The tension between us ratcheted down several notches, and I paused, unsure how much more I wanted to say. “I didn’t grow up wanting to be an accountant. It’s what I do now, so I do it the best I can. But it feels good to sit here for a while and remember that my office isn’t where the world starts and ends. I’m sorry it came out wrong the first time,” I said.
Relief softened the lines bracketing his mouth. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” He pushed a piece of asparagus around his plate, dragging it around the perimeter twice before looking up. “I feel bad.”
I shrugged. “Don’t. You had a good reason to be frustrated.”
“Let me make it up to you. What can I do?”
I eyed his poor, bedraggled piece of asparagus. “How about you quit abusing your vegetables and let me try a piece of your steak?”
He looked up, his eyes bright. “I want to make nice, but this is a good piece of steak,” he protested.
“I named my price, Bratton. It’s steak or nothing.”
He cut off a large piece and held it out to me. I bit it from the end of his fork, and he smiled. “I’ll order another filet and feed it to you if it will help make peace,” he said.
I swallowed the bite and answered, “Not necessary. That was so good; we’re even now.”
His expression turned serious again. “I really am sorry, Jessie. I’m sensitive about the work thing because of my ex-fiancée, but I know how much time it takes if you want to be the best in your field. I’ve been building my own business up for four years, working crazy hours, and now that I have free time every now and then, it’s not fair to expect someone else to drop everything too.”
“It’s okay. I probably don’t need to work seventy hours a week. I forget to come up for air and fun.”
He looked at me curiously. “How did Sandy talk you into Lookup after she confessed to setting up your profile?”
I fidgeted, not wanting to answer. “Uh . . .”
“Come on, you can tell me. We’ve been spilling our guts for the last ten minutes anyway.”
“Wellll,” I fudged. “I might have seen your profile and thought you might be worth dating.” Heat climbed up my neck.
He grinned. “So we’re dating?”
“I meant—”
“No take backs,” he said. “I heard it.”
I sat back, nonplussed. By anyone’s definition, we were dating, but it sounded so different when he said it out loud. What did that mean? Did “dating” imply “relationship”? Was I ready for that? Did dating mean we were suddenly exclusive? Ben was the first guy I had gone out with since I lifted the dating embargo. Was it smart to stick with my first try? And did that mean he was dating only me now? Maybe—
“Whoa.” Ben’s voice broke in. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell by your eyes you’re in the middle of a freak out.” He poured some ice water from the carafe into my half empty goblet and pushed it toward me. “Maybe you should drink this before you hyperventilate.”
I did, feeling better and stupid simultaneously.
After I swallowed a few sips, he reached over for my hand. “I didn’t drag you up here for a define-the-relationship talk. Breathe,” he said, smiling.
I followed orders, for once.
“I do want to tell you this,” he said. Determination laced the humor in his tone. “I’m twenty-seven, and I spent three years in a relationship taking it slow because of someone who had other priorities. I respected her and her priorities, but if she had truly loved me, she wouldn’t have found it so hard to make time for me.”
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the discussion of his past engagement.
He squeezed my hand lightly to get my attention again and smiled when I looked up. “By the same token, if I really loved her, I would have fought harder to reorder her priorities. But I didn’t. I let it drop and eventually picked up this contract with the Forest Service and went wading in the dating pool.”
I smiled. “I’m glad.”
“Good,” Ben said. “Let’s celebrate with dessert.”
“What specifically are we celebrating?” I asked.
“That we each found the only other normal person on LDS Lookup.”
“I could raise a forkful to that.”
Ben waved the waiter over. We settled on splitting the most famous Sky City dish: a crazy ice cream concoction served on a bed of dry ice and topped with a raspberry coulis. It arrived at our table trailing long ribbons of swirling vapor. When the last bit of ice cream had been scraped from the dish, I thought I would burst. Ben pushed back from the table with a satisfied sigh.
“Yum,” I said.
“Yum,” he agreed.
We sat for a few minutes on the verge of a food coma but content. Ben lazily swept his thumb back and forth over my knuckles, and I leaned my chin on my other hand and gazed out of the window, thinking of nothing at all.
Ben stirred. “How’d you like it?”
“How’d I like what?”
“Doing nothing. By my watch, we did nothing for about five minutes.”
“It was awesome,” I admitted.
“Way to be open to new experiences,” he teased. “Stick with me and I’ll have you totally unproductive and lacking direction in a couple of weeks.”
“Nah,” I said. “I have it on good authority that you’ve got a pretty mean work ethic too.”
“I’m going to have to stop spreading that rumor,” he said.
“Relax. I find hard workers kind of attractive.”
“Hard workers like construction guys or hard workers like someone who bangs on a keyboard all day? Because I bet it’s not too late for me to get into construction.”
“No, don’t go have a quarter-life crisis on me,” I teased him. “I know sometimes it’s the hardest thing in the world for me to stay glued to my computer for eight hours at a time, so I’ll give you credit for that.”
“Good because I think my last construction effort was my Scout project. But I would have learned for you,” he said bravely.
I rolled my eyes in amusement. “Don’t worry about it, Ben. I don’t require my dates to have hammer skills.”
