“Emily, I can’t stay quiet any longer. You’ve gone a step too far this time.”
Emily held the phone away and stared at it, stunned. Justin’s voice was low, but undeniably annoyed. Warily, she returned the phone to her ear.
“A few bits and pieces was okay, but I can’t handle a pink abomination in my bathroom”
She cringed, his frustrated tone summoning memories of hiding in her bedroom while her mother and father argued on the other side of the door. Of lying on the floor, hiding while her mum berated her dad for not fixing the sink fast enough, or allowing the dog to put its muddy paws on the sofa. Apparently, Justin didn’t like her most recent addition to his home.
She was tempted to close her eyes and stick her fingers in her ears, but this wasn’t the end of the world, and she couldn’t hide from it. She’d overdone it, but at least now she knew where he drew the line. She’d known the rug was a risk, but it had felt so soft under her feet and he hadn’t seemed to mind the other additions to the house—had even remarked on how nice it was to have cookies available whenever he wanted, and how the new scented diffuser in the bathroom smelled like vanilla. She’d thought she was brightening up his home as she’d set out to do, making it a nicer place to live. Surely, he would have said something if he’d been unhappy.
It would seem not.
“Hold on,” she said to him, then she turned to Sandra, who was conversing with a customer. “I need to take this call somewhere private. Are you all right out here?”
“Yes, we’re good. Take as much time as you need.”
With a straight spine, Emily walked to the workshop. Memories of her time in here with Justin assailed her but she did her best to ignore them and focus on the here and now. As soon as the door clicked shut, she sank to the ground.
“I’m back,” she told him. “I’m sorry about the rug. I’ll get rid of it tonight.”
He sighed, sounding wound up. “This isn’t just about the rug.”
She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them for comfort. While he wasn’t yelling or swearing, she didn’t handle conflict of any kind well. She tended to crumple the moment anyone raised their voice.
“What is it about, then?”
“It’s...” He seemed to struggle to find the words. “First the flowers, the massive picture on the wall, and now a rug? It’s gotta stop, Em. My place was fine the way it was.”
“I was just trying to help,” she whispered, her voice wobbling.
“That’s not how it feels,” he said. “It feels like you’re trying to change me. But I don’t want that, and I don’t need another woman who makes me pretend to be something I’m not.”
Emily sniffed, tears leaking down her face. Though she’d heard of his hot temper—everyone had—he’d never been growly with her, and she didn’t know how to respond. But what really made her heart ache was the fact he honestly believed she didn’t adore him the way he was.
“I don’t want to change you,” she said so quietly she barely heard herself. He paused to listen. “I like you the way you are.”
He snorted derisively. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She had to explain, to make him understand. But in the face of his unhappiness, she couldn’t think straight let alone utter the words that would make him forgive her. Her mouth worked, and no sound came out.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said. “I thought I was ready for another relationship, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I won’t ever be.”
Wait—was he breaking up with her? She slapped one palm to the floor to ground herself, then shifted and lowered her forehead to the wall, the coolness bringing the room back into focus, although it remained blurry at the edges, courtesy of the blood rushing to her head. Everything was moving so fast. How had this escalated so rapidly?
“I’ll take it all away, I promise.” Words spewed from her mouth, and she thanked her lucky stars that her lunch didn’t also spew forth. Once, in primary school, a teacher had publicly chastised her, and she’d thrown up on his boots. She’d been taunted with the nickname ‘Pukey Parker’ for years.
“I won’t bring any more over,” she added. “I don’t want to change you, and I’m so, so sorry if it seemed that way. I’d never want you to feel that way. Please believe me.”
“I can’t,” he said tiredly. “I wasn’t good enough for Chloe, but I ignored the signs for years and look where we ended up. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“I’m not like Chloe.” If Emily knew anything for certain, it was that. She may be guilty of a multitude of sins, but she and Chloe were polar opposites. As different as gingerbread and French pastry.
“If you say so.” He huffed. “Look, we jumped into this too quickly and got carried away. Neither of us have dated for a while, and it seemed like a good thing. But we need to take a step back. Get some distance.”
He doesn’t mean it, she told herself. He’s just emotional. We can talk when he calms down.
“So, where do we stand?” she asked, insides quivering. “Are we still together?”
“No,” he said, crushing her tender heart with one cold word. “I think it’s best if we end things for now. Maybe we can reassess down the track.”
Emily crumpled. She could hear the truth in his words. He didn’t want her anymore, and knowing that ripped her apart inside as effectively as if he’d reached through the phone, torn her open and shredded her vital organs. She’d thought she was helping him, thought that they’d had something special, but instead she’d worsened his self-doubt and broken the bond they’d been building.
This mess was on her.
“Okay,” she said. “I understand.” She drew in a shuddering breath, tears streaming over her cheeks and dripping off her chin, dampening the knees of her jeans. “Do you want me to come by and collect the things I left there?”
The horrible things that had ruined their relationship, and the future she’d hoped they’d share. A pipe dream.
“No,” he replied, after thinking for a moment. “I’ll drop them off on your doorstep. It’s easier that way.”
Emily nodded, although she knew he couldn’t see her. Then she hung up and curled into the fetal position, clutching herself, trying to take up as little space as she possible, wishing she could roll up so small that she just vanished. All she’d wanted was to make Justin happy, and instead she’d gone and broken her own heart. Stupid, stupid girl.
She’d cried.
Justin had done a lot of awful things in his time, but he’d never made a woman sob like the world was ending. He’d been hurt and trying to save them both future pain, but God, hearing her cry made him want to kick his own ass.
He was a shit. He deserved to be miserable.
No more women. They weren’t worth it. He’d been okay on his own for the past year with Richie and Dan for company. He loved his family and had a few close friends he could go out for beers or watch rugby with. He enjoyed his job. He didn’t need a woman.
