AN: I don't own One Tree Hill or any of its characters. I do own Caro. Woot.

One of the problems presented by being a workaholic is what to do when you run out of work.

This may seem an impossible task. Surely there's always something to be done. Normally, you'd be right. But I was out of things to do. Well, either I was out of things to do or I'd run out of ideas for things to do. Either way, I was in the horrible position of being alone with my thoughts.

I glanced at the manuscripts lying on my kitchen table. I had tripled my workload, burying myself in three completed drafts from three separate writers and had literally done nothing but edit from sunup to sundown for the past three months. I edited while I cooked, I edited while I ate, I edited while I watched Kenneth Brannagh movies, literally working until I collapsed onto my bed with exhaustion. But now I had gone through these manuscripts at least thirty times and the edits were done. Until my writers got back to me, I had nothing else to do. Even worse, I knew my writers wouldn't get back to me for a while, as I'd returned completed the edits way ahead of schedule.

My fingers twitched. I gazed around my apartment. It was irritatingly spotless. The dishes were done, my closets were perfectly organized, my floors scrubbed, and my tables wiped down. My bookshelves were alphabetized by author and publication date. I'd already bought my groceries for the week. My checkbook was balanced. My bills were paid.

Damn it.

I considered driving to my office and pleading with my boss to give me more work, but I knew it would be to no avail. Cole had told me in no uncertain terms that he considered my obsessive work habits unhealthy and I was not to return to the office until I'd taken a needed vacation.

I nervously drummed my fingers on my countertop. I had no work, no project, no chores to complete. All I had was my own company to suffer through, an unbearable plight. Because inevitably, my thoughts would turn to Lucas.

Lucas Scott. The man I'd fell in love with. The man I was going to marry. The man I left at the altar.

Thinking about him made my breath ragged and caused my eyes to sting. No, no. I wasn't going to do this. I wasn't going to sit and feel sorry for myself. I wasn't going to become a tired old cliché, eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's and weeping over Titanic. I was Lindsey Strauss, an independent, strong, smart, talented editor. I didn't need a man in my life to make me happy.

Not a man…but I did need Lucas.

I was rescued from the torment of my thoughts my phone's abrupt ringing. Sighing with relief, I glanced at the caller ID and smiled. I pressed the send button.

"Hey, Caro," I greeted warmly.

"Hey, yourself!" Caro said cheerfully. Caroline Morris had been my college roommate and my best friend for a good seven years now. She was everything I wanted to be—eclectic, artistic, creative, funny. She was never afraid to try something new, be it dying her hair an odd color or piercing something random. I missed her desperately.

"How's St. Louis?" I asked, tracing a finger around the grooves on my kitchen table. Caro had a multitude of careers not limited to being an well sought after spoken word poet, leader of several activist groups, a major blogger, and an LGBT counselor. Currently, her passions had settled her in St. Louis, Missouri, but it was anyone's guess how long she'd be there.

"St. Louis' best season is fall," Caro reported. "The trees are pretty and it's just the right weather. It won't last though, they're predicting this winter's going to be a nasty one. How's everything where you are?"

I blinked, considering. It occurred to me that I hadn't been aware of the weather for the last month or so.

"Monotonous," I said, deciding that was the safest answer. Unfortunately, Caro knew me too well.

"Getting a lot of work done?" She said in an innocent tone. I knew her angle.

"Oh, you know," I lied, ignoring the accusatory finished manuscripts lying on the table. "The usual pileup."

"You've gotten everything done ahead of schedule, haven't you?"

I sighed. It was simply impossible to lie to Caro. "There's nothing wrong with getting a head start," I defended myself.

"Let me guess. You're apartment's freakishly clean and your silverware drawers are completely organized. Correct?"

"Actually, I haven't organized my silverware drawers, but that's a good idea…" I trailed off. I could almost feel the judgment emanating from the phone.

"Lindsey Strauss," Caro said sternly. "You can't hide from your heartache in projects."

Sure I could. The only default within this plan was running out of projects. But telling Caro this would annoy her. "I'm not," I said dully.

There was a significant pause from the other end of the line, a pause that indicated there was no way Caro was going to drop this.

"Lindsey," She began in a warning tone.

"I know," I said, in an almost snappish voice. "I'm not—not handling this right."

"Oh, Linds," Caro's voice turned from firm to sympathetic. "What is the 'right way' anyway?"

I closed my eyes, leaning against my refrigerator. The cool surface was soothing on my forehead. "Not what I'm doing," I admitted. "But it's familiar. It's what I know. It's easier to deal with."

Caro was silent for a moment. She then hesitantly asked, "When was the last time you saw Lucas?"

His name caused me to flinch. Swallowing hard, I answered, "During the meeting detailing The Comet's book tour."

I could sense Caro debating with herself whether or not to ask me the fatal question. I was torn between wishing she'd change the subject and wishing she'd just get it over with. I had to bite the bullet sometime.

"Did something happen then?" She said quietly.

My throat constricted and I struggled to regain composure. "He's marrying Peyton," I said in a stilted voice.

I half-smiled when Caro let loose a string of colorful expletives that would've made a sailor blush. She ended with, "—that son of a bitch!"

I let out a noise that could have been interpreted as either a sob or a laugh.

"He's an idiot," Caro said savagely.

I shook my head. "No. I'm the idiot. For thinking that after writing what was essentially a giant love letter to Peyton Sawyer, Lucas Scott could possibly want to spend his life with me."

Caro was silent before saying, "You know, I always hated that book."

I frowned. "Easy girl, I edited that book."

"I'm sure you did a wonderful job doing so," Caro said magnanimously. "But that didn't stop the entire plot of the book from having the worst theme imaginable. I never saw Luke and Peyton's love as something pure and unconquerable. I saw it as poisounous and selfish. How many times did both characters hurt Brooke Davis? And she just took it like a martyr! If you ask me, she's the real hero of the story."