He laughed. “Lucky me.”
He turned my hand over to gently uncurl my fingers then massaged my palm, his touch light. “You’re hard to read, you know,” he said after a while.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I mean, we hang out and have a great time, but it’s hard to get you to commit to another date or meal without bribery or coercion. And then when I think you’re totally closed off, fun and open and relaxed Jessie shows up. And I so dig her, but which one is you?”
His observation stung, even though he made it with no malice, only curiosity. Picking up words to say and throwing them away again, I wasn’t sure I had an answer. I didn’t know what I wanted to say because I didn’t know what I wanted, period.
I sighed. That wasn’t true. I did know what I wanted. Buried under the brain files of countless spreadsheets and accounting formulas lay my dream of being a wife and mother with a house full of kids and laughter. Between me and that image stretched a deep, scary gulf of doubt and uncertainty. Jason’s desertion had sent me sailing over the edge of the chasm once, and it had taken sheer grit to climb back out on the other side. I didn’t want to go there again.
Ben said nothing, only watched and waited, his face showing no impatience.
I opened my mouth, attempting to explain that I wanted balance, a tidy explanation that didn’t say much at all. Instead, my lips croaked out a barely audible, “I don’t want to fail.”
Ben leaned forward, head cocked to the side, and nodded that he’d heard me, like he was waiting for more.
There wasn’t any more. I didn’t know what else to say.
After a pregnant pause, he gave me some gentle encouragement. “You don’t want to fail at . . . what? Skydiving? Or knitting? Handball? Origami?”
I
laughed in spite of myself. “I guess that wasn’t a helpful statement,” I murmured.
“Helpful? No. But fraught with tension and mystery, if that’s what you were going for,” he said.
His lightheartedness eased my confusion.
“Here’s the thing,” I began again. “That high school and college boyfriend? I’m not hung up on him at all, but thinking about that situation makes me wonder if it’s smart to put the energy into a project where I can’t control the outcome.”
“Ah, business lingo. Tell me if I’ve got this right. You don’t want to commit your emotional resources when you’re not sure about the return on your investment?”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Do you know why most businesses fail?” he asked.
“Um, they’re selling something crappy?”
“No. Their growth outpaces their capital.” He sat back, pleased.
True. Most start-up companies fall apart because they don’t plan for growth, and they can’t keep up with the demand for whatever they’re selling. But I didn’t understand the relationship metaphor.
“My job is to make sure a business spends wisely and within limits so they don’t go broke,” I hedged.
“That’s an established business. I’m on the entrepreneur side, and I can tell you that if you start a business without risking some of your assets, you’ll never be able to grow it fast enough to succeed. You’ve got to invest the time and money for it to get off the ground, or it’s doomed to fail from the start.”
The metaphor cleared up. “So you’re saying I should drop everything and spend all my time with you so I can see where this goes? My inner accountant is whimpering in a corner somewhere.”
Ben laughed. “No. I’m suggesting you take a small risk and see if it pays a dividend.”
“What kind of risk?” I asked.
“How about instead of me visiting you for a dinner break on Wednesday, we turn it into a date, one where we spend the whole evening together.”
“A whole Wednesday night? You’re asking me for a pretty sizable investment,” I said.
“I’m convinced there’s a huge payoff,” he said, shrugging.
“You’re going to see me most of the evening tomorrow after church. Aren’t you worried about burnout?”
He mimicked my posture, resting his chin on his hand and leaning forward until his nose nearly touched mine over the table.
“No,” he said. “Not even a little.” And he stole a quick kiss. “What do you say, Jessie?” he asked. “Are we in business?”
Chapter 26
MONDAY CAME TOO EARLY AGAIN. I went through the morning ritual of slapping the alarm clock silly before I rolled out of bed on the third snooze. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and cringed when my stomach muscles protested. Evidently, laughing for three hours straight with Ben last night would replace my ab workout today.
I stumbled to the bathroom and groped for a toothbrush, eyeballing it through puffy lids to make sure I held my own trusty Oral-B and not Sandy’s pink-handled glitter monstrosity. She insisted that kids’ toothbrushes offered a much better selection.
The fresh tang of minty toothpaste, followed by a splash of cool water on my face, dispelled any lingering grogginess, and by the time I rubbed in my moisturizer, I felt ready to face the day. I knew it would be a long one, but I intended to make it as productive as possible.
I fished a charcoal gray wool suit out of the closet and then, feeling like I was imitating Ben’s outfit from our Saturday night date, discarded it in favor of a navy one. I pulled on a pink button down to soften the severity, wondering why I cared. It’s not like my suit would be the main event at our morning staff meeting anyway. I recalled the lyrics to an old Smiths song. “I wear black on the outside ’cause black is how I feel on the inside.” My borderline frumpy suit reflected my attitude toward work pretty accurately today.
Sandy popped her head in. “Do you still have my boots?” When she saw my outfit, she stepped farther in. “A navy suit, Jess? Really? You must not be seeing Ben today.”
I picked up her boots and handed them to her. “Out.”
