Page 35 of Tee the Season
“I’m not in the mood,” I reply with a heavy sigh. His grin fades.
“Wait. You really do look like hell. What happened?”
“Nothing happened. That’s the problem.”
He shifts into drive, pulling away from the curb with careful precision. The roads are plowed but still icy, forcing him to take it slow. We drive in silence for a block. Two. The town slides past the windows, but it barely registers.
“You didn’t tell her,” Hays says finally, “about the interview.”
It’s not a question.
“Why the hell not?”
I stare out the window at the white landscape. Snowdrifts piled everywhere. “She had us—had the whole thing—wrapped up with a bow. Neat and tidy. Even thanked me for being ‘kind.’”
Hays winces. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
We pull to a stop at a light, a huge decorated Christmas tree in the middle of what must be the town square.
“So you just…let her think you’re leaving?” he asks carefully. “Heading to the airport?”
“What was I supposed to do?” I run a hand through my hair, filling the confined space with my too-loud voice. “Say, ‘Hey Tabitha, I have a job interview this afternoon at the country club, but I didn’t want to tell you in case it doesn’t work out?'”
“You’re leaving yourself one hell of an out.” Hays’s voice is sharp.
I turn to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re hedging your bets.” He accelerates through the light, jaw tight. “If the job doesn’t work out, you can tell yourself you tried. That it just wasn’t meant to be. But you never actually put yourself on the line.”
“That’s not—”
He cuts me off. “Fair? Isn’t it?” There’s no humor in his voice now. “You let her think you’re leaving. So when you don’t takethe job, she’ll be none the wiser. Will always believe you chose your old life over her. That you didn’t care enough to stay.”
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
“That way you get to keep your safety net,” Hays continues, relentless. “You get to protect yourself from actually risking anything real. From putting your heart out there and maybe getting it broken.”
“I’m not—” But the protest dies in my throat. Because he’s right.
Damn.
I’ve been so focused on making sure the job is right, on having all the pieces in place before telling Tabitha, that I didn’t see what I was really doing. Protecting myself. Leaving myself an escape route.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
Hays glances at me, his expression softening. “Look, I get it. You’ve spent years keeping things simple. No complications. No roots. It’s scary as hell to want something this much. Believe me, I know.”
My chest is tight. “What if she doesn’t—”
“Stop.” His voice is firm. “You won’t know until you tell her. But from where I’m sitting it looks like she let you into her life, into her home, her bookstore. She introduced you to her aunt. Let you help with a tradition that matters to her.” He pauses. “And let me tell you, Tabitha’s not the type to let in someone like that. To accept help.”
He’s right; she’s not. I stare at the dashboard, my mind racing.
“But the real question is,” Hays continues, “would you rearrange your life to give what you have with Tabitha a real try, regardless of whether or not you take the job?”
The question cuts through everything else.
