by Julia London
He perked up. “Three times,” he said with a touch of pride. Granted, two times had been with Whitney, but still.
“That’s good,” she said. “So, you’re feeling more comfortable with that environment?”
He hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, he was. “I guess, more or less.”
“What would you think about trying something a little farther afield, such as the park?”
Jack physically recoiled at that absurd question. “Are you serious? There are all kinds of people coming and going from that park. Remember, I can see it out my window,” he said, pointing. “I mean, there’s no way to know who those people are. The city doesn’t control access. Anyone could walk in there. If you ask me, the city ought to—”
“Let’s forget the park for now,” she said quickly. “Is there something else on your street you could set as a goal?”
He thought about it a moment. “Whitney, she…she wants me to view a property with her. She’s looking for a place to open a bakery. She says it’s around the corner.”
“That sounds like a great goal, Jack.”
He was regretting it already. “It sounds like a terrible goal to me,” he said. “What if…what if I lose my shit in front of her?” he asked in a near whisper. The very thought ratcheted up his panic, and he yanked so hard at the string in the hem of his jeans that he tore the denim.
“Let’s talk about that. Whitney will be there, right?”
He nodded.
“Remember our conversation about having someone you trust nearby in case you have an attack?”
“But she doesn’t know I get them,” he irritably reminded her. “I don’t want her to know.”
“Chances are that if you practice the techniques we’ve talked about, you won’t have one. I think it’s worth a shot.” She jotted it down on her notepad. “I think we should try it.”
The “we” business annoyed him. Dr. Pratt could go anywhere she wanted, any time, with or without someone she trusted. “What if I have an attack?” he asked. “What then?”
“Then you will have a perfect opportunity to be honest with Whitney.”
He clenched his jaw.
“Have you had any nightmares?” She looked down at her notes.
Amazingly, he had not. Thank God for small favors, because he couldn’t imagine having one in front of Whitney. “Not since the last one I told you about.”
“Are you taking your meds?”
He gave her a withering look.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she said pertly, and marked something on her file.
“You said this was fixable with cognitive therapy,” Jack reminded her. “You said drugs were not necessary.”
“I said drugs weren’t necessary for the rest of your life. But you will no doubt remember that I also said you could ease your symptoms with some medicinal help. We just want to get your anxiety under control so you can learn the coping techniques.”
This conversation was making him tense and irritable. “I’m making progress on my own.” It was true—for the first time in a long time, he felt as if there was hope. Like maybe he really could beat this thing.
“I’m going to ask that you think about the things we’ve talked about today. Going a little farther than your safety circle, and perhaps being honest with Whitney about the challenges you face.”
As it turned out, Jack did think about it. For days.
Twelve
“You might be a side chick, did you think of that?” Louisa asked as she and Whitney walked around the empty café that was available to rent.
This is what Whitney got for crowing about the new guy in her life. So, sue her already—the last real boyfriend she’d had was her first year of law school. After that ended, she hadn’t had time for a true relationship. She was more than ready for one. And although it had only been a week, about the length of a Bachelor franchise show, Whitney felt good about things with Jack. She had the feeling this could go somewhere.
Until her friend said that, of course. Whitney looked at Louisa in her three-inch heels and short skirt, and her black hair slicked into a high ponytail and cascading down her back. Whitney couldn’t begin to guess how much those hair extensions had set her back. “What do you mean?” Whitney demanded.
Louisa shrugged. “You know—someone on the side. Like, he’s got a girlfriend and you’re the side chick.”
Whitney lifted her palms in the universal gesture of what the hell? “I’m telling you about a great guy I’m seeing, and that’s your response?”
“Sorry,” Louisa said, although she didn’t sound sorry. “I’m just keeping it real. You invited him for drinks Tuesday, and he didn’t come—”
“Because of his work,” Whitney pointed out. It was true that Jack had bailed on her at the last minute. But then again, she’d asked him at the last minute, and he’d said Sure. She’d been sitting at the bar waiting for him when he’d texted and said, So sorry, can’t make it. Have to have this in by seven. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt—maybe he didn’t know that she was super punctual, and when she said she’d be waiting for him at six, she would be waiting for him at six.
“And he’s already fifteen minutes late today,” Louisa continued. “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“He’s coming,” Whitney said, although she was wondering where the hell he was. Frankly, she had never realized how important punctuality was to her until this week and she was discovering it was very important. “And I’m not a side chick. I’ve been with him all week—when would he see his real girlfriend if I was a side chick?”
“Maybe she’s on vacation,” Louisa said. “Or at a conference. Maybe it’s a long- distance relationship. I don’t know. But you have to admit, it’s weird that he hasn’t taken you out. Or shown up for drinks. Or shown up today.”
“It’s not weird,” Whitney said defensively.
“I mean, if I were you, I’d have to consider the possibility that he’s spending all that time with you because you come and feed him.”
