Free Lily Love by Maggi Myers Page A

wandering in college for that reason. When I finally did find my passion, it was for other people’s writing, not my own.
    During my senior year, the editor of the literary magazine recommended me for an internship with a small publisher. I spent the summer reading thousands of query letters from aspiring writers. If they pitched something that sounded interesting, I passed it up the chain, where it would be graded again before even making it to an editor’s desk. It fascinated me how one person’s opinion could make or break someone else’s life’s work.
    Lo and behold, I was finally good at something: I had a knack for weeding out the potential from the crap, and in the fall I was hired as an assistant to the acquisitions editor. When the company expanded a few years later, I was promoted to acquisitions editor myself. Not bad for a girl who had so much trouble making up her mind.
    I had a husband I adored and a career that I loved. My job was my solace when Peter and I started to have trouble conceiving. It was a place where I could get lost in someone else’s story and not be sad whileI was there. That’s what I missed the most about it, when I had to quit to focus full-time on Lily’s needs. There were no more stories to hide in when I could’ve used them the most.
    “I can’t imagine you’re not gifted.” He penetrates me with those warm eyes. “With that sharp wit of yours, I’m sure anything you write is brilliant.”
    “Wow.” It’s all I can come up with. He takes my monosyllabic response in stride and gives me that dimpled smile. I haven’t thought about writing in years, and I’m surprised to find that his compliment strikes such a chord within. Just the thought of putting pen to paper again awakens an old yearning I’d given up on long ago.
    “Are you hungry?” he asks, unfazed by my slack-jawed expression. He pats his stomach and says, “I’m starved.”
    “Sorry?” I urge my brain to catch up, but it’s still stuck back there at “I’m sure anything you write is brilliant.”
    “Food.” He pantomimes spooning food to his mouth. “Eat. Tate hungry.”
    No mockery, my ass.
    “
Are you trying to tell me that you’re a Neanderthal after all?” I smirk. “Because I’m pretty sure they were pre-utensils.” I copy his gesture of spooning food.
    He beams at me. “I like you, Caroline. You’ve accomplished an impossible feat by making me laugh on a perfectly crappy day.” And just like that, the playful banter ceases. He tries to keep smiling, but the warmth fades from his eyes as he wavers.
    Helplessly, I watch as his face falls and he reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose the same way he did earlier, and it breaks my heart. I grasp his hand before it makes contact with his worry spot. His sad eyes search mine in confusion.
    “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, as evenly and matter-of-factly as I can. I want to be careful to keep my personal feelings in check. If he wants to share, I want him to feel comfortable. Nothing was worse for me than having to deal with someone else’s emotions when I couldhardly deal with my own. When I told my mom that Lily had been diagnosed with a developmental disability, she was devastated. She didn’t go to my father, my sister, or even my brother to be consoled; she brought all of her emotions to me. I could’ve used my mother’s support; I desperately wanted someone to listen. Instead, I ended up comforting her.
    He’s hesitating, and I don’t blame him. He may like me, but he hardly knows me. Then again, maybe that makes it easier. Who knows.
    “Listen,” I suggest. “You said you were hungry, so I’m going to go grab us a couple of sandwiches from inside. You sit here and think about it. When I get back, I’m not going to say anything. You decide what we talk about. No harm, no foul.” He nods slowly, still contemplating. I give his hand a good squeeze before I let go. “I’ll be right back.”
    From the line inside, I