Welcome to Castle Cove

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I tell myself not to, that looking will only make this worse, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t resist pivoting in my seat and craning my neck to see the wall clock above the exit. 4:53. Seven more minutes. Just seven minutes and I can pack up and go home and finally end this train-wreck of a week. A book, a glass of chilled wine, and maybe even a hot bath…yeah. Throw a decent night of sleep on top and a lazy Saturday morning to follow and I’ll be right as rain.

All of this sounds so good that I’m packing up before I realize what I’m doing.

What difference does seven minutes on a Friday make anyway, I ask myself as I shove my laptop, planner, and phone into my gray canvas bag. I can leave out the back door of the office building, right under that red EXIT sign, and make it to my car before anyone even realizes I’m gone.

And what are they going to do, deduct seven minutes from my pay?

No one is even going to see me.

You’re wrong there, I think. There’s definitely one person who will count those precious minutes like gold coins.

I pivot the other way, toward the front of B & B Creative Partners building, and gaze out across the open office. All the desks have been vacated and the computers sit dark save one.

In the blue light of the screen, Spencer’s face is expressionless unless I count the off-putting intensity in which he stares at me without blinking. His dark eyes drill into mine. I’ve always thought glasses softened a gaze. Nope. Spencer eyes me like a hawk eyes a field mouse scurrying in the high grass below, just waiting for his opportunity to swoop down and sink those talons in my neck.

I force a smile and half-hearted wave. “Ready for the weekend?”

He grunts.

I repress the urge to ask, is that a yes or a no, asshole?

But I decide striking up even a polite conversation isn’t worth it. After all, he’s part of the reason this work week has been so awful. I want to just grab his shoulders, shake him and demand, what is your problem, man?

Because it’s clear he has a problem. With me. He brought coffee to work for everyone but me, and was like oh I forgot you were here, which I’d believe since I’m new, except he smirked when he said it. Then three out of four times I’ve had to ask him about an account he has pulled out his phone and pretended to take a call, in order to avoid me. He told our boss Laura that the Find the Golden Egg Easter campaign was his idea. And even if I could overlook his credit-stealing and rude office behavior, there are his emails. No “hello”, no signature. Just one or two-line commands.

I want the Hannigan memo by 4:30.

You have to meet with the Yorks at 1:30. Be early.

Your fly is undone.

I guess I could see the last one as a courtesy. He didn’t have to tell me I was showing my lacy underwear to everyone. Or worse, he could’ve shouted it across the open office. But this one courtesy aside, he’s been a total s**t to me.

Maybe I’m blowing his behavior out of proportion to his actual crimes. He can’t be blamed for everything.

I just moved to this new town, first of all. And as charming as Castle Cove is with its gorgeous cliffside coast, thick forests that makes the whole town reek of pine and wood chips, the people themselves have been standoffish. In grocery stores, at the post office, the gas station. They look long, they look hard, and not one has spared me a smile. If they speak to me at all, they ask a variation of the same question: Where are you from?

Baltimore wasn’t exactly a friendly city, but this vibe is nothing like Baltimore.

Which is why you moved, I remind myself. I wanted something new. I wanted all the possibility a drastic change could offer. I just need to adjust. That’s all.

I could just be lonely.

What am I saying? Of course I’m lonely. The whole reason I left Baltimore and took this job on a whim was to get away from the awful failed engagement and a career that was falling apart.

Getting dumped is really hard on job performance apparently. And I was one write up away from getting fired.

One month after Greg and I called it off and he moved out of the apartment we’d shared for three years—Bam! We ran into each other.

I was in the grocery store after work, looking at the canned spaghetti, trying to decide if I wanted the old traditional or spicy version.

I hadn’t even boiled water for a month. I’d stopped washing my hair and wearing makeup. My wardrobe consisted of mostly yoga pants.

But I was okay. I was breathing and getting up in the morning. I was still going to work and paying the bills. I was going to be fine. Probably.

While I was reading the back of a can of spicy spaghetti, someone called my name.

I turned, and there he was. Greg looking fit and gorgeous with his mussed black hair. The cut-off T-shirt he was wearing brought out that rich blue color of his eyes.

Sure, we were both wearing workout clothes, but it was clear he’d actually been working out. It was showing.

I had not. And it was also showing.

For a moment we just stood there, staring at each other. He looked caught between a smile and a grimace and I was caught between putting the spaghetti in my basket or back on the shelf. Hell, maybe I would’ve been frozen like that forever in some kind of oh-my-god-here’s-my-ex-and-of-course-I-look-like-s**t-don’t-move challenge.

Then a woman’s high, bright voice called his name. He broke the stare first, turning toward the voice.

I bolted.

Before I even saw who it was, I’d grabbed my can of spaghetti and was out of there. Back home, I drank a whole bottle of wine in a tub that I hadn’t bothered to fill and cried while eating my cold pasta—from the can. It wasn’t just that he’d seen me frumpy and tired with greasy hair and no makeup. It wasn’t that I’d gained weight while we were together and more after he dumped me.

It was the freaking kale.

He had freaking kale in his plastic handcart. I knew that man. He only ate kale when he was trying.

And he wasn’t trying for me. Not anymore.

That night I started looking for jobs in ad agencies all over the country. The farther the better. The next morning, I woke to find an email notifying me of a brand new listing. It was for an account manager at B & B Creative Partners, an advertising agency in Castle Cove. I’d never heard of this place, but the description was perfect. And I was certain that my boss would be more than willing to get rid of me after the month I’d had.

Two phone interviews later, I had a new job and a reason to leave Baltimore behind.

I will never tell Spencer all of this, of course. But sometimes I imagine shouting it into his face, ending with an impassioned, so give me a break, man!

I replay this particular daydream now as he stares me down.

4:59.

I log off and power down my desktop computer. I make sure all the pens end up in their black wire cup and the rainbow sticky notes are back in a pile. I like coming to work on Monday to a tidy desk. I might be totally out of control in the rest of my life, but my desk is together and ready for action, damn it.

Even if I’m not.

5:00.

“Have a great weekend, Spencer,” I call, offering a cheerful wave.

He says nothing. What an a-hole.

I can’t get out of this building fast enough. With my bag over one shoulder, my jacket in hand, I rush toward the red exit sign and the waiting parking lot beyond. I’m almost to the door when someone calls my name.

My stomach drops. God, what now?

Choice 1

Stop and see who it is

Keep going and pretend I didn’t hear