She hugged the boots to her chest. “I’m just saying, you’ve been doing so well with your outfits lately. That suit is a regression.”
I sighed. She’d been using lots of therapy-ish, self-improvement terms since starting her life makeover. “This suit means business. That’s why it’s called a business suit.”
“That suit means sad. Seriously, we need to take you shopping. Your closet needs to suit you better.” I groaned at the pun, but she shot me a mischievous grin and continued. “You are growing out of the navy suit phase of your life. Think about it,” she called over her shoulder as she headed back to her room.
Sandy always dressed to her mood. The better her day, the brighter her outfit. Lately, she’d been favoring muted olive greens and subdued browns. They were still terminally chic outfits, but they must have come out of the introspective part of her closet. I imagined a closet with the clothes organized by mood, and I smiled. Mine would have three sides of boring work colors, all very proper. But I’d have to keep a space free for a new section, one with vibrant colors and whimsical styles, or else what would I wear when I saw Ben?
Last night I’d worn a caramel colored corduroy skirt with a sage green merino wool turtleneck and Sandy’s BCBG boots, which I had tugged off as soon as Ben and I returned from the fireside I’d dragged him to. Well, I guess I didn’t drag him. He went as my willing guest for the CES broadcast at the stake center. The talk was titled “When Weak Things Become Strong” and focused on Ether 12:27. My dad had quoted that to me all the time during my school days when I overextended myself and collapsed in a stress puddle. I could still hear his patient voice saying, “If they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” I liked sitting in the darkened chapel, listening, my hand in Ben’s.
Since our ward showed the broadcast live, it ended at six, and I maneuvered us away from the mingling singles and back to my place for dinner. I had stuck a pot roast in the slow-cooker after lunch, the perfect dinner for a cold Sunday evening. It’s so hard to screw up a slow-cooker meal, it almost felt like cheating. Of course, I wouldn’t mention that to Sandy any time soon. She’d managed to scorch a turkey breast earlier in the week when she forgot to add water and left it on high for eight hours. The aroma of Sunday roast had enticed her from her room, and she’d joined us for dinner.
I could blame her for my aching side muscles this morning after her epic story about her first foray into indoor rock climbing. Ben had to beg her to stop so he could breathe. Then he’d set us off again with a tale about a camping trip with his brothers gone horribly wrong, and it got worse from there.
Standing in my unglamorous round-toe beige pumps and smiling at the memory, I concluded that the “Time with Ben” section of my closet should be filled with spangled neon if my outfits reflected my mood every time I was with him. With a sigh, I shut the door and gathered up my work stuff before trudging off toward the Macrosystems battle with Craig.
* * *
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
After the last whack of my forehead against my desk, I rested it there and gave into my exhaustion for a moment.
“If you get a concussion, you can’t file for workman’s comp because I’m a witness it was self-inflicted,” Sandy said from the doorway.
“Wrong. This is one hundred percent Craig-related,” I retorted.
“Ah, good old Craig. The rash that never stops itching.” Her lips twitched in amusement as she wandered into my office.
“It’s dark,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“It’s January. It gets dark at four o’clock.”
“Right. That’s my point. Why are you here? Don’t you have a fake rock wall to climb?”
“Nope. Tonight’s hot yoga. It doesn’t start until seven.”
I almost demanded an
explanation of hot yoga then shut my mouth and thought better of it. She dropped a paper bag on my desk with a thunk slightly less noisy than the one my head had made.
I eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this? Because I’m telling you now if it involves sprouts, I’m not touching it.”
“Relax. It’s only marginally healthy. I found a new deli, so I grabbed you a sandwich. Sprout free.”
I poked it. It didn’t move.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a turkey club, but I swapped the regular bacon for the turkey kind and had them use low-fat mayo.”
It sounded retch-worthy, but I decided to choke down a couple bites so I didn’t hurt her feelings. I reached in and grabbed the wax-wrapped sandwich inside, along with a fistful of napkins. Nothing else fell out. I turned it upside down and shook to make sure. “Chips?” I asked, hopefully.
“Of course.” Sandy reached into her own bag and tossed me something.
I picked up the package distressingly free of Frito-Lay colors and examined it. “Veggie crisps?” It emerged as more of a whimper.
“I’m not enabling your fried potato addiction. Just be glad I’m not force feeding you goji berries.”
“You were a lot less scary when you only ate mostly healthy. I think a lack of real food is making you cranky,” I said.
“I’m not cranky. I’m centered. And I eat real food.”
Eyeing her dinner, I had my doubts. She had unwrapped a sandwich that appeared to be filled entirely with vegetables. No meat. Bizarre.
“Seriously, why are you still here? You’re always gone by five,” I said, returning to my original question.
“It’s part of the life makeover. I’m rededicating myself to work.”
“Yeah, but you’re in human resources, and we’re some of the only humans left in the building. What is there for you to do?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. You find stuff to do when you stay late, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Is accounting so much harder that it legitimately keeps you busy a billion hours a week?”
“Not a billion. Maybe a hundred million.”
That garnered another eye roll.
I laughed. “It’s not hard to keep up. It’s getting ahead that’s the trick.”
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