For the past few hours, she’d mentally reread the messages she’d gotten from Gavin that day and had come up with at least four different—and better—ways she should have responded.
Hey—how’s it going out there? You okay?
Why would he think she wasn’t okay? Had Marta said something to him about her and how this was going?
Going well, thanks! How’s everything back in the office?
He responded right away.
Oh fine, normal. Don’t feel bad if it’s not going well out there. I knew Beau Towers would be a tough nut for you to crack. This one might take more experience than you’ve got, no offense.
No one ever ended a sentence with “no offense” unless they specifically meant to give offense. And look, it wasn’t going GREAT with Beau Towers. But she’d done better with him than anyone else had in the past year.
Thanks for the concern, but everything’s fine here! I think Beau is making some real progress, actually!
That was obviously a lie—she shouldn’t have said it, but she’d suddenly been filled with an urge to prove wrong all the people who doubted her. Who thought that she wasn’t smart enough, that she didn’t work hard enough, that she couldn’t accomplish anything, that she couldn’t rise in her career.
Were they right about her? Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job, like all those people thought. Maybe she should quit and become a librarian, or a teacher, or, God forbid, go to law school or something. Publishing was so different than she’d thought it would be. It seemed like people only cared about status and profits and the bottom line, and not that feeling you got when you read a book that meant something to you, that wonder and hope and fullness in your chest, that feeling like there was a place for you in the world, and it was out there for you to find it.
Ugh. She sat up. Going over and over this in her mind wasn’t helping.
A snack. She needed a snack. She’d been too shy so far to really investigate the snack cabinet, even though Michaela had told her she could. She was pretty sure Beau Towers didn’t really want her here, even though this whole thing had been his own idea, sarcastic or not. But it was one in the morning, and she needed a snack, and she suddenly remembered those cheese-flavored potato chips she’d seen in the kitchen, and she knew she would absolutely not be able to fall asleep unless she had them. Cheese-flavored anything was the solution to every problem.
She got out of bed and pulled her big cardigan on over her pajamas. She’d already discovered that despite the sixty-five-degree weather outside, this house was freezing cold most of the day. Beau probably kept the heat down so he could be comfortable in his cave, or wherever he slept.
She walked through the long, dark hallway and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. Why she tiptoed, she didn’t know—she wasn’t breaking in; Beau Towers was the only other person in this house, and he knew she was here. But she couldn’t stop herself.
As soon as she got to the bottom of the stairs, she realized two things: 1） she should have put socks on, this tile floor was ice cold in the middle of the night; 2） she wasn’t the only person awake. She came to a standstill as she heard faint murmuring and music coming from the direction of the TV room. It hadn’t occurred to her that Beau Towers might be awake, too.
But she knew if she went back to bed she’d just lie there wide-awake, thinking of the cheese-flavored potato chips, so close yet so far away. Plus, Beau had probably just fallen asleep in front of the TV. She could sneak into the kitchen and grab the chips and then go back upstairs without him hearing a thing.
She crept down the hall toward the kitchen. As she walked, she kept one ear cocked toward the TV room but heard no other movement aside from the steady, quiet sounds of the TV.
She stopped by the kitchen door to turn the light on but realized she had no idea where the light switch in this room was. Well, it didn’t matter; there was just enough light filtering in through the big window for her to be able to see.
She went straight to the snack cabinet, pulled out the third shelf, and grinned. There they were. She’d never seen so many flavors of chips before: jalape?o, ranch, pepperoncini…olive? Well, that might be taking it a little too far. Now to find the cheese…
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you turned the lights on?”
Izzy spun around. He was standing there, a big, dark shape in the doorway.
“Yeah, probably,” she said.
Beau flicked the light switch—ah, it was just outside the kitchen door, she hadn’t even thought to look there—and Izzy blinked in the sudden burst of light.