I smiled, remembering fondly the spirited brunette. I hoped she would find someone deserving of her love and energy. Of everyone I met in Tree Hill, she was the one who needed it the most.

"But anyway," Caro sighed through the phone. "I'm worried about you, Lindsey."

"I know," I fidgeted with my red pen. "You're not the only one. My mom's been calling every day. She thinks I should take some time off, stay at Walden Pond for a little bit."

"Your mom's a smart lady," Caro commented. "So why don't you? It'd be good to get away, and you've always loved that place."

"Uh uh," I shook my head for emphasis, even though she couldn't see it through the phone. "I couldn't be alone there." I didn't add that I hadn't been back to Walden Pond since my dad had died. That would bring up an entire new set of issues that I didn't want to deal with.

"Well, you gotta do something, Linds," Caro said, almost sadly. "Or you're gonna go nuts in that tiny apartment. You'll have a nervous breakdown or something."

I took a deep breath. "I've…thought about that…" I said slowly. "Making a change. Asking for a transfer or something…go to a place where no one knows me. But I'm not like you, Caro. I'm not a nomad. Even moving to Tree Hill—for however short a time it was—was hard for me. I just…"

"Holy shit, I'm an IDIOT!" Caro suddenly exclaimed. "You can come live with me! In St. Louis!"

I was startled. "What?"

"Move in with me!" Caro repeated excitedly. "Come to St. Louis! You won't be alone—it'll be just like college! St. Louis has an incredible arts and writing scene, you can tell your boss you're taking some time off to scope out some new writers! It'd be perfect!"

I laughed. "C'mon, Caro. I can't just up and move to St. Louis."

"Why not?" Caro demanded.

To my shock, an immediate reason didn't come to me. "Well…because I can't! I have a life here, Caro!"

"Oh really," Caro said slyly. "What life do you have there?"

Again, I was unable to answer. Aside from my job, I had no holds here. What did I have? An empty apartment? A hollow work schedule?

And worse, I thought. A hollow heart.

"Yes," I said quickly.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move there," I said firmly, before I could change my mind. "I'm taking the next flight out there. I'll have the rest of my stuff sent over. You sure Beatrix won't mind?" Beatrix Holmes was Caro's steady girlfriend. I didn't know where they were at—I certainly didn't want to just barge in if they were making plans together.

"Trix will be fine with it," Caro replied. "She's actually gearing up for a mission trip in Uganda next week, so she won't be around for long. Besides, I have a spare bedroom—it's not like Trix ever used it."

I smiled. "Great. I'll see you tomorrow."

XXXXXX

Over the next twenty-four hours, I had packed, bought a ticket, and arranged to have my things shipped to St. Louis. It was spontaneous, it was crazy. I was completely out of my comfort zone and I thrived on the terror of the change. Every rational voice in my head told me I was jumping way too quickly into things, but every logical reason gave me more determination to leap before I looked.

I arrived in Lambert airport the next day at around 3 PM. Caro was there waiting.

"Hey, you!" She squealed, wrapping her pale arms around me. Every time I saw her, her hair was a different color. Currently, it was jet black with hot pink stripes. It set off her dark green eyes surprisingly well. I grinned, imagining how strange we must look—me in my conservative tailored work dress, her in paint-splotched jeans and a Bowie shirt.

God, I had missed her.

I'd expected Caro's apartment to be funky and artsy, perhaps covered in odd murals or have strange tribal art. Her apartment turned out to be very clean cut, with fresh white walls and elegant furniture.

"Not what I thought it'd be," I commented, glancing around. Caro beamed.

"Oh please," She tisked. "I like to keep things unexpected. Besides, the landlord here is really finicky about painting the walls or having anything interesting."

My room was adjacent to Caro's, with a small futon neatly rolled up against the wall and one measly bookshelf. I'd have to buy more bookshelves and a decent bed if I wanted to last.

Caro watched me busily unpack. "When you're done being an anal retentive," She teased as I carefully hung up my dresses in the closet. "Let's go out and get a drink. I know the perfect place."

I grimaced. I was tired and the plane hadn't done much for my appearance. "Oh Caro, I'd really rather not," I said. "Let's just rent a movie or something, I don't want to go out anywhere."

Caro grinned. "This is St. Louis, Linds, you don't have to dress to the nines to go out. The dive's in walking distance and they got a really cute guitar player tonight, Jake Ja—something-or-other. He hardly ever plays so it's a serious treat tonight! C'mon! Let's have a nice buzz and enjoy some eye candy to celebrate!"

I groaned. "Oh, fine. One drink. One set. And then I'm crashing on that pitiful futon for the next twelve hours."

"Deal!" Caro sang.

I insisted on changing out of my plane clothes, slipping on a cream-colored shift dress that was casual and deliciously comfortable. Caro hadn't lied, the bar, called Cleo's, was very close to the apartment and the crisp autumn air seemed to revive my spirits a little. I felt almost happy.

Caro ordered a wild turkey and I picked out a nice Chardonnay that immediately made me feel grateful to Caro for making me go. The bar was comfortably crowded, but not obnoxiously so. Caro chatted animatedly as I gazed about the dive. I noticed the guitar player Caro had mentioned, setting up amps and whatnot. I looked at him interestedly and then guiltily, as a pang hit my heart, remembering. Lucas and I used to attend no-name gigs. It had been one of our 'things', something we both loved doing. I took another sip of my drink, suddenly feeling lost and lonely.

At that moment, the singer glanced up at me. Our eyes locked. He smiled and for the briefest instant, I felt as though the floor was giving way under me.