In Front of Me

by Dana LeCheminant

I stepped back in disappointment. I thought about asking him if he would at least get home at a decent time, but I held my tongue. It wasn’t like we were officially dating, and it wasn’t like I didn’t have anything else to do. I still had to make sure Steve was eating properly, and I had my future to plan out. No big deal.

  At least Brennon sighed and looked appropriately sorry. “This project is important,” he said, though he didn’t seem thrilled with his own choice of excuse. “If there was any way I could…” Holding his tie up near my face, he studied me and the fabric for a moment then nodded. “Close enough,” he said before wrapping it around his neck and tying it with the ease of someone who had been wearing ties every day for a long time. Had he always worked this hard? Something told me he had, and there was a high chance that wouldn’t change.

  Fully dressed now, Brennon kissed me on the cheek and gave me a winning smile that carried a hint of chagrin as he headed for the door with a quick, “See you tonight.”

  And as I stood there wondering what my best course of action was, I reminded myself that it was a bad idea to get attached to this man who didn’t believe in love. I worried, though, that it was already too late, and I was quickly heading down a path that would lead me straight to heartbreak. I was smarter than this, and I knew it, and when I heard Steve head into the bathroom and close the door, I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath.

  Maybe things with Brennon weren’t going to go anywhere, but that was fine. I’d known from the moment I met him that there likely wasn’t any sort of romantic future with the guy. Besides, my reason for being here for the next few days instead of going back to Boston was on the other side of that wall, and I would see to it that Steve got back on track to living a full life. He deserved good things after what had happened to him, but he couldn’t find those things on his own.

  I had a job to do. If Brennon was going to be a workaholic, I might as well be one too.

  * * *

  How had the man gotten my number? I left my phone sitting on the counter in front of me as I whisked up some eggs to make omelets, and the words of the text I’d gotten a few minutes ago seemed to scream at me from the screen. I’d done really well staying fairly incognito, especially considering how many people tried to learn all my secrets when I was “dating” Seth. My personal phone number wasn’t listed on any websites or directories—thank goodness for company phones—and I only gave it out to people I trusted.

  So how had my father found me?

  “I think you may be taking out a little too much anger on those eggs,” Steve said carefully.

  I looked up in surprise and gently set the bowl on the counter before I whisked the eggs into oblivion. I switched to chopping up veggies instead, the knife tight in my hand.

  “Are you sure that’s safer?” Steve asked.

  “You don’t even know what I’m doing,” I argued, though maybe he was right. I came a little too close to adding some of my skin to the mushrooms.

  “Some days are better,” he said. He came around to my side of the counter and grabbed my hand before I murdered my own fingers. “Let me,” he added and pulled the knife out of my hand.

  Something was different, and I stared at him for at least thirty seconds before I figured out why he didn’t look like himself. “You shaved,” I realized out loud.

  He kept one finger of his left hand on the blade of the knife as he cut with his right, therefore eliminating the risk of injuring himself as he slowly sliced the peppers, but even then he had to concentrate and therefore didn’t respond to my comment until he’d finished the first half of a pepper. “I shaved,” he repeated. “Oddly enough, people do that sometimes.”

  Given the length of his beard, it had been a long time since he’d done it last. Months at least, but probably longer. “Why?” I asked.

  There was that bright smile again, only this time I could actually see it now that it wasn’t hidden. I could see his dimples as well as the fact that he had a surprisingly soft jawline. Less of the male model features I’d expected and more of the “bring him home to meet your mother” sort of vibe. It really worked for him, even if his curly hair was a bit long. Had he always been this handsome?

  “I wanted a change,” he replied. “You don’t have to cook every single meal for me, you know.”

  I kind of did, if I wanted to make sure he ate, but he didn’t need to know that. Besides, “I happen to like cooking,” I said with a grin.

  Steve laughed. Laughed. Even the morning after the wedding, he hadn’t managed it believably, but this sounded absolutely genuine. And it was a magical sound, like the sound of a man slowly coming back to life. “You happen to like a lot of things,” he said and bumped his shoulder into mine.

  I had no idea how to process everything happening this morning. I was already exhausted, and it was barely eight o’clock. “Well, someone should like them,” I muttered, and then my eyes fell back on my phone where the text still sat waiting.

  I heard you’re still in California, it said. Will you have dinner with me when I’m there at the end of the week?

  “Something wrong?”

  I looked back at Steve and shook my head, only remembering he probably couldn’t see it when his expression didn’t change. “I’m fine,” I breathed. Wow, even I don’t believe me. “My dad texted me, is all.” Dad. There were so many things wrong with that word.

  Though he reached for the frying pan and set it on the stove, Steve frowned and kept his gaze toward me. “Most people consider that a good thing,” he said softly. “I’d give anything to talk to my dad again.”

  Well that was its own can of worms, and I latched onto it immediately, hoping to steer the conversation away from me. “What happened to him?” I asked, though I was a little afraid it would ruin his cheery mood.

