with him?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Yet he still left messages, right?”
“Only for a day,” I snap, trying to generate some outrage.
“Did you respond to any of those messages?”
“Er, uh, no.”
Jodi throws up her hands. “Then what is the guy supposed to think, Becca?”
Looking down at my desk, I mutter, “I don’t know.”
“You told him to leave you alone. But he still tried. I think when you didn’t respond, he decided to respect your wishes.”
Damn it, she has a point.
“I hate when you’re right.” Still feeling defiant, I add, “But the jerk shouldn’t have given up so easily. I don’t want him to respect my wishes, damn it!”
Jodi snorts. “What kind of modern-woman approach is that?”
“Okay, okay, I don’t know.” I let out a long sigh. “I guess a part of me just really wants to hear from him.”
In a soft, understanding tone, she says, “That part would be your heart.”
I place my head in my hands. “Ugh, you’re right again. I hate this so much.”
Wheeling her chair over, Jodi wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders. “I know, sweetie.” She leans the side of her head against mine. “This is a tough situation, no doubt. Your heart is warring with your head.”
“That’s for sure.”
The tears begin to fall.
I let it all out—my grief, my pain.
And then I straighten in my chair.
Moving her arm from around my shoulders, Jodi reaches for the box of tissues I keep on my desk.
Grabbing a bunch, she hands them to me. “Here,” she says. “You look like you can use a few.”
“Thanks.” I sniffle into one tissue while wiping my cheeks with another.
Patting my arm, Jodi says, “I really hate seeing you hurting like this.”
“Trust me—” I blow my nose. “—I hate feeling like this. No man has ever had me this messed up.”
With sadness in her pretty whiskey-brown eyes, she says softly, “That’s because you’ve never been in love like this before.”
“Actually, I’ve never been in love like this or in any way. I thought maybe I was in the past, but I know now it was something else, like infatuation… or lust. Lars has shown me what real love is.”
That brings on a fresh round of tears.
Once I pull myself together, Jodi quietly suggests, “Maybe you two should get together and talk once he’s back in town. He comes home tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. His two weeks in Dover are done.”
She nudges me. “Then get in touch with him. Make a move. I think you made your point of how angry you were with how long you’ve ignored him.”
I’m hesitant, though.
“I just don’t know,” I hedge. “What if he does get traded?”
Sternly, Jodi says, “Stop. I’m tired of hearing about that. If he does, he does. You two will work it out. Be an adult, Becca.”
“Yeesh.” I blink over at her. “You’re tough.”
“I think you need a little tough love right about now.”
I murmur, “Maybe I do.”
“So when are you going to call Lars?”
“I don’t know. Not yet.”
Jodi’s not giving up.
Nor do I expect her to.
She knows what’s best for me.
“Don’t be so stubborn,” she says.
“I’m trying not to be,” I whine. “I just can’t make a decision right this instant.”
Jodi sighs. “Look. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? That’ll give you time to think with a clear head.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She has a point.
Why argue?
Jodi also has a warning. “Becca, seriously, make a decision. Don’t wait too long. You don’t want to throw away the best thing to ever come along in your life. Lars is everything you’ve ever wanted in a man. How many times have you told me that? Not to mention, he really does love you.”
Crap, every fiber in my being knows she’s right.
But all I can do is just sit here and nod.
Hey, at least I’m not running.
Yet.
Next Moves
I fly back to Columbus, ready and pumped to win Becca back.
Yeah, I got this.
Only problem is every time I call her, I’m sent to voice mail, just like before when I was in Dover.
Fuck!
I don’t bother with texts.
We need to resolve this with spoken words, not typed statements.
So the first day and night that I’m home, I leave many messages for Becca, begging for her to call me back.
I hear nothing in return.
But I’m not deterred.
In fact, I start leaving voice mails again on day number two early in the morning, as soon as I wake up.
I continue into the afternoon.
In the middle of one particularly long apology, my agent beeps through.
Switching over, I take his call.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Actually, not much,” he replies.
“What’s that supposed