Page 70 of Whispered Promises

Me

Well, except Max.

My heart clenches at that reminder, leg jogging as the anxiety builds and crests inside me. I wish someone would make the decision for me, would control what I need to say or do, so I don’t have the pressure of figuring it out myself.

Why can’t life just have one road to take? Why all these forks and decisions?

Anxious people are not good decision makers.

Steph

You don’t need to freak out, sweets. Noah told you that there’s no pressure, but you’re doing the exact opposite and piling it all on. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Spend time with them, get to know them, and trust that when they say they’re all okay with it, then they’re okay. That’s not on you to decide. You need to trust they know how they feel.

I’m so grateful for her friendship, even when I called her in a panic after Noah left last night, she picked up straight away. It didn’t matter that she was at her girlfriend’s place; she was still there for me.

But doing nothing feels unsatisfying. I feel like I need to be making sure nothing goes wrong, ensuring that I don’t fuck things up or end up losing any of their friendships.

I’ve already been distanced by Max, and I don’t want to go through that conversation again, potentially three more times.

Steph

Bitch, I can hear you thinking. Just let go and enjoy it. As long as you all keep communicating, you don’t need to worry.

I scoff at her words. I may not need to worry, but it’s something I have no control over, especially as I still feel bruised from Max. Maybe I just need a bit more time to nurse the hurt before I can consider her suggestion. If I’m even going to consider it.

In the meantime, I need to get back to work and try not to make a mess of that today.

Sending her a quick heart emoji, I stand on unsure legs and pocket my phone.

“Rosemary.”

I stop just past Peter’s open door, and my eyes fall closed as I try to bury all the cloying emotions down, needing to strengthen my barriers before encountering him. It’s tempting to pretend I didn’t hear him and keep walking.

Shoulders tense, I spin around and take a step back to stand in the doorway. “Hi, Peter.”

His elbows rest on the arms of his chair as he steeples his fingers beneath his chin. Gaze narrowing, he stares at me for a second longer than I’m comfortable with before he responds.

“You look off today, Rosemary.”

I look down at my tailored deep green pinstriped trousers and smooth down the silky sleeves of my mocha-coloured shirt, then frown. I’ve worn this outfit before, and he’s never commented on it. What am I missing?

“No, your body looks good. It’s your face.”

Oh.

I blink at his scrunched features that continue to analyse me, and remain mute in shock.

“It’s off. Sad or depressed, perhaps. I’ve not really seen this look on you before, and I can’t place it.”

Is he trying to say that my battered heart is obvious? That whatever feelings I’m struggling with aren’t buried like I’d hoped, but are plastered across my face for everyone else to see?

“Um, no. I’m fine. Just a long day. Perhaps I didn’t get enough sleep.” My smile is so false, I’m not sure he’ll believe it, but I desperately want him to drop it so I can go back to my desk and mope until it’s home time.

“I see… Well, if you ever want to talk to me. Know that I will take pleasure in being there for you.”

Does he have too many teeth? His smile looks a little too toothy, too wide, perhaps. But I can understand him wanting to look out for his employees and their well-being. I’m just being defensive and reading into things. Last night unbalanced me—well, more than usual—and Peter noticed and is trying to be supportive.

Offering a more genuine smile, I respond, “Thank you, Peter. I’ll keep your offer in mind. I best get back to my desk, but thank you again.”