Page 22 of Head Over Heels

"I don't want to appear weak." I slow down for a red light and crack my window open. I need fresh air.

"Not everyone considers an apology to be a sign of weakness,tesoro."Treasure.That's what my grandmother Elena calls me.

"If you think she'd actually consider it, why don'tyoucall her?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Marin says smugly. "I'll call her right now."

"Wait. It's eight at night. You can't call someone at eight on a Friday night about business."

"You can if it's business of the heart," she teases. "I'll get back with you as soon as I talk to her."

By the time I get home, she's gone for the evening, but she has the oven preheated and dinner ready to heat up. There's a note on the counter to call Josie if I'm willing to apologize for talking to myfriendMarin the way I did, and if I'm willing to explain what she meant about melting my edges.

I groan.

I drop my briefcase on the table and sink into the couch. I do think that Josie is the best person to pull this off with.

But what happens when I start having feelings for her? She's made it clear that she's still in love with her best friend.

I guess that makes the decision easy. I'm not going to make her forget the love of her life. She dislikes me enough to walk away and leave me stranded in this mess.

I can ignore my feelings.

My phone rings.

I'm too lazy to grab it off the table, but I have my earbuds in.

"Hello," I say flatly. I assume it's Marin, checking on dinner.

"I thought you'd be happier to hear from me," Josie's voice comes through. "Your friend Marin made it sound like an emergency."

I sit up straight. "Josie?"

"Sorry, I assumed you had caller ID and I was programmed into your phone. I guess that's presumptuous of me." There's bite in her voice.

"No, I do have you in my phone." I sigh, standing up. "My phone is in the other room. I thought it was going to be Marin calling again to harrass me." I'm not used to people calling on my personal line. Almost everything goes to Marin if it's personal, and to Gwen if it's about work.

"What's she harassing you about?" she asks, obviously amused.

"You," I tell her flatly. "I was going to call you after I made dinner. It's been a long day."

"You make your own dinner?" Amusement again.

"Can you stop assuming the worst of me just because I work hard and I'm successful? Please?"

I don't understand why her digs get to me.

"I'm not assuming the worst of you because you're successful," she assures me. "I'm assuming the worst of you because that's the side you've shown me." She's quiet for a minute. "Except for that glimpse of the real you at the bookstore."

I roll my eyes. "Why do you think that was the real me?"

She doesn't answer right away. When she does, her voice is soft. "I see you, Florence. I felt the real you that night."

I swallow hard. "What do I need to do to get you back?" I ask quietly.

"You mean for appearances? Or because you want me?"

That's a good question.

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