Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

22. Jake

22

Jake

I haven’t seen Tilly this morning. I figured, as I sat on the porch drinking my coffee, that last night had whacked her out. A lot went on in a short period of time, and she was clearly exhausted last night.

Admittedly, I was disappointed that she went to bed early. After our conversation at the hoedown, I still felt there were things that needed to be said. Besides, neither of us had mentioned that kiss, and I figured that I should address it, seeing as it was me who initiated it.

In truth, I wanted to know Tilly’s feelings. We’d only skimmed the surface when we took that stroll, though what she said did open my eyes. I had no idea she had been feeling so trapped. Not once had she ever mentioned it to me. In fact, during all the time we spent together—which was a lot—she always looked so happy and content.

But I get it. And she was right. If she had said anything to me, being the immature kid I was back then, I would have tried to convince her to stay. I also know it would have been for selfish reasons. I didn’t have the capacity to understand how she felt and probably wouldn’t have seen it from her point of view.

It was also nice to hear her apologize after all these years. I’d long past accepted the fact that I’d neither get an explanation nor hear her say she was sorry. But none of that seems to matter anymore. It mattered back then, but not now.

Now, I’m more interested in the future than the past. And after everything that’s happened, I suppose I want to know where we both stand. Things started out a little icy—well, okay, it was more like a blizzard—but of late, I reckon we’ve been enjoying a heatwave.

An outsider might say that we’ve been getting along because we’ve known each other for so long, but I don’t see it like that. There has to be more to it. We’ve shared some moments, and I’ve seen her eyes dancing when she’s looked at me. Besides, she wasn’t exactly averse to that kiss, either, right?

But with Tilly sleeping in, there’ll be no talking this morning, so I suppose there’s little else for me to do but get some work done.

At lunch, Tilly finds me feeding the pigs.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi. You get a good night’s rest?”

“Uh-huh.”

For some reason, she can’t seem to look me in the eye, which I find a bit strange. I’m about to ask her if she’s alright when she says, “Mel’s on her way over. We’re going back to her house.”

“You know you don’t have to report your whereabouts to me, right?” I say. “I’m not a prison warden.”

“I know. But you’re letting me stay in your house. It’s only good manners that I let you know that it’s going to be empty for a while.”

My gut is still telling me that something isn’t right, and a part of me wants to ask her outright. But for some reason, I stop myself. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m worried I’m going to hear something I don’t want to.

Great. So avoiding the problem is totally the answer.

It isn’t long after that when Mel arrives, and after I wave them off, the weird feeling in my gut only gets worse. Something is off. But I didn’t have the guts to ask her what, so now, I have no idea what it is.

You should have said something.

Yes. I should. Now I’m going to have to go through the afternoon worrying about it.

The afternoon passes like any other. Well, apart from my mind working overtime trying to figure out what’s wrong with Tilly. But there’s never a day when there isn’t something to do, so I work through the heat, trying to distract myself. It doesn’t work too well, though.

Not only do I want to know what’s troubling her, I also spend some time working out what I’m going to say to her. I need to know, once and for all, whether there’s a chance for us.

Maybe her going off to Mel’s is a way to avoid speaking to you about it.

But I’m not convinced. To begin with, she has no idea that I want to sit down and talk to her. And besides, Tilly isn’t the avoiding kind. If she was brave enough to go to the hoedown last night and face the people she had thought were judging her for all these years, I can’t see her trying to avoid me.

The hours pass, and as the sun slowly lowers in the sky, I hear a car pulling up outside. Taking one last glance at Greta, who is making a good recovery, I leave the stables and head outside. I’m just in time to see Mel pulling away and Tilly making her way into the house.

“Hey,” I say as I enter the kitchen.

“Hi,” she says, looking once more a little edgy. “I bought beers.”

She holds up the six pack like a trophy.

Okay. Is this good for me or bad for me?

“Great,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Are they cold?”

“Yep. Got them out of the fridge on the way home.”

“Then crack them open. We can take them outside.”

A little while later, we’re out on the porch, sipping ice-cold beers. Exactly what I need at the end of a long, hot day. But even as we drink them, I get the feeling that Tilly’s stalling. That, or she needs a few more beers in her to tell me what’s really going on.

But she’s only halfway down her second bottle when she says, “I got a phone call from my boss today.”

I look over at her. “You do realize you’ve never actually told me what you do in the city.”

