Meet Me in the Margins by Melissa Ferguson

Author:Melissa Ferguson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2022-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

By the time I’ve finished, I’ve learned a few more things about my mystery editor. He’s tall, not supremely so, but enough to know offhand a few places to buy smart suits with extra length. He is actually dyslexic, a surprising issue that very few know about. And he doesn’t think my manuscript is hopeless.

I know because at the bottom of chapter 7 there are new words.

This is good. Do more of this.

The first positive comment. The first positive comment amid a slew of critiques.

I feel myself smiling as I lean back in the chair, sunlight streaming through the window highlighting a thousand dusty particles dancing around me. The light has changed, I realize, looking up from my page to the wall opposite, where about two dozen simple wooden frames hang, each showcasing an autographed title page of a book. It glints on the glass so roughly I blink, the room that bright haze just before the world goes cool and dark at the end of another day. I stand and realize my knees are achy.

How long have I been up here?

I check my watch. Four fifty-two p.m.

Then my steps. 8588.

I hurry through the ARC room, hesitating at the door to the hallway as I try to remember if I shut the filing cabinet door in my haste. I’m fairly certain I did, but as I turn back just to be sure, doorknob in hand, I stop dead.

Sam from Contracts has stopped and is looking at me with a startled expression as if he, too, is caught in a trap.

“Sam.” I let go of the doorknob. “Hi. How are . . . you?”

Sam smooths his tie and flashes a smile. “Good. Good.” There’s a beat of silence as we both look at each other.

Sam?

I never noticed how tall he was before. I can’t help but glance down at the hem of his trousers. Six feet? Six one? Does six one qualify someone as needing to order special lengths?

But surely not.

Not Sam. Giselle’s ex, Sam.

Aside from one lackluster dinner date with Sam my first week on the job two years ago, I can’t think of a single other instance when we’ve spoken alone. The date had proven we were so incredibly ill matched for one another that we spent a solid twenty minutes talking about the weather just waiting for the bill to arrive. Ever since, we have both mutually skirted around each other. Keeping things professional. Giving the polite nod in greeting here and there, discussing in one group setting or another a contract when necessary, but never anything more.

After all, while he’s nice-looking enough, I never felt that spark for him.

He never really felt that spark for me.

We were just two single people of similar age, with reasonably similar interests, who thought it was worth a shot to see where that door led.

Which, for the record, was nowhere, unless you wanted to count it leading to a fractured relationship with the resentful, ex-girlfriend boss.

No, that date only opened to a cinderblock wall.

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