“God, Louisa.” Whitney was not liking this side of her friend. “Give him a minute, will you? And remember, we’re still new at this—he hasn’t had time to take me out, that’s all.”
“Okay.” Louisa shrugged. “Let’s look at the kitchen.” She pointed to a door behind the counter.
Whitney tried to let Louisa’s warning slide off her back as she looked around. What she’d had with Jack the last week felt really good. They had a lot in common. They had amazing physical chemistry. He was on a very heavy deadline, that was all.
But the minutes ticked by, and still no sign of Jack. She and Louisa looked at the kitchen, then at the bathrooms, the small office, the storage area, then returned to the storefront.
“Well?” Louisa stroked her long tail of hair. “What do you think?”
Whitney looked around her. This little café checked a lot of boxes. It was in a great location. The kitchen was big enough, had just the right amount of storage, and room out front for customers. “How much is the rent?”
“I think we could negotiate a rent of twenty-five grand a month,” Louisa said.
Whitney’s stomach flipped. “Ouch.”
“Remember, we talked about your expectations,” Louisa said. “You’re not going to find a property in a location you want which checks all the boxes for less than that. I really think this is the one, Whit.”
Whitney was a strong woman and a budding entrepreneur, but she really wished she had someone to help her make this decision. Someone who could talk through this thing with her. “But twenty-five—”
The door suddenly burst open and Jack surged through it as if he were being chased. He was breathing hard. He dragged his fingers through his hair, dropped Buster’s leash, and then shoved his hands into his pockets. Buster jogged away, his nose to the floor.
Jack was perspiring so much that Whitney dug into her bag for a bottle of water. “Did you run here?” She handed him the bottle.
“What?” He shook his head to her offer of water. “Ah…yeah. No, I didn’t run, I hurried. Sorry I’m late.” He shifted a suspicious gaze to Louisa.
“This is Louisa Harris.” Whitney moved to kiss him. His lips were cold, his body stiff. She eyed him, trying to figure out what was up with him. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Me too,” he said, sounding almost relieved.
Louisa stepped forward with a very silky smile. “So, you’re Jack,” she purred as she offered her hand.
Jack looked at her hand.
“I’m germ-free,” Louisa said.
“No, that’s…I know.” He withdrew a hand and wiped it on his shirt before he offered it to shake Louisa’s. “Hi,” he said. “I’m sorry to barge in like this. It’s nice to meet you, Louisa.”
Louisa studied him a little too closely. “We were just finishing up. Would you like to have a look around? Or are you going to leave that to your dog?”
“Buster!” Jack called, and Buster trotted out of the men’s restroom. Jack bent down and picked up his leash. “Let’s have a look.”
“I’ll give him a tour.” Whitney took the leash from his hand and handed it to Louisa. “You’ll like Buster.”
Louisa looked down at the soulful brown eyes and squatted down. “I will,” she said.
Whitney linked her arm through Jack’s and pulled him away from Louisa and into the kitchen. Once they were out of Louisa’s earshot, she said, “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing. Sorry I’m late.” He shoved his hands in his pockets again. He kept his gaze on the floor.
He seemed…verklempt. It was the first word that popped into Whitney’s mind. Something was wrong—he was nervous and distracted. She touched his face. “Jack?”
He flinched at first, but then caught her hand and held it tightly. Too tightly. “I’m really sorry, Whitney. I got caught up.”
“You didn’t answer my text.”
“My phone died.” He turned away from her to view the kitchen, but did not let go of her hand. His felt so strangely clammy.
He swallowed hard. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s perfect,” she said. “There’s a lot of foot traffic down this street, which is great.”
“Right.” He fixed his gaze on the stove.
“And it has an extra oven,” she said. “Only one baker’s rack, so I’ll have to get a second one.”
Jack was not listening. His jaw was clenched, and now he had his eye on the door between the kitchen and the front counter.
“Do you want to know how much?” she asked.
Jack suddenly looked at her. He was still perspiring. “For…?”
“This place. The rent is twenty-five thousand dollars a month to rent.”
He stared at her. “Twenty-five thousand? That’s a lot of money.”
Whitney snorted. “Tell me about it. If you didn’t run here, why are you sweating?”
Her blurted question startled him. “Am I?” He let go of her hand, swiped at his temple and looked at his fingers.
“So?” Louisa called, stepping into the kitchen with Buster. “What do you think, Jack? Don’t you think it’s perfect for your girl?”
“Ah…looks good,” Jack agreed.
“I’m trying to convince her to let me work my magic and see what sort of deal I can make her.” Louisa handed the leash end to Jack. “She won’t find a better location for this price in Seattle, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at Whitney. “It’s a lot of money.”
“You have to pay to play,” Louisa said. “Right, Whit?”
Whitney nodded, but her stomach was a mess. Her nerves were suddenly and unusually frayed—with the amount of money it would take to set this place up and then rent it. With Jack and the strange way he was acting.
“In the meantime, Jack, you should take Whitney out for dinner to celebrate,” Louisa chirped.