  But Steve just kept working, carefully lighting the stove and grabbing a spatula in preparation. “He got sick when I was fifteen,” he said, the words coming out a lot easier than I would have expected. “Luckily I got some time with him before he went, but it’s never enough.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Retired in Florida. She’ll call every once in a while to check up on her baby boy.”

  I wondered if she knew how close she’d come to losing her baby boy. She probably didn’t, or she would have called him every day just to make sure he was still alive. I silently praised Brennon for having the decency to keep her in the dark about that particular aspect of Steve’s recovery, since I could imagine how difficult it would be for the woman to sleep if she knew.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Steve said, folding his arms and turning to me. He was tall. I hadn’t given it much notice before, but he had to have been at least six-foot-three, and I entertained the idea that even if I wore my highest heels, he would still be taller than me. That didn’t happen often.

  “My turn for what?” I asked.

  “I’ll start with the easy one,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “How’s your mom? The chef, right?”

  I smiled. “She’s great. Happily living with her husband in Vermont and working part-time in a little bed and breakfast.”

  “I’m assuming her husband is not your dad,” he said, and he grabbed the butter and dropped a pat into the hot pan, rolling it around to get an even coat.

  I didn’t know how refreshing it would be to have someone who didn’t know who I was related to. It was almost tempting to lie and make something up, but I had a feeling he would catch me in the act if I tried. Sighing, I glanced at my phone again then muttered, “Dear Dad is Gordon Hastings.”

  Steve dropped the pan, not quite making it all the way onto the stove, and it crashed to the floor, sending hot butter in all directions. He spit a curse, but luckily both of us had managed to avoid being scalded. “Sorry,” he gasped, hurrying to find a towel or something.

  I grabbed the pan before he stepped on it and tossed it into the sink, turning to stare at the man who furiously wiped at the floor in the hopes he got
at least some of the butter splatter. Clumsiness was one thing, but that—I was pretty sure—had been complete shock. He only reinforced the idea when I heard him mutter, “How many kids does that man have?”

  “You know Seth?” I asked hesitantly.

  Steve slowly stood, twisting the towel in his hands. “Met him once or twice,” he mumbled.

  So that wasn’t it. “Do you know my father?”

  He shook his head and folded his arms. “Never met the guy.”

  Since Steve had already told me about his dad, there was only one option left. I knew Gordon Hastings wasn’t the highest caliber of men, and there were rumors that Seth and I weren’t his only children, but I’d never really put a lot of stock into the tabloids. Seth, however, was convinced there were others, and he’d spent a decent amount of time and effort trying to find them. He said he felt bad being the sole heir to a fortune when he had simply had a mother persistent enough to get Gordon to accept him as his son. His search hadn’t been successful yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he uncovered another half-sibling.

  So Steve must have known—probably well—one of these lost children, and that made things a little too real.

  “We should go out,” Steve said suddenly, tossing the towel into the sink and putting on a horribly fake smile. “I ruined breakfast, so we should go out and find something else. I know a great bakery not far from here.”

  A frying pan on the floor wasn’t exactly ruining breakfast, but I had no intention of stopping Steve from willingly leaving the house. I doubted it could be very thrilling, being stuck in an apartment day after day. Fresh air would do us both some good. “A bakery,” I said and decided I was glad for the change of subject too. He didn’t need to know about my father still trying to connect with me, and I really didn’t need to know the answer to who my potential sibling was. For now, Seth was the only one I had the energy to know about. “That sounds delicious.”

  “Perfect,” Steve said, heading for the door. “You drive.”

  * * *

  Luckily for us, choosing to go out for a late breakfast on a weekday meant the bakery wasn’t absolutely packed with people, so when we sat at a table in the corner, we could actually hear ourselves think. The whole drive over, I had worried about how loud it might be and how distracting that probably was for someone who relied on his ears more than most, but I could breathe easy as we sat there.

  Steve seemed to realize that too, his shoulders relaxing as soon as he was in his chair. Though maybe that was because he had a harder time navigating in an unfamiliar place and was just glad he didn’t have to run into any more tables.

  “Did you come here a lot?” I asked him as I glanced over the menu. Everything on it sounded incredible, and I could almost picture Steve showing up every morning for his daily bagel and smear. The chic little bakery certainly seemed like the sort of place an up-and-coming professional would frequent, much like Indie’s coffee shop.

  But he shook his head, frowning a little as he tried to read the menu. “I always wanted to,” he said, “but I never had the time. What does…” His frown deepened. “I can’t read it today,” he muttered and held it out to me.

  I quickly read out loud the menu then ordered for him when our server came to our table, and the whole time he sat slumped in his chair with his scowl firmly in place. I wished I knew how to help him keep that happiness on his own, because I wasn’t going to be around forever. Brennon had his job and clearly cared more about work than relationships, and unless someone fell in love with the guy or we shipped him off to Florida, Steve was going to be on his own for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t have someone looking out for him and helping him see the reasons to keep smiling, and I felt sick just thinking about the danger he’d be in.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said suddenly, lifting his eyes to me and sitting up a little straighter.

  My heart picked up a bit faster. “What?” I asked, pulling my phone from my pocket just in case.