But she’d cried.
Whatever her flaws, Emily obviously cared for him. Or at the very least, she’d cared about the idea of him. He shouldn’t let her tears affect him like this. He didn’t care. If he repeated that to himself often enough, he might believe it. But probably not.
With a curse, he tore the mountain wall hanging off and tossed it into the back of his truck. He grabbed the yellow cushions, then the painting. The cookie jar joined them. He didn’t even stop to eat a cookie first. Then, the final touch, he piled the offensive pink mat and the toilet cover on top, slamming the door behind.
He looked around his living room. Job done. He’d exorcised Emily and all signs of her invasion. His home was exactly the way he liked it: plain, manly.
Boring.
The day after Justin shut her out and returned everything she’d left at his house, Emily found herself sitting numbly behind the counter of her shop, speaking to Nina, a reporter from the local newspaper, the South Canterbury Chronicle.
She’d agreed to this interview weeks ago, when she’d been named South Canterbury Businesswoman of the Year, but now she’d rather be anywhere else. For the past twenty-four hours, she’d barely been able to string together two sentences without crying.
“So, Emily,” Nina said, scribbling the date on the top of a notepad, “how long have you known you wanted to be a businesswoman?”
Emily gripped the sides of the stool she was sitting on and forced a smile. “To be honest, I don’t think of myself as a businesswoman. I’m a florist and a decorator at heart, but I saw an opportunity to build something special for the community, so I went for it.”
Nina tapped her pink and gold pen against her chin, watching Emily thoughtfully. She had intense eyes that were nearly black, and her outfit screamed ‘career woman’. “Since you were named Businesswoman of the Year, a businesswoman is what you’ve become, regardless of what you set out to be. Speaking of the award, how do you feel about winning it?”
“Honored,” Emily replied easily. “There were so many successful, hardworking women nominated that I never expected to win.”
She wondered idly whether Nina would leave if she broke down in tears, or if that would only make her determined to discover the reason why. The journalist jotted some shorthand notes. How long did it take to master shorthand? Emily’s friend Aria could write using shorthand as fast as most people could talk and Nina seemed equally adept. Maybe they had competed in timed drills at journalism school.
“Let’s talk about the property you own and manage,” Nina suggested.
“Do you mean the shop, or the old hotel?”
“The old hotel,” Nina clarified. “Tell me what gave you the idea to restore it and rent it out to other businesses.”
Emily’s death grip on the stool eased. She could do this. When Nina had called requesting an interview, she’d nearly turned her down out of sheer nerves, but this was her life and her community. There were no wrong answers. And the publicity couldn’t hurt.
“That building had been abandoned since I was a little girl and it always seemed like a real waste to me. I could see how much potential it had, and it’s in a great location near the town center. When it came up for sale, I bought it impulsively. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do with it, but I talked it through with my father—”
“Who sits on the town council?” Nina interrupted.
“That’s correct. And Dad suggested that rather than reopening it as a hotel, I investigate other options. I asked around to see if anyone would be interested in renting a space there, and the response was overwhelming. Everyone wanted to support my project to see the old building restored, so I lined up future tenants and hired a team who specialize in restoring heritage buildings in a way that retains their original character. Some modifications were needed to make it suitable for commercial use, but I think they did a fantastic job.”
“I agree,” Nina said. “I visited before I came here. It’s a lovely building. I’ve seen photos of how it looked beforehand, so I appreciate how much vision you must have had to see the potential in it.”
Emily shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. She had a talent for seeing how to make the best of things, that was all.
Nina referred back to her list of questions. “So, the building is fully occupied now?”
“Yes, it is.” And thank God for that. Emily had sunk her finances into the building, so it was a relief to see her sacrifice and hard work pay off. That the community loved it only made her happier.
“I spoke to some of your tenants while I was there,” Nina said. “They had a lot of good things to say about you. Couldn’t stop them as a matter of fact.” Her lips quirked up. “So tell me about the shop. How long have you had it?”
“I opened four years ago, after I completed a certificate in floral design and a diploma in retail management at the polytechnic.”
“And things are going well?”
“They are,” Emily confirmed. “I love it. Business is relatively steady, with some fluctuation between summer and winter tourist seasons, and there’s really nowhere I’d rather be.”
Except at this very minute, she’d rather be at home in bed, hidden beneath the covers.
“That’s great to hear.” Nina didn’t look up. “So many women settle for positions which don’t truly make them happy or fulfill their potential because society tells them they can’t have it all. It always makes me happy to see a woman living the life she wants.”
Emily blushed. She wanted to dismiss the compliment out of hand, but the truth was, she did have it good. She should be proud.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“No.” Nina met her eyes, deadly serious. “Thank you. You’re serving as a great role model for local girls.”
Now, Emily’s gaze did slide away, and she murmured, “I don’t know about that.”
A great role model wouldn’t have let her dream guy go without a fight.
“I do. So, in saying that, is there any advice you have for girls or women out there who aspire to be a businesswoman?”
“Go for it. If you work hard enough and believe in yourself, nothing can stop you.”
“That’s great. Well said.” Nina tucked her notepad into the Prada handbag she’d deposited on the counter, gathered her dark hair into a bun and stabbed the fancy pen through it. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” she said, reaching over to shake Emily’s hand. Then she straightened her tailored pantsuit and slung the handbag over her shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Good luck for the year ahead.”
“You, too,” Emily said, waving her off.
Once the frighteningly intense journalist had left, Emily’s shoulders slumped, and she drew in a shaky breath. The interview had gone well as far as she could tell. She could finally go home, build a pillow fort, and hide from the world. At least for a night.