Page 15 of All's Well that Friends Well

“Look.” I inhale deeply and exhale through my nose, pulling off my glasses in the hopes that my headache will lessen. Then I lean further back on the couch, and for a second, I see myself as Rod must see me—a grumpy, moody teenager. “I really, really don’t want to work with Juliet Marigold.”

Rodney settles himself more comfortably in the straight-backed chair he now occupies. “I’m uninterested in your opinion on this matter,” he says. He pauses and then grunts, “Besides. You’re not going to be cleaning things, are you?You’ll be storming around, scaring your employees out of their wits. You’ll barely cross paths.” His gaze strays in the direction of the front door, some of the tension in his expression easing. “I like her.”

And—is thathumorI see in his eyes?

“Why?” I say, my voice incredulous. “She’s—she’s?—”

Something. She’s something.

“She reminds me of Dora when we first met,” Rod says, and the faint sparkle of humor I saw turns into downright fondness—as fond as Rodney gets, anyway. His voice is still gruff, but his expression is less severe, and the faraway look in his eyes tells me he’s remembering his late wife. “She’s kindhearted. Not to mention”—his brows furrow again as turns back to me—“she’s clearly not afraid of you, which is a real plus in my book. You could do with a woman who’ll put you in your place. And sheisbeautiful.”

My chest tightens as I realize where this conversation is going, and I’m shaking my head before his last sentence is even all the way out of his mouth. I stand up like the couch has electrocuted me, suddenly desperate to get away, but?—

“You’ve never been the same,” Rodney says—loudly, because he can clearly tell I’m trying to run. His voice is firm but not unkind as he goes on, “Don’t you think it’s time to let go of Maura?”

And it’s strange, the hold that name still has over me. Because it’s only a name, isn’t it? A string of letters, a jumble of sounds. But the feelings it evokes are anything but simple.

Guilt, raw and red. Regret. And exhaustion—so much exhaustion. Because Maura’s memory is a burden I’ve carried for years, and my muscles ache with the longing for rest.

No. I don’t need a woman like Juliet Marigold, sweet andwhole and smelling of strawberry shortcake. I don’t need anyone. The only woman in my heart died a long time ago, and I’m perpetually torn between wishing she would leave and feeling guilty that I want her to.

I have no room for anyone else. Not now, and maybe not ever. I wouldn’t deserve it anyway. I’ve lost the right to love like that.

“Well,” I say, and I think I might look like an animal trapped in a corner. I’m already inching backward toward the kitchen. “Do you need another glass of water?”

Rodney’s eyes narrow on me, and he’s silent for a second, probably trying to decide whether to keep pushing or not. I haven’t answered his question in the slightest. But finally he just gives a little jerk of his head.

“No,” he says. “I’ve got to go. Just wanted to stop by and tell you about the breakfast picnic—andtell you to get your act together.”

Ah. Yes. That.

“So…I don’t need to do anything?” I say. “For the breakfast?”

“Not a thing,” Rod grunts, looking peeved. “Because you won’t do it if I ask. But you will be present and you will be cordial.”

That’s something, at least. “And the assistant?” I stop in my tracks on my way to the kitchen and head back to Rodney again, because he’s now trying to stand up. And as stubborn as he is, as insistent that he doesn’t need help…he does. He said he didn’t stumble on his way up the front steps, but Juliet doesn’t strike me as the type who would lie about that.

Rodney would absolutely lie about it. He’s getting older, more feeble, and it’s hard to watch. Even more difficultto see is the way he allows me to hook one arm beneath his to help him up; he doesn’t even fight it this time.

“An assistant,” I prompt him once he’s upright again. “Tell me more, please, so I can be prepared for whatever level of torture I’m being subjected to.” I’m more concerned about that than I am about a breakfast picnic—which, yes, will be awful, but at least I’m not in charge.

“Stop complaining,” Rod growls as he begins his slow shuffle toward the door. “Or I really will hire that girl.”

“Is she qualified to be an assistant?” I say.

I don’t know whether I was surprised or not to hear that Juliet didn’t graduate from college. Although I’ve gone out of my way to keep our interactions at a minimum, she’s clearly bright—well-spoken, quick on the uptake. There are different kinds of intelligences, and a standard four-year university caters to just one of them.

What’s her background, I wonder? What was she doing before she became unemployed?

Rodney’s response pulls me out of my completely inappropriate and unnecessary curiosity. “She could be qualified if I said she was qualified,” he says, and he might not be wrong. “But,” he goes on, his voice grudging, “I don’t know her at all. I wouldn’t be comfortable putting her next to you yet.” He jabs one finger at me from over his shoulder. “Give it some time. Let’s see how she does first.”

I blink at the back of his silvery head. “I—no.” I swallow and then go on, “Look. I’ll deal with her doing janitorial. You’re right; I won’t see her much. But I can’t have her next to me all the time. I just—can’t.”

We reach the front door, and Rodney turns to look at me, one hand on the handle. “I don’t see why not,” he says. “She’spersonable and persistent. She doesn’t cower. You need someone like that.”

“She likes me,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “She likes me, Rod. Do you know how uncomfortable that would be?”

“That’s the last thing you should be worried about,” Rodney says. He opens the door. “All she needs to do is spend one day in your presence. That will kill any romantic feelings.”

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