Lillian
It’s not every day you get stuck in a freak snowstorm at the office. It sounds like something out of a bad horror movie or a cheesy romance, yet that’s exactly where I am.
I’m at the office, standing in the lobby, staring at the whirling storm outside.
The highway is already closed and the back roads haven’t been plowed. With a storm like this, things are going to get worse before they get better. I should have left hours ago, but I didn’t.
I didn’t know it was happening.
Owen and I were caught up in a video conference we couldn’t reschedule when the storm hit and we had no idea just how bad it got until the call ended. By the time we finished tidying up the conference room and headed out from to leave, the cars were already iced over and the parking lot had three inches of snow.
Now we’re stuck.
“Maybe I should wing it,” I say, looking at the snow. I’ve driven in worse before.
“As your lawyer, I would strongly advise against that.”
“You’re not my lawyer,” I say quickly, and Owen Westerluck, my too-hot-for-his-own-good boss, opens his mouth to say something. He closes it just as quickly, and for just a second, I thought he was going to say, “but I could be if you needed me to be” or “I could be if you wanted me to be.”
That’s dumb, though.
That’s a stupid thing to want Owen to say.
That’s not his style or mine and if I think being locked up in a legal office together is going to suddenly convince him that this thing between us is anything other than professional, then I’m fooling myself.
I’m fooling both of us.
I’ve been working for Owen for two years now. Two years and twelve days and nothing dirty or inappropriate or sexy has ever happened between us.
Well, aside from the sloppy, drunken kiss at the holiday party last year.
I doubt he even remembers that, though.
For a brief moment in time, I got my hopes up that maybe we’d be something special. I thought maybe there could be something, anything, between us. The Monday after the party, though, Owen acted like nothing had happened, so I did, too.
I realized he didn’t remember or he didn’t want to hurt me by letting me down gently, so I never brought it up.
If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s memorable. I get it. That’s fine. I’m a bit plain looking, a bit ordinary. I’m a little bit rough around the edges and I’m a little bit normal, but that’s okay. That’s just who I am.
I don’t try to change myself for other people, especially not men. I made myself a promise a long time ago that I wouldn’t alter my personality or try to change who I am in order to impress someone.
But when it comes to Owen, that’s a damn hard promise to keep.
It’s easy to think that if I cut my hair a little shorter or dye it blonde or wear it differently, maybe he’ll notice me.
It’s easy to think that if I dress a little sluttier, if I look a little sexier, if I make myself look a little better, maybe he’ll notice me.
It’s easy to think I can change.
It’s easy to think I can become what he wants.
But that’s stupid, and I know it, and I’m letting my hormones get the best of me.
Still, being stuck in a snowstorm with Owen isn’t the worst way I could think of spending an evening. We have plenty of food leftover from today’s catered lunch and there might even be a bottle of alcohol stashed somewhere around here. I know he keeps whiskey in his office for when special clients come in or when he wants to celebrate.
“I just want you to be safe,” Owen says, and I suddenly remember that he’s standing right here and I’m completely spacing out.
“I know. I’ve driven in the snow before.”
“Not like this,” he says. “Just wait until they plow the roads, okay? Look.” He points out the window and I try to see what he’s pointing at. “The roads have already iced over.”
“How can you tell?”
“Watch.”
A car drives by slowly, and sure enough, it hits the area he’s pointing at and begins to slide. The driver manages to get his vehicle under control fairly quickly, but I know what Owen is saying.
Accidents happen.
He doesn’t want one to happen to me.
It doesn’t matter how good of a driver you are, fighting a Midwestern snowstorm isn’t fun for anyone.
It’s not something you want to do unless you absolutely have to, and I don’t have to. I can stay here. I can stay safe inside the office, warm and cozy and comfortable. I can stay here.
I just have to deal with Owen.
“Okay, the roads are bad,” I finally concede.
“Why don’t we find something to do?” He asks. “Something to pass the time.” He glances at his overpriced watch, the one I went with him to buy, and then nods his head. “We have plenty of it.”
“When do you think the roads will be clear?”
“They’ll wait until the snow stops falling to start plowing. There’s no point in starting to plow while it’s still coming down so fast. They’ll just have to redo everything.”
“So, how long do you think that will be? A couple of hours?”
“At the soonest.”
“Guess we’re stuck together, then. Hope I don’t drive you crazy.”
I walk away from the window and head back to the offices. We were standing in the lobby, looking out the front, but suddenly, I want to sit down. I head into the small office I share with Jill, one of the other paralegals, and I collapse in my desk chair.
Owen didn’t follow me. I thought he might, but to be honest, I’m a bit relieved he didn’t. This is good. I can think for a minute. I can think about what I want to do because, honestly, I don’t know if I’m going to make it through the next few hours without crying or kissing him and I don’t know which would be better.
Neither, probably.
Neither would be better.
I should hold it together and not cry. I should be strong and independent and brave. I should be fierce, but there’s something about Owen that makes my belly quiver and my insides turn to mush. Really, it would only take a few carefully-selected words for him to completely crush my heart, and I don’t know if I can deal with that.
He’s been my fantasy since I started working here. I’ve dated a few times since I started my job, but nothing serious. Nothing more than a few dates. The problem is that I really, really like Owen, so I constantly compare the people I date to him.
Whether I go out with a man or a woman, I’m thinking of Owen.
I’m thinking of whether this person is good enough, sweet enough, kind enough. I’m thinking, “Are they as thoughtful as Owen?” Then I think, “Are they as smart as Owen?”
And the problem is that they never are.
A few months ago, I went on a couple of dates with a woman called Angelina. She was sweet and pretty and funny, but she wasn’t Owen. Even though we had fun together and I liked getting to hear about her job at a veterinarian’s office, I kept comparing her.
That’s not fair.
It’s not fair to her and it’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to Owen.
I need to stop.
I need to move on.
I need to just get over him and find some way to stop daydreaming about the man who makes every moment worth living.
I need to stop thinking about how gentle he is with his elderly clients, about how compassionate he is when he helps someone draw up a will.
I need to stop thinking about how much he knows about the law, about how knowledgeable he is. I need to stop thinking about how smart and capable he is. I need to stop thinking about how much he knows, about how I can come to him with any question, about how he always seems to know the answer.
I need to stop thinking about how it would feel to get to wake up every morning with him, how it would feel to get to make him coffee, how it would feel to snuggle in bed for hours.
I just need to stop.
“That’s it, then,” I whisper out loud. “No more silliness.”
“Pity,” I hear a voice from behind. “I rather thought your silliness was quite endearing.”