“Well, Miss Potter, normally I give it a day or two, but I have to say, you are the right fit for this job. I’d like to have you on our team.”
Like a bolt of electricity, excitement zinged through her. “I’d love to join Riddick Wiesner,” she said, standing and offering her hand across the table. Mr. Wiesner shook her hand, nodding.
“Thank you for a fantastic interview.” He walked around to her side of the table. “I remember you had some things to tie up, and I know you’ll need the obligatory two weeks’ notice for your current employer. Would you be able to start, say, in a month’s time?”
“Certainly.”
“Excellent. It was very nice meeting you. I look forward to working with you.”
“Thank you so much. It was a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled, trying with every ounce of energy she had not to burst into fits of screaming and laughter. She’d done it. She was back in the game. As she walked out of the office, Libby took in a deep breath and let it out, all her insecurities and worries lifting right off her like helium balloons. The warm sun was shining down on her like a ray of hope, and she knew things could only go up from there. She’d never been more focused, never more willing. She was going to sell the cottage and move as soon as she possibly could.
As luck would have it, Riddick Wiesner was only a couple blocks from her favorite diner, so she paced along the sidewalk outside, with her fellow New Yorkers, driven, focused, and with no time to waste.
When she entered the diner, she didn’t recognize any of the staff and they didn’t seem to notice her. She sat down at the table near the window that overlooked her favorite street. A waitress took her order, and within a few minutes she had her coffee in the white porcelain cup. With her hands wrapped around it, she looked out the window, the sun streaming in on her face.
She’d gotten the job.
She wanted to share her news with someone. Usually, when she had big news, she’d call Trish. But I don’t want to call Trish, she thought. I want… She didn’t want to admit it because it didn’t make any sense. I want to call Pete, she thought against her will.
She wished she could tell him in person, and he would share in her happiness, that she could see the laughter behind his eyes as she jumped up and down over it. It was selfish of her; she knew that. Telling Pete would be awful because when she told him, she’d lose him all over again. Getting that job meant leaving White Stone, but it also meant leaving him.
She called her mother instead. If anyone would share in her joy, it would be Celia. As soon as she answered, Libby gave her the news. The phone pressed against her ear, Libby caught herself smiling alone with only her cup of coffee to keep her warm, while her mother went on about how proud of her she was. Without a doubt, this had been a low point in her career and in her life. She knew her mother understood that. In some ways, however, it had been good for Libby. It had given her a chance to stop and think about what was important—understanding her mother, setting things right with Pete, seeing everyone again. It also made her realize that the people in her town had welcomed her back with open arms. No one had flinched when she returned; in fact, they’d made her feel… special.
* * *
Libby sat in the hotel room flipping through the TV channels, staring at the television against the opposite wall. She finally clicked it off and buried herself in the covers. She’d spent the day in Central Park by herself, thinking about how nice it felt to get her life back on track. The weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun was shining through the trees. It was amazing how long she could just sit and take it all in. It felt so good.
Her phone pinged. She reached an arm outside the duvet and felt around for it. Pulling it under the covers, she opened a waiting text: Can you talk yet? How’d the interview go? In all the excitement, she’d let Wade’s text go unanswered. Even a few months ago, she never would have dreamed that after finally getting a job, she’d call people back home before she even thought to call Wade.
She swam out of the covers and dialed his number. “Hello,” she said when he answered.
“Hi,” he returned, an awkward silence trailing behind. There was something different about that “hi.” It was softer, quieter, as if there were some sort of significance behind it.
“What did you want to tell me?” she asked suspiciously.
“Where are you?”
“The W on Lexington. Why?”
“Can I see you?”
“It’s after ten! What’s going on? Just tell me.”
“Nothing’s going on. I don’t have anything to tell you,” he said. “I just want to see you. I miss you.”