Whitney coughed down a gasp. She didn’t want to look at Jack, but of course she did, and he sort of smiled at her with his hands jammed into his pockets and the sheen of perspiration still on his face.
“Okay, you two.” Louisa looked at her watch. “I’ve got another appointment.”
The three of them and Buster went out onto the street. Louisa locked things up while Jack stood with his back pressed against the window of the empty café, Buster beside him.
With her gaze on her phone, Louisa said, “I need to run.” She looked up at Jack. “Are we going to lure you out for those drinks soon? I would love to chat.” She patted his arm. “Don’t look so skeptical—I’m a lot of fun with a cocktail.”
“Sure,” he said tightly.
“Great! Toodle-oo for now,” Louisa said, and with a wave, she strode down the street to catch a cab.
Whitney folded her arms and looked at Jack. “Seriously, are you all right?” she asked. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m fine,” he said, but he looked at Buster.
“You can hardly look at me, and you looked at Louisa like she was crazy when she asked if she could buy you a drink.”
“You’re right.” He reached for her waist, drawing her into his side, up against the door of the bakery, and held her tight. “I apologize, Whitney. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” He kissed her temple.
“You and me both,” she muttered, and leaned into him. “Do you want to buy me a drink?”
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll make you one. There’s a bodega on my street. We can pop in there and pick up a few things, and I’ll make you a cocktail that will knock your socks off.”
Something niggled in the back of Whitney’s head. That niggle, which sounded an awful lot like Louisa, reminded her that in the week they’d spent together, Jack had never offered to take her anywhere. Side chick.
Jack grabbed her hand. “You ready?”
“You know what?” She squeezed his hand. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a rain check.”
“A rain check?” He looked at her with confusion. “Why? Is it because I was so late? I am so sorry, Whitney, but I—”
“No, it’s not that,” she assured him, although it was definitely that. She didn’t understand why he was so edgy, so jumpy. “I’m just not all here.” She gestured to her head. “I need to run some numbers, and I don’t think I’d be good company.”
She could tell by his expression that he wasn’t buying it. He touched her face and stroked back of bit of her hair. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He frowned as he leaned down to kiss her temple. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. He kissed her cheek, his lips lingering for a moment. Warmth began to spiral through Whitney. “But if you need to talk, you know where to find me,” he murmured, and kissed her lips.
Yes, she knew exactly where to find him—in his apartment. Whitney wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She kissed him in a way she hoped would show that she was into him, really into him, and needed for him to be into her, too. He was hard-bodied, his lips soft, and when he wrapped his arm around her waist, he held her too tightly, as if he were afraid she would float away. There was something quietly desperate in the way he held her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course you will.” She managed a smile.
He kissed her once more, then looked down at Buster. “Let’s go.” Buster hopped to his feet, his body pointing in the direction of home, his tail wagging.
Jack moved as if he meant to walk away, but he suddenly turned back and cupped her face. “Don’t worry, Whitney,” he said. “Please don’t worry.”
“About…?”
“About…about anything,” he said uncertainly. “If you let it, it will consume you.”
She must have looked confused because he said, “I’m only trying to say that if you let worry take over, it can lead you to do things you don’t normally do.”
His earnestness was odd. Did she seem so worried? “Okay�
�” she said carefully. “Thanks for your concern.”
Jack pressed his lips together. He gave her a short nod, then turned, and with his head down, he began to walk quickly, his limp noticeable, and Buster trotting alongside him.
Whitney’s phone rang. She dug in her bag for it, and when she had it, she looked up, intending to wave one last time, but Jack had already disappeared.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Whitney, how are you?”
Whitney closed her eyes and wished that a massive cell phone tower hack would happen right now. This day was quickly deteriorating. “Hi, Dad.”
“At last, I get you on the phone,” he said.
Whitney winced at the number of times she’d let his call roll to voice mail. “Yep! I’ve just been really busy.”
“How are things going with your project?” her father asked.
Her project. As if she were in middle school and wrapping up her construction of a model of the solar system. “It’s going great.” She walked down the street toward the bus stop. “In fact, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Well, I just looked at a café,” she said. “My realtor found the perfect place.” Yeah, that was it—strike before he had the opportunity.
“She did, huh?” her father said. “Well, maybe I can have a look when I’m in Seattle in a few weeks.”
Her sister had warned her. “So, you’re coming to Seattle!” she said brightly.
“I am. I would like to see how you’re doing and what you’ve accomplished since your move there.”
“Dad—”
“I’m not coming to judge you, Whitney,” he said with a tinge of exasperation. “I care about you. I’m interested. You’re my daughter, and I want to know what you’re doing, how things are progressing.”
That was a lovely thing to say, but there had been an ocean of hard words between them, so Whitney was more than a little skeptical. She turned in to a convenience store and started down the aisle. “Okay, well…great,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster. “I’ll bake a cake.” She laughed.
Her father didn’t. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, Whitney.”