Love by Association

“You didn’t tell me she was in publishing, either, but you knew, didn’t you? Before you introduced us on Saturday?”

He took that sip. “Yes.”

“And when you first heard that she was in publishing, did you think, ‘Now here’s a plan. Introduce her to Julie and maybe she can help me convince her to publish her books...’” She mimicked him.

He sipped again.

“You weren’t going to tell either one of us. You were just going to put us together and then manipulate the rest with little bugs in both of our ears. Let her know I write. Get her to ask me if she can see one of my books. She tells me they’re really good and offers to help publish them.”

“Would that be so awful, Jules? To give yourself a chance to succeed?”

The moisture in her eyes cut him. “I am a success, Colin. Can’t you see that? Creation comes from within. You have to dig deep to hear the voices and see the visions. You have to access your core, open yourself and let what’s inside out. That’s what I do every single time I sit down in my room and go to work. Every day, I open up a little bit more. See a little more. Feel a little more. I’m not letting what happened lock me away. I’m finding ways to let myself fly.”

He felt like an idiot.

“So maybe I only fly solo these days. When I’m by myself. But it’s the way it is. For now. At least I’m flying.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

She gave him that quirky tilt of her head, accompanied by a wry grin that used to be commonplace with her. “Did you get the part about going solo?”

He got something else, too.

“You aren’t solo right now.”

She didn’t blink. “I know.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. Except...I’m angry with you, and couldn’t keep it inside. I also feel a bit threatened. I don’t want my work exposed, Colin. Not until I’m ready. You need to come clean with Chantel. Tell her that you purposely kept my writing from her and that you hoped she’d be able to help me get published. Then you need to tell her that I’m not interested and that you understand why. Get it out on the table and make it go away. I can’t have this pressure, worrying about exposure. It’s stifling my process.”

Her words were filled with drama—but not the empty teenaged variety she’d exhibited so freely in high school. He felt the depths of her pain.

“Your writing is your therapy.”

“Yes.”

“It’s what’s helped you get more involved in your charity work. To branch out more.”

“I think so.”

“Will you accept my apology?”

“Yes, but it’s not just me you have to apologize to. And it’s not just this writing thing with Chantel. It’s that you tried to manipulate us, Colin. How does that make you any different from the Smyths and Paul Reynolds?”

“Because I did it for good reason? To help you?”

“If I never publish a book, that’s my right. If I never even try to do it, that’s my right. And if Chantel finds out I’m writing a series of books and wants to help, or doesn’t want to help, that’s for the two of us to find out. Not for you to orchestrate.” She shook her head. “I’m not even sure you see the difference anymore. You’re living in their world, Colin. Making your high-powered deals because your clients expect it of you. And you’re becoming more and more like them.”

He wasn’t. But he didn’t blame her for thinking so.

“I’ll come clean to Chantel in the morning,” he said. “I’m meeting her for breakfast.”

“Where?”

They’d never said. He’d heard Julie in the dining room and come running.

“I don’t know yet. But I want you to know that I not only hear what you’re saying, I understand and will make a conscious effort to tend to it. You know I’d never sell you out, Jules. Not ever. I was only trying to help.”

“Trying to help is letting me know that you met someone with ties to the publishing world. Asking me if I want you to mention my writing to her. Not taking matters into your own hands.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

She nodded and grinned at him. “Good, then invite her here for breakfast. I’ll cook. And then I get to listen to you confess your stupidity.”

The imp was back.

Colin vowed not to disappoint her again.

* * *

PARKING HER NEWLY rented luxury sedan in the roundabout outside the ornate double doors of Colin’s ancestral home Wednesday morning, Chantel noticed that one of her short but perfectly manicured acrylic nails was chipped.