Page 40 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“What? No, I’m combing my hair.” I squint at myself in the mirror. “Why? Do I need to tweeze my eyebrows?”

“I mean…” She trails off. I wait for her to finish her sentence, but there’s only silence.

“I like my eyebrows,” I grumble.

“Okay,” she says simply.

I roll my eyes and sigh as I pass my brush through my hair again. It’s much smoother this time. “Whatever. I’m fine. Besides, Ryan will be there.”

Trina makes an indecipherable noise that sounds like a cross between a scoff and a hum of disapproval.

“What’s your problem now?” I try to keep the defensiveness out of my tone, but I can’t help it. It’s been over a week since Ryan spent the night here, and even though it was a completely innocent evening, I haven’t mentioned anything to Trina about it. Somehow, it feels private. Like a secret. Something I want to keep close to my heart.

My hair is finally untangled enough to braid it, so I start crossing strands over each other while simultaneously scanning my messy counter for a hair tie.

“I don’t know, Scarlett,” she says on a sigh. “Things didn’t exactly end well for you two. And now all of a sudden, he’s in your life again, editing your book, no less. Dropping off notes at your apartment unannounced, bringing you food—”

“How did you know he brought me food?”

“Uh…” she hedges. “Well, I told him if he must see you, he should bring food with him.” She has the good sense to sound sheepish, but her tone quickly turns agitated. “So of course now I know he saw you and he brought you food because you just admitted it. Come on, Scarlett. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to see what’s going on here.”

My fingers pause mid-braid. “What do you mean?”

“Literally the dumbest smart person I know,” she mumbles. Before I can protest, she practically shouts, “That man never fell out of love with you.”

I wince, rubbing my ear before turning down the speakerphone volume. My braid falls apart as soon as I let go of it. I run my hand through my hair to fluff it up a little and decide, fuck it, it looks good enough as it is.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I protest, making my way to the bedroom to get dressed. Even though I had wondered the same thing as his strong fingers were working their way into my scalp while I lie naked under the bubbles in the bathtub. “I left him high and dry, remember? Ghosted isn’t even a strong enough word for what I did to that man. He’d be even dumber than you think I am to come back to me.”

Damn, I hurt my own feelings with that one. I’m glad I’m not looking in the mirror anymore, because I’m sure it’d only reflect my pained expression, which would somehow make it worse.

“Oh, honey.” Trina’s voice is soft. “Do you want him to come back to you?”

“It wouldn’t be a smart move,” I say, but even I can hear how uncommitted I am to the words.

“That’s not exactly an answer,” she counters.

It may not have been a direct answer, but that’s an answer in itself. Do I want him back? Of course I fucking do. I probably would have spent the rest of my life with him if things had turned out differently. “I think you know that it is, actually.”

“This is going to sound crazy, but maybe this is a sign. Maybe it’s time for you to start dating again. Get yourself out there.”

“You’re right.” I pause as I pull my white T-shirt over my head and knot it at my hip. “That does sound crazy.”

“Bitch, I thought you were going to agree with me to go on a date,” Trina yells.

I wince. “Please stop shouting.”

“I will stop shouting when you start listening to my advice.”

My gaze bounces to the clock on my wall as I pull on a blue skirt with little white flowers. “Oh shit. I need to go. Listen, I will be fine. I’ll call you when the meeting is over and fill you in on everything. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you,” she grumbles.

“That’s why I pay you the big bucks,” I retort. “Love you, bye!” I quickly press the red button and grab my purse and keys on my way out the door.

By the time I park my car in the lot outside the Anastasios Press building, I’ve worked myself up into an anxious mess. Even my deep-breathing exercises aren’t helping my heart calm down. Maybe I should have had Trina come with me.

I’m a writer, dammit. I’m supposed to be holed up in my house with a cup of tea, making up worlds and characters in my own little head, not having unexpected meetings with publishers who have no clear agenda.