Page 111 of The Comeback Summer

But more than that, I’m afraid that if I try to do something on my own, I’ll fail. I’ll learn that I don’t have the ability to do this and it was stupid for me to even try.

But if I didn’t have any of those fears? Well, that’s easy. I’d just do it.

So I guess the real question is: Can I do it anyway? Can I do it, even though I’m scared?

Thirty-Seven

LIBBY

It’s Tuesday night, and I’m alone at the office. Great Scott left at five on the dot, and Hannah left soon after to meet up with Josh. I don’t have anywhere to be—and besides, I’m on a roll, preparing for the next event with Adam.

We’ve been talking a bit—over email, not text—about the speed-dating event at the diner next weekend, where singles switch tables after each course. We’re doing two seatings: an early-bird one for singles in their sixties and seventies, and a late one for the twenties-and-thirties crowd.

Our communication has been strictly professional—which could mean he’s being respectful and following my lead,orhe has just as much regret over what almost happened the other night as I do. As I did.

I’m still embarrassed, but I’m trying to forgive myself now that I understand what triggered my reaction. There’s no going back and changing what happened, but I’m grateful I didn’t bungle things so badly that we couldn’t keep working together. And someday in the future, when I meet another guy I’minterested in, hopefully I’ll be able to stay in the moment and out of my head.

But right now, my focus has to be on work and training. The race is in two weeks, and I am not ready. Mentally or physically.

The only thing I am ready for is my couch and my latest Book of the Month pick. My gaze drifts to the stack of papers at the corner of my desk, a contract for the working relationship, and an invoice for the first payment.

I’d been stalling on having Hannah draw up the paperwork, but once she knew about Adam and the events, I figured it would be good to go ahead and get paid for the work I’m doing. I was planning to send a courier over to the restaurant with it tomorrow. A decision that I now realize was driven by the fear of seeing him again.

It would be brave of me, not to mention more fiscally responsible, to take the bus and drop it off myself instead of paying someone else to deliver it. And it’s not like Adam will be at the restaurant this late, anyway. I can just slide it under the door and leave without having to see him.

With that decided, I put the papers in a manila folder and grab a Post-it note from the dispenser on Hannah’s desk. I scrawlSorry I missed you, so Adam knows I’m not actively avoiding him—even though that’s pretty much exactly what I’m doing.

•••

TWENTY MINUTES LATER,I’m stepping off the bus near the diner, the envelope tucked under my arm. The temperature has dropped drastically, and I hope the dark clouds rolling in aren’t a sign that I’m making a ginormous mistake.

My heart is beating so fast as I approach the door, you’d think I was trying to steal something instead of leaving it behind. I move quickly, racing against both the rain and the bus schedule so I can drop the papers off and get across the street before the next bus arrives.

The breeze rustles my skirt, lifting it slightly in the air. I yank it down, turning to make sure I didn’t accidentally give anyone a free show. When I turn back, Adam is standing on the other side of the door, looking at me with those warm brown eyes that make me want to tell him all my secrets.

He opens the door, and this time, the bell feels more ominous than welcoming.

“Hi,” he says, a question in his voice.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” I say. Adam’s lips—the ones I can still imagine pressed against mine—turn down. “I mean, the papers. I’m glad you are. For you to sign.”

My words come spilling out in the wrong order, and Adam’s forehead wrinkles, like he’s not sure if he should laugh or give me a hug. God, what I would give for a hug from him right now.

“Want to come in for a drink?” Adam asks. His tone is casual; I still can’t tell if he’s happy to see me, or annoyed, or even just bored. “I’ve been perfecting my French 75.”

Thunder rolls in the distance, and since the only thing worse than facing my fears with Adam is riding the CTA in soaking-wet clothes, I step inside.

Adam walks behind the bar and I take a seat at a stool on the other side, the knot in my stomach loosening ever so slightly as I watch him take out the ingredients. Time stretches as I wait for him to ask about the other night. I’m not brave enough to tell him the truth, but I also can’t bring myself to tell him another lie.

“How’ve you been?” I ask, when the silence gets to be too much.

Adam looks up from the shaker and gives me a sad smile that both settles my stomach and gets my heart racing. This would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so damn attractive.

“I’ve been okay,” Adam says.

I stop myself from asking if he’s talking about a 4 out of 10 okay, or a 6 out of 10 okay. Maybe it’s for the best that things stopped before they had the chance to get started. It’s hard to be authentic and in the moment around him when half of what I know is supposed to be someone else’s memories.

Silence falls between us again. I watch as Adam picks up a lemon and twirls it around his fingers. The fingers on the hands that traveled up and down my back before landing on my butt, pulling me so close I could feel that he was just as worked up as I was.

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