Whitney doesn’t answer any of my phone calls all weekend long. I wind up writing the article myself, though I don’t tell David that and I put Whitney’s name in the byline. It’s probably a stupid move. All I’m doing is controlling her life yet again. I understand why she’s upset. She’s right. I overstepped my bounds by making the offer with Mr. Ambrogi. I had no right to do that. Just like I have no right to try to buy that painting of me under false pretenses. But, damn it if my heart doesn’t keep overruling my brain when it comes to Whitney. I don’t know how to control myself around her.

“Where’s Whitney?” David asks when eleven o’clock rolls around and she still hasn’t shown up.

“I’m not sure.”

“Uh-oh.” He sits down in the seat opposite me in the break room. “What happened?”

“I was an ass.”

He bobs his head from side to side like he’s considering it. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You know I’m kidding. Tell me what happened. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

It sounds worse when I reiterate the shitty things I did without her consent.

“Wow. Do you know women at all?” he asks with a laugh. “I mean, I haven’t met one yet who likes being told what to do, but to make all of her major life decisions for her? That takes some real balls, my friend.”

More like real stupidity. “I’m not sure how to fix this. I haven’t talked to her since Friday.”

His eyes narrow at me before he leans in and whispers, “She didn’t help you write that article, did she?”

My only answer is to look down at the table and avoid his gaze.

“I see. I guess I should have her removed from the byline, seeing as how you forgot to do that before submitting the article.” His sarcasm isn’t lost on me.

“I’m not sure what to do or if she’s coming back here, but I didn’t want her to lose this job because of me.”

“Are you indirectly asking me to keep her in the byline?”

I finally look up at him. “I guess I can’t really ask you to do that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. It’s not a smart career choice.” He stands up and looks around the empty break room. “Although, I’m pretty sure I never came in here this morning. In fact, I haven’t seen you all day. I’ve been too busy with meetings and edits.” He walks out without another word.

I’d be lost without the people at this paper. When I moved to Priority, I knew exactly no one. I came here because Mr. Monohan was the only one who would hire me. That’s what I got for taking a few years off after college to travel the world. But now I have an office full of coworkers I call friends. I’m pretty sure Emily’s theory that Mr. Monohan makes life here so good so none of us will ever want to leave him is spot-on.

I pick up my phone and contemplate calling Whitney for the fifth time since Friday, but there’s nothing I can say that I haven’t already. She’ll call me when she’s ready, and I have to accept that. I finish up my work for the day at five. Then I call Mr. Ambrogi. I should tell him to contact Whitney from here on out. That way she can decide for herself if she wants to lease the space.

The call goes to voice mail, so I head downtown instead. I find a parking spot near Fitness World and walk to the building with the space for lease. Whitney is squatting down in front of the side wall of the building. She’s busy painting an exact replica of the downtown square. I keep my distance, admiring her work from afar. It’s not until she steps back to study her painting that I say, “It’s incredible.”

She turns to face me and sighs. “It still has a ways to go.”

“When did you start it?” I ask, moving closer to get a better look.

“Saturday morning. I’ve pretty much been here ever since.” She dips her paintbrush into some green paint, not meeting my gaze. “I kind of had to considering all I have to get done in the next two weeks.”

Is she saying what I think she’s saying? I’m afraid to ask because I don’t want her to think I’m trying to pressure her or tell her what to do. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.

“Did you finish your story?”

“Yeah, I turned it in Saturday morning.” On my way here, I called David to let him know the photos were taken by Whitney so she could get the credit. I felt like I had to do something to justify her name being on the article when he and I both know she didn’t write it.

“I haven’t had time to read the news,” she says, gesturing to the mural. “This one is considerably larger than the others I did.”

“Whitney, I’m sorry. I wish I could say something to fix this or take it all back, but I can’t. I came here because I tried to call Mr. Ambrogi so I could give him your number and tell him to contact you. I was trying to make things right and put the decision in your hands, where it should have been all along.”

“Thank you,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I know you meant well.”

“Are you saying you’re not angry with me anymore?” I take a cautious step toward her.

“No. I’m not angry.”

I smile, relief coursing through me. “I’m so happy to hear that. Will you let me take you to dinner tonight to make up for it?”

“I can’t. I have to finish this mural.”

“More painting under the moonlight?” I ask, intending for it to be a joke, but she doesn’t laugh.

“Street lights.” Since she’s holding paint in one hand and a brush in the other, she points her elbow up at the nearest streetlight.

“Right. Well, I could order some food and bring it here. We can picnic on the sidewalk. I mean, you have to eat, right?”

She shakes her head. “I really don’t have time to stop. I have to get this finished tonight so I can get back to work on the paintings for the art show. I’m behind as it is.”

Because of me. I nod. “Okay, then at least let me pick up dinner for you. I won’t stay or take up any more of your time. I just want to make sure you eat something.”

“I packed my dinner. Don’t worry about it.” Something about her body language says she hasn’t truly forgiven me despite saying she’s not angry anymore.

“Please tell me how to make this better. I’m done trying to make decisions for you. I’m not even sure what to do myself at this point. Help me out here, Whit.”

She bites her lower lip. “My mom used to call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” God, all I’m managing to do is upset her further.

“Alex, I know you’re trying to fix things, but you can’t.” She inhales and closes her eyes before exhaling. When she looks at me again, her eyes are red. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have run to you when I needed a shoulder to cry on. I had Elana. She knows me, and she knew what I was going through. I latched on to you because I thought you could help me. I thought you writing about the murals would help me get what I wanted, but then I started to develop feelings for you, and I think I let things get out of control.”

Is she saying she used me? I know her feelings for me are real. That painting she did of us proves it. She can play this off as her being emotional and not thinking clearly, but her art is telling a very different story. She knows exactly what she wants. She’s just afraid to go after it. Some way or another, I have to make her see that she can have everything she wants.

“Whitney—”

She holds the brush up to stop me, and if I didn’t think she was trying to end our relationship, I would have found the gesture funny. “I need to get through the next two weeks on my own. That’s what I need.”

“But what do you want?” I ask.

She tears up, and when she lowers her head and shakes it, tears dot the sidewalk. “It doesn’t matter right now. I have to do this on my own, Alex. Seeing you is too difficult. The desire to lean on you...” She raises her head again. “To be with you is too great.”

Despite the brush she’s still holding between us, I grab her arms and kiss her. Her tears wet my cheeks as they fall. She kisses me back for exactly three seconds before she pulls away. Her eyes go to my shirt, which has a smear of green paint on it, not that I care in the least.

“If you really care about me, please give me space. I can’t think clearly with you around, and I need to do this for me.”

“Just please answer my question first. Tell me what you want, Whitney.” I have to hear her say it. Nothing else will get me through these next two weeks.

“I want to be with you, Alex. I just can’t right now.”

I nod. “Okay.”

She swallows hard and sniffles.

“Finish your mural and your paintings for the art show. You know where I am. Call me when you’re ready.” I turn and walk away, and each step feels like a giant chasm that’s widening between us.