Stupid, complicated, love

David closed the book as I watched, the spine glue cracking and the pages fluttering. He avoided looking at me.

After a moment I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Well?” I tried not to sound like I was begging.

“It’s...uh, it lays it out there.”

“It’s too much,” I groaned.

I reached for it but he gathered it up and suddenly stood.

“You want me to give it to Tom?”

“I did, but now I want to wait. It’s too much, isn’t it?” I uttered.

He started walking to the door. Worry struck me like a pillow fight to my back. Maybe some things should not be shared with others.

“Wait, Dave, just wait,” now I was begging.

“I want Karen to read this. She reads a lot more romance than I do.”

Not her. Not HER.

My worry broke free into full grown panic. I rushed to stop him and grabbed his arm.

“Dave, I changed my mind. I’m not ready, I can’t do this yet. Let me rewrite it and work it.”

But Dave was a jerk, and bigger than me, so I pulled fruitlessly on his arm with my buck fifty five frame. (Okay maybe it’s a dollar sixty five).

“Don’t worry, Karen won’t tell anyone. She’s the professional here. You said you wanted a professional opinion.

Dave could really be a jerk sometimes. I trusted him and now he was betraying me by taking my book, which was my true love confessions turned into a story for a guy in the office.

Tom.

My heart, my stupid heart fluttered at thinking of him. His perfect nose and his dark brown curly hair that reminded me of chocolate. Dark chocolate. I wanted to break off chunks of it and nibble while I sipped my—

What am I thinking! Dave has my book!

I chased after him again but he was standing at Karen’s office. Her giant, imposing, I’m-the-ruler-of-this-place, office.

“David Andrew VanWago—” I began to call him by his full name.

“Yes?” Karen’s dry voice stopped me dead.

“Oh hey Tom,” Dave casually said to Tom who had been having a meeting with her.

Karen looked over her glasses at us. Me pulling on the back of Dave’s shirt. Dave with a treacherous grin of mischief.

I felt the color leave my face, along with my spirit leaving my body, and wanted to die. Like really die. Like grab the stapler and...wait, she has an old fashioned letter opener—

“Did you write this?” Tom asked pointing at the book Dave was holding.

I cursed myself for being brave enough to put my name on the cover. My voice choked and I didn’t know what to do. Run and hide? Kill Dave and take the book? Throw myself out the window?

I knew in the next stalled heartbeat that none of those were feasible.

“Actually, she did, and I got to read the first three chapters. It’s good, but of course, I will defer to your opinion,” Dave said and reached to give Karen the book.

All my life I had been reserved, polite. Not shy, because I had no problem asking guys out to dance in high school, But this wasn’t that juvenile hall of crazy hairdo’s and too much perfume. This was the professional world. This was my career I’d gone to college fore. I instantly saw my life was over.

My voice returned, like a bear.

“It’s not ready,” I snarled and ripped my book from his hands.

I vanished down the hall, sprinting like I was running for free Taylor Swift tickets, and escaped into a bathroom.

I took over the stall furthest from the door and sat on the toilet seat lid.

To say I was having a panic attack would be the mother of all understatements. My heart felt like it was trying to break out of my rib cage and run home to hid under the bed. My hands shook so bad that I had to put my book on the toilet paper dispenser. I wanted to throw up, but it was before lunch. I wanted to be on the Moon...the far side of it, and dig a hole for myself to hide in. I could become a hobbit in a crater and never show my face in the office again.

I sat on the toilet, my insides churning like a mosh pit at a rock concert. What was I thinking!? Putting my deep, intimate thoughts and feelings on page? Even my silly fantasy, which thankfully was in chapter five. Why did I think this was okay? What caused me to sit down almost every night and write a romance story. I was a copy writer for a marketing firm.

I glanced at the book which an hour ago I had held like a baby in my arms as I hoped to charm Tom with my wit and prose. He was an avid reader and we’d had a few passing conversations about what books we liked to read. He liked old fantasy and science fiction, like Brookes and Asimov.

“What was I thinking,” I moaned and buried my head in my hands.

I’d probably get demoted or lose vacation days. Those would be suitable. Tom would probably start avoiding me and I was okay with that. Matter of fact, I prefer that. I could live out my embarrassment and recover my professional profile. This would fade away after a while. I would only need to work hard.

My phone sounded off. I had a meeting in thirty minutes. I thanked my past self for setting the reminder to half an hour and not fifteen minutes. I could wash my face and redo my makeup. For the first time in my life I was grateful for the brown blouse I got for Christmas from my mom.

I let the emotions flow for just a few more moments, trying to stabilize myself. Get as much of it out now while I could. There’s just some things you don’t share with others.

When I was as done as I could, I took a deep breath and slowly stood up. I was tempted to tear my book apart and throw it into the trash bin. But I picked it up and opened the stall and slowly walked out.

