Page 79 of The Write Midlife

Just like her mother had always wanted for her.

FORTY-TWO

Nate had spentforty-three years being heir to the Carlisle Publishing legacy, twenty-one years earning that very right…and the last two months utterly destroying it.

The lights of Seattle's skyline blurred through the conference room windows as Nate stared at the contracts spread before him.

There were six. Six rival publishing offers.

Each promising more money, more control, more prestige than the last. Six chances to prove he was more than just Liam Carlisle's son who'd crashed and burned trying to revolutionize the family business.

Six ways to forget Melody Archer had walked away.

His phone buzzed—another message from Alex asking if he needed company or liquid therapy. Nate ignored it, just like he'd ignored the previous fifteen texts. He didn't need company. He needed to focus on salvaging what was left of his career after?—

The conference room door burst open.

He half-expected Alex to burst through, carrying a dish of lasagna that weighed more than his own body weight. Or even his father.

Lately, his Dead Old Dad had been tucking his tail between his Armani-covered legs, thanks to Nate’s pushback and his mother’s threats of a “certain celibacy” should the elder Carlisle not stay in the place Nate had put him.

But instead of those options, Nate found himself looking at Mystery Option #3.

The woman he loved. Auburn hair loose. Hazel eyes blazing.

Melody stood in the doorway, windblown and beautiful, clutching what appeared to be a container of sauce. And even the scent of garlic that came with it couldn’t wipe out the aroma of heartbreak he knew was coming off him in waves.

He stood—his voice quiet, the syllables strangled. “Mel, what the—What are you doing here?"

She blinked, stepping into the room. “I don’t know…Maybe making sure you don’t do something that either or both of us will regret Like accepting one of those offers."

Nate didn't respond, just watched her with careful eyes as she set the container on the conference table, right on top of the most lucrative offer.

"This isn't about the imprint," she said softly. "Or publishing. Or anything except us."

"Us?" The word barely carried across the room. "I didn't realize there was an 'us' to discuss."

"I was wrong," Melody said, the words hanging in the charged air between them. "I was scared and stupid and so, so wrong."

Nate stayed silent, his hands loose on the armrests of his chair. Waiting.

"I've spent four days thinking about why I walked away," she continued, taking a careful step forward. "About why I always walk away when things get real. And I realized something."

She moved closer to the table, her fingers trailing along its polished surface. "We're not so different, you and I. You've beenhiding behind being the perfect heir. I've been hiding behind my career. Both of us thinking that success is safer than love."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it.

"The thing is," she gestured to the array of contracts, "you're not taking any of these offers. Even though they'd prove to everyone that you're more than your father's son. Even though they'd give you everything you've worked for."

"Your point?" His voice was rough with unshed emotion.

"My point is, you're choosing to stay. To build something here, even though it's harder. Even though it's scarier." She opened the container, releasing the rich aroma of freshly made sauce. "Just like I finally learned to make my own recipe instead of using the safe, store-bought version."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Are you comparing our relationship to pasta sauce?"

"Maybe." She moved around the table, closer to him. "But here's the thing—I'm done playing it safe. I'm done hiding behind my career because I'm scared of losing something real."

She pulled out her phone, fingers steady now as she pulled up an email. "That's why I'm turning down the Hollywood deal."