didn’t ever let me down. Why do you keep insisting you did?”
“The things I said, the promises I made—”
“Not for one minute did I expect you to follow through on any of those.”
His hands stilled, then dropped away. “I didn’t think I could feel much worse about what happened, but you just proved me wrong.”
Surprised, she turned to face him again, the casters on the chair legs squeaking in the quiet room. It wasn’t something she’d said to hurt him, but the expression on his chiseled, nearly too-handsome face was pained. “Baxter...”
He threw himself into the seat beside her. It was wheeled, like hers, and he used the heel of one elegant leather shoe to push himself away from the table. “I guess I deserve that. Clearly I have an overinflated sense of my own integrity.”
“What?” Addy stared at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Despite what I did that night, I’ve always considered myself one of the good guys, okay? I’m ethical, I pay all my taxes, I always buy my mother her favorite candy on Valentine’s Day.”
Addy told herself not to be charmed. But he bought his mother candy on Valentine’s Day! “You are one of the good guys...at least I’ve always thought so.”
“But you say you disbelieved me that night...even before I had the chance to prove your distrust was well-founded.” He groaned, and ran his palms over his hair. “I am a jerk.”
“No, Baxter. I don’t think you’re a jerk. I didn’t put any credence into what you said because...because I’m me, and you’re you.”
“The jerk.”
“No.” It was frustrating and more than a little humiliating to clear this up. “You’re Baxter Smith,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the hair, the suit, the shiny shoes, “and I’m me.”
He frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“You’re you, and I’m me. Pl—plain Addy.” She’d almost said “plump,” but no need to go into that. “Nose-in-a-book, eyes-on-a-screen, head-in-the-clouds Addy March.”
He just stared at her.
“You know Little Women, the book by Louisa May Alcott? The ‘little women’ are the March sisters. I used to pretend that I was one of them. They performed plays and told each other stories and had their loving Marmee and Father.” When Baxter continued to stare at her she thought she wasn’t making herself clear. “I pretended I was pretend people. I could pretend I was pretend people for days on end.”
He still looked puzzled. “If this is about swapping childhood stories, I should probably tell you about the BSLS.”
It wasn’t about swapping childhood stories, it was about why they were ill-suited for each other, but now she was intrigued. “All right, I’ll bite. BSLS?”
“The BSLS. The Baxter Smith Life Schedule.”
“Huh?”
“I’m a very, uh, goal-oriented person. Maybe a little obsessive-compulsive. Even as a kid, I made lists, developed agendas, tracked my progress on spreadsheets. The summer after eighth grade, I got into running. I had a target. In the twelve weeks before school started—and the high school cross country season began—I wanted to log five hundred miles.”
“That was very ambitious.” Not that she’d admit it, but that was the summer her crush had begun. She’d been waiting for fifth grade to start, dreading another school year where she’d be ignored, or worse, made fun of. Always a dreamer, she’d been ripe for falling for a teen heartthrob. The first time she’d seen him run by, it had been chance, but after that she’d sit in wait by her bedroom window, a box of Pop-Tarts and another of Cap’n Crunch beside her, munching and crunching until he passed her window as he left on his run. She’d be there on his return, too, a little sick on sugar and puppy love. “Five hundred miles.”
“They weren’t all logged on the road. My father and I assigned a mile value to other things—sets of tennis, a round of golf, laps in the pool.” He shrugged. “I think it was the next year that I developed the BSLS.”
“The Baxter Smith Life Schedule.”
“Yes. I’ve kept it all these years...kept to it. It’s a timetable of important dates and milestones. I listed my high school graduation date, college graduation. I already figured I wanted a year of work before getting my MBA. Then, after that degree, I’d go directly into a job with the family.”
She nodded. Baxter would be ordered that way. Precise in what he wanted, knowing it early, sticking to it like glue. It was the confidence thing again. That innate understanding of himself and his place in the world.
The