And I would’ve said yes.
I shook my head fervently. “No—no way. I—I had unwashed hair! And I wore my Goodwill tweed coat! And my scarf had coffee stains on it!”
“And you were sexy as hell. But you couldn’t meet my gaze,” he said with a laugh. “I thought you hated me.”
“Hated you? Ben.” I pushed myself up onto my elbow to look him in the eyes, and said very seriously, “I wanted to climb you.”
He barked a laugh, loud and bright. “Climb me!”
“Like a goddamn tree,” I moaned regretfully. Let me die of mortification here, I thought. At least then I wouldn’t have to attend the graveside service today. “I couldn’t look at you because I was having a minor crisis in my head over you. I mean—here you were, this gorgeous new editor, and I had to do the one thing that no author in the history of books wants to do: admit that I hadn’t finished the novel.”
“To be fair, I did know that the ghostwriter would be coming to meet me,” he pointed out as I rolled over to the edge of the bed and pushed myself to sit up. He followed me with his eyes as I went over to my suitcase and began digging through it for today’s clothes. “A woman named Florence Day.”
“And there I was showing up with a cactus.”
“Which you promptly told me to stick up my ass, basically, when you left.”
“I know, I feel bad about that. It was a good cactus.” I cocked my head. “I don’t remember you at many publishing functions, though. Didn’t you go to any?”
“Not many, but I did go to the publisher of Faux’s party for the release of Dante’s Motorbike.”
I picked my dress out of the suitcase and froze. “Wait—a few years ago?”
“Yeah. You had on those heels with the red bottoms? You couldn’t walk in them to save your life.”
“Louboutins,” I corrected absently, hanging the outfit over me as I judged whether I needed tights or knee-highs, but my mind was years away—back in that cramped private library, feet throbbing from those shoes. “You were there? That was the party where I met . . .”
Lee.
He nodded at the unspoken name, his hand absently going to the ring around his neck. He rubbed at it thoughtfully. “You were in the library and I can’t remember how many times I told myself to just go over there. To talk to you. This stranger whose name I didn’t even know.”
“A novel idea.”
“For me, it was. But I’d just met Laura, too, and I’m nothing if not torturously monogamous. And then . . . the moment was gone. Lee walked up to you, and that was it.”
To think, he had been there since the beginning. We had passed each other like ships at sea and I never knew. All of my heartache could have been circumvented—all of his pain could have been mended. What kind of people would we have been if he had found me in that library? Or if I had mingled with Rose and found him instead?
“I wish we had met instead,” I whispered.
“I would’ve been terrible for you,” he replied, shaking his head. His voice was softer, closer. He’d gotten out of bed and came around toward me. I watched him in the mirror, and his eyes were trained on the carpet. He couldn’t meet mine. “I would’ve been terrible for everyone. I was terrible for myself.”
“Laura cheating on you wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t respond.
“It wasn’t. It was hers. You told me that after that you felt like she deserved better. Someone who would keep her from cheating but—you’re wrong.” I took a deep breath because this was something I had to come to understand, too. That worth wasn’t dependent on someone else’s love for you, or your usefulness, or what you could do for them. “It’s not her who deserves better. It’s you, Ben.”