Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3), стр. 3

ONE

Kate

You know what was pretty pathetic? The pile of self-help books on my nightstand.

Don't get me wrong; I was a firm believer in improving yourself, working through trauma, changing negative coping mechanisms, all that jazz.

What was embarrassing was the titles.

Things like—The Shy Girl's Guide to Social Confidence, and Small Talk for the Quiet Person. Worse yet were the few toward the top of the pile with titles like: Untangling Yourself After Divorce, Starting Over Again, and How To Have A Good First Date.

I don't know why I bothered buying those books. My issues with men started well before my eventual, idiotic, waste-of-time marriage that had been over for two solid years now. It wasn't like I was hung up on my ex or too wounded to move on.

I was just awkward.

Always had been.

Always, it seemed, would be.

No matter how many books I read on how to fix it. Or how many videos I watched. How many fake conversations I'd had in the mirror or the shower, coming up with sharp, witty, even funny responses to a multitude of things someone might say to me.

The problem was, when they actually did say something to me, I swear my tongue got fat and paralyzed in my mouth. The words refused to come out.

My childhood therapist called it a confidence issue. But even armed with that knowledge, I never seemed capable of shaking the problem. Not through school, my various attempts at college courses, only to realize not long after that I would never be able to do the career I was going to school for if I couldn't get a hold of the issue.

Not even working at "For A Good Time, Call..." where actual grandmothers would take phone calls and talk all sorts of nasty things could help bolster up my stumbling self-confidence.

At first blush, my job seemed ill-fitting. Not just because of the nature of the work taking place in the building, but because, as the front desk person, I was the "Face" of the company. I was who people saw when they came in the doors.

That said, though, it wasn't like we were an office building, a doctor's office, somewhere I would be seeing dozens of new faces every single day.

The office was a pretty closed-shop operation by design. Which meant I typically saw employees themselves, sometimes the close relatives of said employees if they stopped by to pick someone up for lunch or to drop something off, the mail carriers and delivery people, and the occasional woman who stopped by to see if we were hiring.

Most of the day, I was left to my own devices, filing things, ordering supplies, working out the payroll. It wasn't the typical task done by a receptionist, but Fiona had put a lot of faith in my unfinished accounting degree.

It was a good job. It allowed me to be in my own little world most of the time, but also have some people around to talk to, to share lunch with on occasion. Plus, Fiona was a generous employer, paying a more than fair salary as well as benefits.

She offered paid vacation as well, but I never took it. The idea of going to strange places with strange people didn't sound like a good time to me.

I hadn't taken vacation in over a decade, when I'd first started working there as a college student.

Until now, of course.

I mean they were calling it a "wilderness retreat" and it was, technically, a work trip. But it was reminiscent of a vacation.

Which was what had me staring at my stack of books on my nightstand.

Because it was a long flight.

And I wanted to avoid having to speak to any seat-mates if possible.

But I also couldn't handle the embarrassment of someone seeing me reading books with those types of titles.

I grabbed the one I was reading anyway, stuffing it into my bag for possible private reading at the retreat. I figured there would be scheduled group activities followed by periods where we could mingle if we wanted to, or possibly do other sorts of unplanned group activities. I, however, would opt to spend that time alone, recharging. These people knew me, they would understand without getting offended. It was the reason I had decided to go instead of create some made-up excuse for why I had to stay in Navesink Bank, everyone knowing I was lying, but too kind to call me on it.

"It will be good for you, honey," my mother had told me when I'd first gotten the invite, a little last-minute on a Friday night when we were set to leave on Monday. I guess that was why I hadn't heard anyone talking about it at work.

Fee wasn't exactly an absent-minded boss, but she was often spontaneous, so she probably threw it all together as a surprise.

And it left me very little time to freak out and talk myself out of it.

I'd done some of the freaking out, of course. It was my nature, after all, when faced with uncertain circumstances. So I did my usual routine of calling my mom, talking it out, listening to her calm, reassuring voice, then feeling brave enough to shoot Fee a text telling her I would be there.

Once the text was out, there was no turning back. So I spent my weekend researching weather patterns for this time of year in Washington state, then packing accordingly, putting self-waterers into my plants, even though I asked