone or had a breakthrough in plotting, but when a campaign she’d led succeeded, or when somebody gave positive feedback on her attention to detail or her great advice on copywriting. In such a fast-paced company, she’d been fuelled by everyday accomplishments, and not having them had made her feel unsteady. Unsure of herself. Nobody was here to praise her.
Nobody was here to demean her, either.
She sank lower into her chair, resting her head on the keyboard until her reply box was filled with long lines of Xs and Vs, accompanied by the jolting noise warning her that she was typing utter nonsense. She ignored it.
“This is bad. This is really, really bad.” Just the thought of heading back to Manchester and stepping back into that office, wearing something far less comfortable than her current thermal leggings and cosy jumpers, made her mouth dry as sandpaper. At least before, she’d been able to work from home when the pressure got to her. The last marketing and sales director, Debra, had practically lived in the office, always rushing from meeting to meeting while trying to supervise Harper and her colleagues, too. Over coffee, she’d confessed that the work was piling up and it was causing problems with her wife and kids at home. Harper didn’t have a partner or kids, but she wanted them. One day. And in the meantime, she wanted at least six hours a night to watch reality TV in her pyjamas, or catch up with friends, or read, or perhaps even keep her newfound connection to nature intact. She didn’t want to feel like she was just trying to survive each day, each week, each month.
And she wanted time to finish her book. She still had a long way to go. If she went to this meeting, she’d have to cut her trip short. And if she got the job, what if it left her with no time to write?
She’d come too far to abandon the novel.
And…
Fraser. She didn’t want to leave Fraser.
“Bollocks.” She whined into her hands, tearing apart at the seams. She couldn’t just turn down an opportunity like this when she was painfully unemployed,could she? Maybe the increased salary would mean she could save up, take a gap year to continue writing in the future.
“Morning, sunshine.” She slammed her laptop shut when the door swung open and Fraser appeared. Bernard jumped straight onto her lap, licking her cheek in greeting.
“Good morning.” Her voice came out loud and squeaky, not hers, but he was too busy striding towards the kettle to notice.
“Sleep well?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Enjoying your new desk?”
Harper stared out at the woods.Herwoods. She’d grown accustomed to this view. Fraser’s chopping block, the saplings slowly rising from the soil, the carpet of fallen leaves and pine needles surrounding tall trees that were gradually turning bare. November had come too quickly, and the proof was written in the cool fog blanketing the golden forest. At Brentworth, the only view was a big yellow crane across the street, hovering over a new apartment build that never seemed to be finished. When she was lucky, the eternal scaffolding was blurred out by the rain.
Was she willing to give this –him– up?
She couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t even think about saying goodbye. She buried her face into Bernard’s musky fur and sighed.
“Harp?” Fraser whirled around before the kettle, concern tugging down the corners of his mouth. “You all right?”
She couldn’t tell him. Not until she’d had a proper chance to think about it.
So she nodded with feigned enthusiasm. “Yep, I’m good. How was babysitting? Is Eiley feeling any better? Did she hear anything from Finlay? What did Cam say?”
“Steady on.” He ducked his head as though her words were flying right at him. “That’s a lot of questions in a very short amount of time.” He rested on the arm of his sofa so there was nothing between them but Bernard. He reached out, brushed his knuckles across the back of her hand before petting Bernard between the ears. “Eiley is surprisingly okay, for now, but I’m going to keep checking in between work. Babysitting was good. We ate too many sweets on Saturday, and yesterday I took them along the Fairy Trail with Cam and Sorcha to tire them out. Sky was a little upset, but Isla soon cheered him up, and… what were the other questions?”
Harper shook her head. Her brain couldn’t focus on anything other than that email. It felt like a shadow peering over her back. Like somehow, Fraser might be able to see through the closed lid of her laptop to what lay beneath. Their impending farewell. “I can’t remember, honestly.”
His cheek dimpled as he bent forwards, the pad of his thumb tracing her cupid’s bow. “What’s on the agenda for today? I feel like I didn’t see you nearly enough this weekend. Forty-eight hours feels like a lifetime without you.”
He might as well have ripped her heart open, the way he tore apart pieces of kindling outside. She would love nothing more than to sink into him and forget, but what if that only made the inevitable more painful? What if she should already be preparing herself to say goodbye?
It would be the sensible thing to do. She would need a job eventually, and it would be nice to line her pockets with extra money before Christmas.
She frowned, taking his hand and kissing his palm, because it was about all she could muster. “I think… I don’t know, honestly. I haven’t thought about it.”
“You’re supposed to say you missed me, too,” he pointed out, nudging her shin with the steel-cap toe of his boot.
