But if that’s the case, why hasn’t he told me? I have never met a more direct person than Jonathan Frost. He pulls no punches, minces no words. He lobs brutal truths like darts, with no concern for how they stick when they sink into the bullseye of your hopes and dreams and the comforting familiarity of all you’ve ever known. Why wouldn’t he set me straight sooner?
“Gabby.” Mrs. Bailey removes her glasses and sets her elbows on the desk. “May I ask you something?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bailey.”
“What makes you still see Jonathan as your enemy? I understand why you did, at first. He encroached on your routine, on our old way of doing things; he’s proficient in the areas you aren’t, just as you are strong in many areas he isn’t, I’d like to add. But I’d hoped…” She sighs, tipping her head. “I’d hoped by now you two would be past quarreling. Especially with what we’re facing now, I’d hoped you’d find a way to set aside differences and see…all the good that could be possible between you.”
I blink back tears, the full weight of this bearing down on me as Jonathan’s voice echoes in my thoughts.
You never once considered a different outcome or solicited my opinion on the methods to achieve it. Because in your eyes, all we could ever be is spiteful, petty opposition.
“It’s so hard,” I whisper, “when you’ve been taken advantage of in the past, when the most vulnerable part of yourself is exploited so deeply. It’s difficult to trust, to open yourself up once more and give people the benefit of the doubt. It’s terrifying to risk getting that wrong all over again.”
Mrs. Bailey’s eyes crinkle with concern.
I dab looming tears from my eyes and try to smile reassuringly. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, really. I shouldn’t be saying this to you—”
“Gabby, dear, of course you should. I asked. I want to know.” Mrs. Bailey’s soft, weathered hand lands warm on top of mine. She squeezes gently. “What you said, about having your trust broken, being manipulated, this is about the Potter boy?”
The memory of this morning makes me shiver. Trey’s unwelcome touch, Jonathan running toward me like nothing in the world was going to stop him.
And then those words. Did he hurt you?
Nodding, I wipe away tears. Mrs. Bailey knows what happened with Trey months ago, because I told her. She knows I had no idea who he really was, that as soon as I realized his true intentions, we were through. It was awkward and not my favorite conversation, telling her, but Mrs. Bailey was sympathetic and reassured me that she believed me. I still felt like shit about it for months. “That really messed me up,” I whisper.
She nods. “It’s understandable to be wary after something like that. And let’s be clear, while Jonathan isn’t nearly as…sinister as you perceive him, he’s no saint, either. He and I have had a few conversations about his demeanor towards you as well as our customers. He’s exacting and proud and impatient, and he could certainly stand to smile more.”
“Try ever,” I mutter.
Mrs. Bailey chuckles. “You’re very different people. I knew it would be a rocky start, and it was. Throw in a few misunderstandings, some power struggles, slightly clashing managerial styles—”
“Slightly clashing?”
She smiles a little sadly. “I didn’t count on how stubborn you two would be, how resistant to…giving each other a chance.” For a quiet moment, Mrs. Bailey searches my eyes. Releasing my hand, she sits back. “What if you tried to be friends?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Often the best path forward is discovered one step at a time. It’s a difficult journey from enmity to friendship, but not an impossible one.”
Friendship. I taste the word on my tongue, trying it out. Friendship. Could I be…friends with Jonathan?
I allow myself to picture it, ending this long, bitter slog of the past twelve months on a dignified final bend in the road. Our heads held high, mutual respect and may-the-best-one-win, friendly well-wishes for the other as we part ways.
But then I think about how I feel when my hand touches his, when Jonathan’s eyes lock with mine and there’s heat on his cheeks and he’s looking at me how he did after the business meeting, in the car, when we kissed, when we faced off this morning—intense, charged, fraught…
None of that is friendship to me. At least, not like any friendship I’ve ever known. But maybe that’s all right. Maybe whatever friendship looks like for Jonathan and me, for this sliver of time before we part ways, doesn’t have to look like any other friendship in my past.