Page 28 of Building Romance
Winston: Good luck! I’m sure you’ll win.
Me: Thanks! Fingers crossed.
I soon get good-luck texts from both my parents. I swear the three of them have some group chat about me.
Then I see a message from Max.
Max: Didn’t you say you had some big thing for work this week? If so, best of luck and I hope it turns out well.
He remembered. I smile goofily at his message. God, I wish he was dating material. He’s a really good person.
Me: Thanks! I do and I’m super nervous.
I haven’t given Max details because that violates our conversation rules but it’s sweet of him to remember something important was happening.
Max: Just be yourself.
Me: LOL!
Max: I am serious.
Me: Uh, OK. But being myself can be…a lot.
Max: The world deserves to see the real E.
Me: Thanks (blushing emoji)
I toss my phone on the counter and rifle through the cabinets. I start pulling things out as anxiety creeps in. What am I doing?
I sit back against a cupboard door and close my eyes, willing the threatening tears away but they come anyhow. I feel them, big and fat, rolling down my cheeks. What if I fail? What if all of these past years’ hard work was for nothing?
I want to make my family proud. I want to prove I can do this, that I’m not a little girl who speaks before she thinks, not anymore.
I wish my grandmother was here. I’m sure she’d have something brilliant to say.
I let the tears come harder as I sob under the pressure of it all. I have employees who need me to be strong and here I am crying on my kitchen floor.
I pull my knees to my chest and let my forehead fall to them as I wrap my arms around my legs. I don’t know how long I’m here for, but suddenly I hear my front door open.
Shit. Drew.
I swipe at the tears on my cheeks as I start shoving things back into the cupboards.
“I’m just grabbing a few more things and then I’m heading out,” I say loudly hoping my voice doesn’t give away the complete breakdown I just had.
“Camryn?” a very familiar deep voice says as its owner rounds the corner.
My head whips around to look at none other than Mr. Fletcher McDowell.
What. In. The. Fuck?
He takes one look at me and then steps into the kitchen in half the strides it should take. He glances around us, his eyes looking me up and down. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft, a look of concern on his face.
I swallow a lump that just re-formed in the back of my throat. Why is he suddenly being so kind? I can deal with asshole Fletcher. I can deal with businessman Fletcher. I can even deal with annoying, spying Fletcher. But this…kind and concerned Fletcher. Nope. I can’t do it.
“Nothing,” I mutter as I turn and take the pepper shaker from my counter. It’s not the same, but it will have to do. “I’m almost packed.”
I step around him but he grabs my upper arm.
