I look into those golden hazel eyes and get lost in the specks dotting his irises. How does someone have such beautiful eyes?
All right, I guess we’re doing this.
“Let’s go to my office. We can talk there…”
I turn on my heel, my legs wobble slightly with the uncertainty of the words he’ll say to try and change my mind. His hand to the small of my back steadies me and his footsteps trod like doom behind me as he moves to my office. He closes the door behind us and sits on the arm of the chair in front of my desk.
His eyes follow the line of turtles on my desk. An eyebrow quirked. “Okay, I’ve wondered for months… why turtles?”
This I can answer -anything to not have to talk about me or my feelings. “Turtles are interesting creatures. Huge, gentle giants with so many mysteries. Did you know that six out of the seven species of sea turtles are endangered?
I pause. “Did you know that sometimes sea turtles cry, but it’s not because they’re sad? It’s because they have these glands that help empty excess salt water from their eyes, which makes it seem like they’re crying but they actually aren't… Or did you know that when female sea turtles leave the sea to nest, they go back to the same nesting grounds where they were born?”
“Look at you, a turtle enthusiast. Wynter Carlisle, woman of mystery.” He uses that charming smirk against me and my heart pitter-patters out an unsteady beat.
“I donate to the Turtle Foundation every year too. Someone needs to try to save as many as we can before they’re expunged from the world altogether. Because not having sea turtles would be a tragedy.”
He smiles at me. A bright, genuine smile. “What?” I question.
“I think it’s amazing that your heart is so invested in the Turtle Foundation, Wyn. That’s such a big deal. Do you know what the turtle symbol stands for on a totem pole?”
I shake my head.
“Well, they typically encourage people who have them as symbols to take a break in their busy lives and take a moment to look within themselves for more grounded, long-lasting solutions. The turtle symbolizes a way of peace, whether to cultivate peace within ourselves or maybe within our environment.”
“See, I knew turtles were special…”
A blush creeps across my face, and I look away. Weston’s the first person I’ve ever told that too. I’m not even sure why I shared it with him, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it’s to prolong the conversation I know is coming.
“Okay, next question. Why a picture of this older couple? Why not replace the photo?”
“It’s going to sound dumb.”
“Try me.”
“I picture them as my actual parents. They seem so happy and in love. My parents are always at each other's throats.” I shrug, not sure what else to do.
Nodding, he speaks again, “It makes sense. Believe me, I get it.”
He sighs heavily, looking down at his feet as he shuffles them back and forth. “Look, I want to apologize. For making you feel you had to take a chance on me. For pushing when you aren’t ready to open yourself up to anyone.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously.
No, don’t say it.My heart beats, hanging onto his words with a death grip. “I don’t think we can go back to friends after this, I feel too much for that. So, here’s the deal. Neither of us are leaving The Avant Garde any time soon, so I say we act professional, but don’t spend any time together outside of work. It will only confuse things and muddy the waters.”
“Wait, you’re giving up? Then what was that in the breakroom?” Confusion laces each word. I never thought after the countless texts he’d give up this easily.
His eyes contain more moisture than normal and for the first time, I see how my careless words and actions have affected him. Pulling him along on a hypothetical leash. My cocky charmer is more than meets the eye. Hurt and anger penetrate his gaze. The bags under his eyes match mine, so it’s clear neither of us has been dealing with this well.
Taking a deep breath, I struggle to compose myself. The caution tape around my heart pulls a little tighter, making it hard to breathe. A whisperedokayslips from my tongue. Looking up, I can’t help the words that fall from my lips next. “I hope you don’t hate me. I… don’t want to hate you.”
He nods in agreement. “I hope that one day, Wynter, you stop running. You open up and let someone in. That’s my hope for you. Even if it’s not with me”
He pauses for a moment, the smirk I know and love coming out to play. “By the way, I still want that promotion to a senior columnist, so you know.”
The smirk grows into a full smile and I can’t help but feel the tension lifting. I shake my head at his comment, but inside I feel like I’m breaking. I want to reach out, pull him to me, tell him that maybe I’m an idiot. Maybe I can do this, but my feet remain planted to the ground, my arms tight to my sides. It’s like my body is in a state of paralysis, wanting to reach out but can’t.
I stare into his handsome face, sadness filling me as realization kicks in. My heart flutters in my chest and overwhelming feelings clutch onto me, gripping me hard, making it hard to breathe.
Have I wrecked the best thing that’s ever happened to me?
His words seem so resigned. Like he’s accepted that I’ll never want him, like he knows to stop falling for me. I wish I were brave enough to tell him I fucked around and got attached to him - his scent, the way he laughs, his finger trussed hair, his smile, his wanting me. And now it’s all gone. I’d have to accept it.
He sighs, taking one last look at me. “Okay, well. I guess I’ll see you around the office, boss.”
The boss title makes me cringe. He’s reduced us back to coworkers and my body itches with hate over it. The words stab at my skin like ice picks. It sounds wrong to my ears. Feels wrong spoken out loud. He reaches over to shake my hand and electricity singes us. Sparks fly, we both get burned, and it’s over. In the blink of an eye.
I watch him leave. My mind wanders back to what could have been. I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. No time now. I’m too late. He’s done with me.