  The corner of his mouth twitched, hinting at a smile. “Not with me,” he said and rolled his eyes. “With you. What’s wrong?”

  He wasn’t quite right, but how did he know? “Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

  “Something is,” he insisted. “You’re not usually this quiet. I’m waiting for the inquisition, but I keep wondering if you’re still sitting there.”

  “Sorry?” I said, not sure what he meant by that last bit. I didn’t think he liked my questions, so I figured he would rather have me silent instead of making his life difficult and annoying.

  His smile grew a little bigger. “I mean, sometimes you’re not exactly tactful, but it’s kinda nice having someone to talk to.”

  That was good. Not wanting to be alone was a good sign, and maybe he wouldn’t be completely hopeless when I was gone. “I’ll try to be better,” I told him. “I just have a lot on my mind today.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, so it’s my turn for the inquisition again?”

  He nodded emphatically. “Does it have to do with your dad?”

  Shrugging, I practically felt my phone burning in my hand with the unanswered message. “That’s part of it. Not something I want to be thinking about right now, though.”

  “What else?”

  I had no idea the man could be so persistent. I wasn’t about to tell him I was thinking about him, so I reluctantly kept the subject focused on me. “The future, I guess.”

  “I was wondering about that, actually.” He paused while our server put our plates in front of us—a terrible place to pause as my curiosity quickly filled in the rest with ridiculous notions, many of which involved Brennon—then he made a show of taking a large bite before he continued. At least he was smart enough to know I would make him eat if he didn’t do it himself. “You live in Boston,” he said, “but you came here for Catherine’s wedding, right?”

  “Right.”

  Two more bites. “That was several days ago, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t plan to spend your little vacation with Brennon, since you hadn’t met him before.” The wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he softly added, “And I’m completely positive you didn’t plan to spend your days stuck with a helpless, cranky blind man.”

  I would address his choice of adjectives in a moment, but first I had to reply, “What’s your point?”

  Setting his knife and fork down, he looked right at me, and for the first time I felt like he was really seeing me. “Why are you here, Lissa?”

  Because most men in the world were imbeciles, and I was tired of fighting for a place at the table. “I quit my job,” I said. “Last week.”

  “Why?”

  “Eat your breakfast.”

  He scowled and shoved some eggs into his mouth. “Why did you quit?” he asked again before he’d even finished chewing.

  What answer could I give that didn’t end with me insulting his entire gender? “I realized I didn’t want to waste my life making rich people richer.” Huh. That sounded pretty good, actually.

  “You were in finance?”

  “An analyst,” I confirmed.

  “So now you’re here because you have nothing better to do?” He almost looked disappointed about that, and my heart ached a little for the guy.

  For the last two years, he’d managed to get rid of nearly everyone who cared about him, but he still craved companionship. Brennon wasn’t around enough, and I was pretty sure Steve was simply lonely. If his fiancée had stuck around, been patient as he tried to adjust to his darker life, maybe he wouldn’t have stopped eating. Maybe he could have figured out a way to keep working, and he could have kept his fancy house and lived his fancy life and actually enjoyed his existence.

  I was starting to understand what his life felt like. Yes, I could see, and I could take care of myself—at least until my savings ran out—but my life had no purpose. I had nothing driving me. And if I kept up this way for too long once Steve no longer needed me, I would likely fall in
to the same metaphorical darkness that he had.

  “You’re thinking too hard again,” he said quietly, reaching across the table and setting his hand on my arm (after missing it the first time). “How can I help?”

  I sighed. “I stayed in California because I don’t have anything to go back to,” I told him. “My family is here, so I thought maybe it would be good to get to know my brother and his wife better. I’m here, specifically, because Brennon is worried about you and I offered to help. It’s not that I don’t have anything better to do. I’m here because I want to be.”

  Did he just blush? Coughing, he pulled his arm back, nearly knocking over his water but catching it before it drowned his waffle. “If you weren’t here with me,” he asked slowly, “what would you be doing with your time?”

  “Honestly?” I thought for a second. “I have no idea,” I said. “Maybe look for a job, since I’ll have to find a place to live once Catherine and Seth are back. I have no intention of staying with them in that apartment of theirs, no matter how big it is.”

  Whatever he was going to say stopped before it hit his tongue, and he swallowed as he chose something else. “Well, we should do that today,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

  “Find you a job. At least get some leads. There’s a lot going on in this city, so I’m sure we could find you something.”

  How uncommonly thoughtful. Either he had cracked and could no longer keep sitting around listening to books, or there was a lot I didn’t know about Steve Evans. Or both. Maybe he was always willing to help the people around him, but he didn’t have the means most of the time. Maybe he was just deathly bored. Maybe he was trying to get rid of me as fast as he could. I had no idea what his motivation was, but more so, I didn’t know if I wanted to let him do it. I was here to help him, after all.

  “I don’t even know what I want to do,” I admitted. “All I know is finance, and I want to be able to help people.”

  “Bank teller,” he replied with a shrug. “Tax specialist. In-home accountant for a small business. This is San Francisco, Lissa. You have a world of possibilities right in front of you.”