She’s on her way to tell everyone she’s not publishing her book. I do my best to fight the dread. This is what she needs, and I will support her, even if I’m disappointed. But Trina is right. I can see her. I need to see her.

Nodding once, I rush past her out my door. But before I can even hit the button for the elevator, Trina’s voice follows me down the hallway.

“Hey, Whitlock,” she calls. “Let her do this, okay? Trust her.”

Swallowing hard, I nod again. The elevator doors ding open behind me, and before I know it, I’m descending. My heart is in my throat, and my hands wiggle at my sides as if some of my nervous energy could be shaken out through my fingers.

There wasn’t any real part of me that thought she’d disappear again, but I’d be lying if I said the possibility hadn’t crossed my mind last night while I was busy thinking about how much of an idiot I had been to walk away from her in the first place.

But now she’s coming here. She’s on her way. And I guess I didn’t realize how afraid of never seeing her again I truly was, because the relief I feel when the elevator doors open just as she’s stepping into the lobby is palpable.

Scarlett has always been beautiful, but today she’s radiant. Her dark hair is shining in the sunlight as it cascades in soft waves down her back. She’s wearing a loose-fitting cream blouse that has been tucked into navy linen pants that cinch her waist and flow outward toward her brown ballet flats. And when she turns her blue eyes to me, they sparkle.

The icing on the cake is the luminous smile that expands her pink lips when she sees me.

“Hi,” she says, and with that one word, I can tell she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. It’s a casual word, relaxed. I don’t think I even realized how stressed she had been and for how long until seeing her now, put together and smiling and glowing, tossing me a “Hi” in the lobby.

The weight of publishing was pulling her down, and it happened so slowly, so quietly that I missed it. Not only did I miss it, I helped it happen. Now that she’s about to let it go, she’s free.

I won’t stand in the way of that freedom. Not anymore.

Ten. I count the steps it takes to get to her, and it’s ten. Ten too many, if you ask me, but when I’m standing in front of her, watching her face tip up toward me, smelling her black-tea scent, I can’t imagine being anywhere else with anyone else ever again.