Free Sweet Imperfection by Libby Waterford

back in Brooklyn, five days in which there had been absolutely no word from Emma. He reminded himself it was better this way, but couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong to leave so much unspoken. He was worried about her. How did he even know she’d gotten back to the city safely after the reunion? He hadn’t tried her since Sunday, but he couldn’t bring himself to call only to be consigned to voice mail.
    Even though he knew she worked in Manhattan, he found himself taking walks down 4th Street whenever he had a free moment. He never ran into her, and he wouldn’t have known what to say if he had. She was clearly done with him. And he deserved it.
    He sighed and pulled his focus back to the built-in bookshelf he was designing for a client in Prospect Park. His plate was full; business was good. He’d been terrified to take the leap and open his own design-and-build workshop, but, so far, it was working out. If his business kept growing as it had been, he’d have to hire an apprentice of his own soon.
    His thoughts, as ever, turned back to Emma. Was she getting quotes from someone else to do the work in her brownstone? God, he was such an idiot, he told himself for the millionth time. He’d been so close to something great with her, and he’d fucked it up.
    It’s better this way . He grunted as he hoisted a cherry wood board onto his worktable. It was his mantra. His depressing, hollow mantra. Because this wasn’t better than anything. This sucked.
    His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled in his haste to grab it before it went to voice mail.
    The screen slowed his heart rate. Just Cory.
    “What’s up, man?”
    “Kicking ass and taking names, the usual. Friday night, and Lizzie’s working late. It’s beer o’clock, buddy.”
    Nate checked the time and was surprised to find it was nearly seven. He’d been working steadily for twelve hours.
    “Yeah, sounds good. Sammy’s?” he asked, naming a bar they frequented a couple of blocks away.
    “How about Tilly’s?” Cory countered.
    “The Irish place on Union? Okay. Give me thirty minutes.”
    After a quick shower to loosen the day’s dust and sweat from his body, Nate headed out. He was starving and hoped Tilly’s wouldn’t be busy. He wanted a hot meal and a cold beer and some mindless conversation about sports with his friend.
     
    ***
     
    Cory was at the bar, chatting with the bartender, a bottle in front of him. Nate smiled when he saw Cory slip the bartender his business card.
    “Trolling for clients at bars now?”
    “Hey, he asked me for some investment advice. Everyone should have a shot at reaping the rewards of the economic recovery,” Cory said.
    “So you’re one of those bankers with a heart of gold. Oh, wait. Those don’t exist,” Nate teased.
    “Hey, you make fun, but I haven’t done too badly with your nest egg, have I?”
    Nate had to admit he hadn’t, and he trusted Cory with more than his money.
    “This time, it’s you who looks like shit,” Cory observed as he pushed a menu toward his friend.
    “Thanks,” Nate said dryly before glancing at the menu and ordering.
    “How’s business?”
    “Good, actually. I’ve been putting in some long days.”
    “Screw your days. I want to know about your nights. How’s it going with Emma?”
    Nate took a hard swallow of his beer and coughed. “What do you mean?”
    “Man, don’t hold out on me. I saw you at the reunion. You looked freaking happy and couldn’t stop glancing over at her. You said the two of you were hanging out, and I’m giving you some credit for sealing the deal already. Doesn’t she live around here? You guys could be neighbors.”
    “I didn’t realize you were such a detective,” Nate said. He took a steadying sip as Cory waited with uncharacteristic patience for him to go on.
    “Okay, yes, we hooked up at reunion. Things were going well. Then she told me something I didn’t want to hear, and I kind of overreacted and stormed off. We