The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,105

like a fool, you let her.”

“I let her.” Realization came slowly and then all of a sudden. He’d let his own fears of demanding too much from her muddy his conviction.

“You’ve always struggled to accept that sacrifice is an inherent part of love. That it’s inevitably going to hurt sometimes if you care enough.” Leah took a deep breath. “Think of this experience through the lens of your syllabus. Love, like faith, asks us to be less selfish. Less greedy. It asks us to trust. To sit with our doubts. To keep coming back and proving our commitment.”

“When did you get wise?”

“Look, no one could work in reality TV for as long as I have and not become an expert at observing and orchestrating the human condition.”

Ethan got to his feet so fast he sent his chair rocking back on its legs. “Leah, I have to go.”

“Yeah. You do,” she said, folding her arms behind her head. “The smart one rests her case.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

NAOMI HAD BROKEN up with people before.

Usually, the dissolution of a romantic attachment made her hungry in every sense of the word. Made her seek out activities that caused her hair to whip across her face. Sent her in search of loud bars and spicy food. People who would bite her neck and press her against door frames. Experiences that hurt, but in a good way.

Not this time.

Ending things with Ethan had made her numb. Turned her heart into a fail-safe. Nothing in. Nothing out.

Evidently, some people had noticed.

“I’ve got a plan,” Clara announced, storming into her office like a pint-sized cyclone the day after the breakup.

Naomi paused the footage she was reviewing and took off her headphones.

“No.”

Plans meant action, and Naomi mostly wanted to stay as still as possible. Everything hurt when she moved.

“Yes.” Clara waved a notebook at her. “I’ve made a list of things you can do to feel better, with various action items on a sliding scale of intensity.”

Naomi wiped a hand across her face. “I don’t need your list, Connecticut. I need a nap.”

Sleep had become an intangible concept last night. Something so foreign and inaccessible, it felt like the kind of thing she’d read about in a book once but couldn’t quite imagine experiencing.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ethan’s face. Saw the destruction she’d wrought over someone she held so dear. Her actions had held so much purpose in that moment, but now she struggled to remember why she’d felt so certain that parting was the only path available to them. Naomi didn’t let herself linger on dangerous thoughts like that.

She focused on her work. Something she knew she was good at. Something she’d never had the impulse to ruin.

“I’m worried about you,” Clara said, voice wavering as she took up residence in her usual seat.

Naomi could imagine her heart—clanging against the cage that had descended to protect it.

“Don’t be,” she suggested.

Clara had enough on her plate. Even Naomi couldn’t stomach spoiling her wedding plans with borrowed tragedy.

“I’ll be okay.” And who knew, maybe she would. Someday.

Her business partner chewed her bottom lip, eyes lowered to the notebook clutched in her hands.

When had Naomi grown so, so soft?

She sighed. “Fine. Read me the first few items on the list. Quickly.” No one found as much comfort in organization as Clara Wheaton.

As evidenced by the grateful smile that graced her face. “Okay. I really think these could help. You’re a woman of action. You respond best to challenge and—”

“Clara,” Naomi cut in.

“Right. Sorry. Reading.” She ran a finger down the paper, obviously searching for her most persuasive pitch. “Well, you’re maybe not going to love this one, but I’ve got sub-bullets detailing an affirmative argument for why this is the right thing to do.”

Naomi placed her chin in her palm. “Can’t wait.”

“Actually,” Clara hedged, “before I get into the specifics, could you promise not to yell in response?”

“I don’t yell,” Naomi said loudly.

Clara raised her eyebrows.

“Much.”

“Mm-hm.” Clara straightened her skirt.

“You have my commitment to reply at a low to average volume.” She picked up her pen dejectedly, for something to do.

“Right. So, a few weeks ago the office got a call from a Ms. Michelle Router.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Naomi was in no mood to hunt for the connection. “Uh-huh.”

“And she happens to be the new principal at your old high school in Boston.” Clara raised her eyes to the ceiling, acting innocent. “Ms. Router said she’d tried to reach you a few times via email and