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monotonous fashion. Noni has kept busy cleaning, organizing and reorganizing and I’ve used any and every excuse I could to stay in my office with Hemingway as my only company. She kept meticulous notes while I was out yesterday, and each little sticky note detailing every phone call and delivery is conveniently posted at my desk. I know Noni’s efficient, but I’m sure her detailed note taking has everything to do with avoiding me. I know that this whole situation must be weighing on Noni the way it has been weighing on me, but I hate that I have to psyche myself up to talk to her. I hid out in the office for the majority of the day browsing listlessly through a wedding magazine that I picked up at the checkout counter in the grocery store. This hoity-toity wedding shit definitely isn’t my style. We’ve been engaged for a mere three weeks and I’m already lost in Wedding World when I really should be focusing on the store. Various contractors, and venders have been in and out and back in again over the last month and some days it’s enough to make my head spin. The grand reopening is quickly approaching and there’s a mass of things yet to be done. One plus to hiding in my hole, avoiding Noni and the truth, is that I managed to get a huge amount of clerical crap done.
    This situation with Noni is the most uncomfortable I think I’ve ever been. I’m trying to use kid gloves with her but I’m afraid to make a move. I’m nervous that I may say something wrong or insulting and she’ll quit, leaving me to explain to Damon why my prize employee has bailed on me. And I like Noni—I feel like I’ve known her forever—so this bonus information scares the shit out of me. Especially because I have to keep it to myself.
    I peek over at her every so often to see if she looks like she may be ready to sit down and talk, but so far—nothing. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero . What the hell am I to do with that? I shouldn’t push her. I can’t push her. Right? She’s a busy little worker bee on a steady roll cleaning, organizing and stocking inventory. Under any other circumstance, her work ethic would be nothing to complain about, but right now it’s just plain awkward. I know she’s avoiding me and she’s bound to know that I’m doing the same.
    I roll my eyes at the mess I’ve put myself in and push back from my desk. Closing time has come already, leaving me wondering if we’re going to talk at all today. And if we don’t talk, will every day be like this? If this is what I have to look forward to, I don’t think I’ll be able to take it for very long. Something has got to give here. I can’t keep walking around knowing what I know and have Noni pretending that I don’t know. We need to talk. Soon. One of us has to speak up.
    Come on, Jo. Get your shit together. I give myself a pushy pep talk while I head to the front of the store to lock up. Just as I flip the sign, I glance up at the familiar bell on the arm of the door and smile remembering the simple days when it was just me and Captain running the sinking ship that was Bookends. As bad as those days seemed, I do kind of miss them. Life was predictable then. Now, everything is beautifully terrible.
    I have the love of my life who also happens to be the man whose father killed my parents.
    I have Bookends but no Captain to eat cheap takeout with.
    I have Noni working here, making some amazing things happen in the coffee bar, but an obstacle stands between us that could ruin everything.
    If Captain were here, he would take the lead on this. I can imagine him looking at me with that incredulous smirk and telling me to “toughen up, Miss America. Get your big girl panties on and take care of business.” After which he would likely go on some rant about how this generation is comprised of primarily panty-waisted cream puffs who don’t know the definition of hard work.
    I miss him so.
    Lost in my thoughts, I’m caught off guard when I nearly run into Noni on my