The water felt good on my face as I lightly scrubbed away the tears and hoped my eyes wouldn’t be red for the meeting. My makeup was at my desk in my purse. It was fine. I had fifteen minutes.

I cracked the bathroom door open the thickness of a bic pen and peered out. No one was nearby. I opened the door enough to let me slip out and I hurried to my desk, hiding my book behind me. I could take it to my car during lunch, which was after the meeting, and lock it in the trunk.

I rounded the corner and walked past Dave’s cubicle. He was busy on a call and typing furiously. The next cubicle was mine. I had a pad on the chair to make it a little softer. I stepped to it and found Karen sitting at my desk.

Oh...my…

She was reading a text on her phone. She extended her hand for my book, not looking at me. I hesitated.

That was when she looked at me, not with a cross look on her face, which she always had. But the eagerness in her eyes caught me off guard. I saw the little girl inside her for only a moment. It happened so fast that I stopped breathing.

“I would like to read your book,” she said quietly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

I...I couldn’t. I shouldn’t hand it over.

Yet I did. She slowly rose and squeezed my shoulder and she walked away.

“Meeting in fifteen,” Dave noted.

Oh crap! The meeting.

I threw on a light layer of base, focusing on blending it just right, and then my pale pink lipstick with a single brush of mascara for each eye. It was barely enough to be presentable.

Dave walked past my desk and I scurried after him to the executive meeting room. We had a new client that wanted to do a large marketing package.

I lucked out and got a loose seat which I strategically positioned behind Dave.

The client wanted to do modern marketing mixed with some traditional TV and radio ads. Stuff that was right up my alley.

During the whole meeting Dave handled everything. I owe him a plate of homemade cookies. I’ll have to ask him what he’d like as soon as we get back.

Usually I take all the notes during the meeting and we discuss it afterwards. I was so busy scribbling things down that I didn’t notice the meeting ended. I was alone, at least so I thought, until someone pushed a chair near me and sat down.

I recognized Tom’s cologne.

His amazing, stupid smell. It reminded me of fresh rain and fresh cut black walnut. Heady and thick.

I needed a smoke bomb to escape.

“You lied to me,” he said.

“I what?” my head shot up and I saw how close he was.

“You never told me you wrote stories,” he gave a sly grin.

That smile. That dastardly charming smile. I wanted to kiss that dimple that appeared when he smiled lopsided like that. I’d only seen it twice before and that was the deal sealer.

“So I lied.” Yeah, smartest retort I’ve ever had.

“Well, maybe not lied. But I would love to read it,” he said.

“It’s nothing, really. Just a short novel, I think they call it a novelette. It won’t get a good review.”

“I’m that hard on my own writing too,” he said.

Wait, he writes?

“You shouldn’t worry about what other people think. If some people enjoy the story, and it touches their heart, then you’ve shared your deepest feelings and inner most thoughts. I think it’s one of the most intimate things you can experience—someone else’s thoughts and feelings.”

What do I say? What do I do? This man’s read me like a book. My heart screamed at me to express my feelings of love for him and dive into his arms for a passionate kiss. My brain, on the other hand, kept that ridiculous heart in check, and told me that I should make my escape as soon as possible. I couldn’t agree more.

“Well I should get back. Dave and I have a lot of planning to do. This client has a lot they want done.

He looked at her, holding her with a gaze.

“May I please read your book?”

Nope. I gotta leave.

“I think it needs a lot of work and editing. It make take a long time,” I said standing up getting ready to flee.

He laughed, his beautiful baritone chuckle that always made me smile.

“Okay, but you gotta let me read it. I’m a little tired of Sci-Fi.”

My cubicle, I needed to get to my cubicle and get away from his eyes that looked like a sea of dark chocolate that was so easy to get lost in.

He took a step to follow me. No no no no!

“You could tell me about it at lunch. We could go grab a sandwich at Barry’s. You like pastrami.”

I, uh, where, time, what, Igottagonow.

“Sure,” I said softly and made my escape.

I found the bathroom again and leaned against the counter.

If I started a fire, I could make my escape, and never come back here again.

Wait, no, that’s illegal.

I sighed. My mom had always told me that this would happen. I just thought I’d be thirty and mature enough to handle the emotions.

I checked my makeup and was glad I hadn’t ruined it a second time. I’d have to do some touch ups before lunch. I was about to leave when the door opened and Karen strode in and started washing her hands.

“It’s good,” she said with a smile. “Have you asked him out yet?”

“We’re having lunch together,” I said, whispering like I was afraid it was all a dream.

“Oh,” she said, and began drying her hands. “You might want to add that to the book.”

I smiled. Maybe not. There’s some things you shouldn’t share with others.