She looks a little surprised, and taking a second to think about it, she nods. “I’m in advertising.”

I look at her with a blank stare. You hear people say that, but is it just me, or does no one actually know what that means?

“You know the commercials you see on TV, or on billboards?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“Well, I’m kinda involved in that.”

“Anything you’ve done that I would know?” I press. I am genuinely interested.

“Oh. Er…” She tilts her head in thought and then looks at me. “Have you seen the commercials for Bartley’s Hot Dogs?”

“Sure. You did that?” I ask, pretty impressed with her skills.

“Well, I didn’t do all of it. There’s a team of us. But yes, I was involved in it.”

“Cool.”

“So, anyway…” She takes another sip of her beer. “My boss called me this morning. I’ve been after this promotion for a year, and today, she called to tell me that I have it.”

Strangely, Tilly doesn’t look as ecstatic as I assume she should be with that news.

“That’s great, right?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” She does sound a little more excited than she did a second earlier. “But there’s a time limit on it. If I want the promotion, I have to hightail it back to the city in the next couple of days.”

If someone punched me in the stomach, I don’t think I’d feel so gutted. To hide my utter devastation, I lift my beer and take a long draw. She’s going to be leaving, and after our conversation last night, I don’t feel it’s my place to say anything. It’s like history is repeating itself, almost. Only this time, she’s actually telling me what she wants to do.

“Well, congratulations,” I say, pinning on a smile and lifting my beer towards her.

She lifts her bottle, and we knock them together.

“It was pretty unexpected,” she says.

“Sure, but like you said, you’ve worked hard for this. You deserve success, Tilly. I’m happy for you.”

Liar!

Yes, I am. But she seems excited about her new prospects, so I want to be happy for her. My mind is just reeling because I thought we’d connected. I was pretty certain she felt it, too. Had I seen what I wanted to see? Had I imagined it? Maybe I had. Surely, if there was a chance for us, we’d be talking about that as well as her promotion, right?

If she wanted us to be together, we’d be discussing how a long-distance relationship could work. How she could stay in the city and be back here on the weekends. But we’re not talking about that. It hasn’t even been suggested.

All those things I planned to say to her now melt into the ether. If I bring up the subject of us now, it might look like I’m trying to convince her to stay, and I don’t want to do that. I mean, who am I to stand in the way of her career?

“What about Bryan?” I say as an afterthought. “Don’t you still need to get rid of him?”

“He texted me early this morning. He said he went back to the city. He said it was clear that I’d moved on.”

“And that was it?” I’m a bit surprised. The guy was pretty determined, even right up to last night. But then, there was that kiss.

Tilly drops her gaze. “He said a few other mean things, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and I’m glad to be rid of him.”

“So our little ruse worked,” I say, sounding far chirpier than I’m feeling. “We did it.”

“Yes,” she says, not sounding anywhere near as happy as I would expect her to be under the circumstances.

“You’re worried he’ll come after you again when you move back to the city,” I say.

She shakes her head. “New York’s a big place. And anyway, I’m planning on staying with a work colleague until I get my own place. Preferably on the other side of town.”

For a long time, neither of us says anything. I don’t know what’s going through Tilly’s mind, but I don’t know what to say. I want to be happy for her; I really do. But how can I feel that genuinely when her happiness means my loss? Losing her all over again is going to kill me, but this is her choice, and I have to respect that.

After her third beer, Tilly pulls out her phone and makes a call.

“Hi, Dad? Can you come and pick me up?”

I assume Gerry is telling her he will, because she nods, says thanks, and hangs up. Then she looks at me. “I don’t want to be in your hair any longer than I have to be.”

“You’ve never been in my hair, Tilly.”

“Well...” She smirks. “I think I was a little bit at the beginning.”

I smile, remembering our rocky start, and then I simply gaze at her. “It’s been my pleasure to be able to help you. What are friends for, right?”

“Is that what we are now? Friends?” she says.

Is that a trick question? I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here. If I say I feel more, then I’m being selfish. She doesn’t need me muddying the waters about her career. But if I say yes, I’m lying, right?

Sometimes, lies are good things. Especially if it’s a kindness to someone else, like telling a pregnant woman she doesn’t look fat in a dress. I end up going with what I should say rather than what I want to say.

“We’ll always be friends, Til.”

She nods and smiles, and then, standing, she says, “I’m going to go and pack my stuff.”