Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  I shut my eyes for a second, picturing a wall with the tiles. He was right. I opened my eyes and turned to him. "What about a thin row of stainless steel?"

  He blinked, obviously taken aback.

  "They do make stainless steel tiles," I said.

  "I don't doubt it. It's not that." He gave me a considering look. "I didn't tell you, did I?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "I finally decided last night what to name the restaurant. I'm calling it Steel."

  "Really? Then they'd be perfect."

  "They would." He smiled. "You're good at this."

  "I like design and color and things," I said. "But I have to close my eyes to see them and it makes me feel silly." Stop talking, Candice.

  "Hey, if you get ideas like that when you close your eyes, keep closing them," he said, his eyes warm. "Clients won't care. I know I don't." He smiled at me again.

  I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that we were all alone in the end of the warehouse, with only tiles for chaperones. Tiles, and my wedding rings. "Let's go find stainless steel tiles and make sure they look right."

  *****

  About an hour later, tiles ordered and samples collected for Lou, I braced myself for the taxi ride back to the newly named Steel, but was saved by the ringing of Kegan's cell phone as soon as we got into the car. From the side of the conversation I could hear, the painter he'd hired had overbooked himself and wasn't going to be in when he'd promised.

  Once that was straightened out, by Kegan telling him that if he wasn't there by the end of the week he'd find someone else, Kegan began a rapid-fire series of phone calls to everyone from his lawyer to the repair shop which apparently still hadn't finished with his car. I flipped through my notebook and tried not to eavesdrop, but I came away with one clear realization: Kegan knew what he wanted and he was determined to get it.

  We were only a few minutes away from the restaurant when Kegan said, "Just one more call." The look on his face said it was the toughest call yet. The hand not holding the phone closed into a fist in his lap.

  "Hey, Mom. I just wanted to tell you how things are-- she did? Well, that's great. Tell her I hope it does well. But I wanted to-- you do? Okay. I'll talk to you later."

  He snapped the phone closed and shoved it back into the pocket of his sleek black dress pants, then sat in silence. I did too; the tension coming off him was hard to take. I longed to break it but didn't know what to say.

  Kegan turned to me, a muscle flickering in his jaw. "God, I hate that woman sometimes. I'm opening a restaurant and all she can talk about is my sister and the new fish she bought for her kid's aquarium. If it's not that, it's all about my brother's hockey career. Would it kill her to pretend she's happy for me? It's my life. Isn't it up to me how I live it?"

  "Of course," I said, both because it was obviously the answer he wanted and because I believed it. "Why do parents have to be like that? We're adults now. We can choose what we want to do, how we want to live."

  Kegan stared at me for a second, and then gave me a slow smile. "Your mother doesn't like your husband, does she?"

  I scrunched up my face before admitting, "Not so much."

  "Why'd you say she did?"

  "Dunno." I did know; it didn't seem fair to Ian to tell Kegan that my mother preferred him. But telling Kegan that didn't seem like a great plan either.

  "Don't lie to me, Candy. You were always so open with me. I knew you better than I knew anyone else. I missed that when you were gone." He was right, I had been open like that... and it had given him easier access to break me into tiny pieces.

  Our eyes met, and he added, "I missed you. Did you miss me?"

  I nodded, unable to look away. "Of course. It was so weird not having you around. Everything seemed wrong."

  "I was sure you'd call and try to get me back."

  I'd considered it a thousand times. Larissa had done everything but break my fingers to stop me picking up the phone, and she'd threatened to do that too. All I said, though, was, "I thought about it."

  A faint smile curled the corners of his mouth. "But you didn't."

  I shook my head.

  "And then you met your husband."

  It wasn't a question. I nodded. "I had a few other boyfriends, all terrible, and then I met Ian and we got married just over a year later."

  "And he's not terrible."

  "Never." Well, once. But I didn't think he'd meant to be.

  "That's good. You deserve to be happy." He smiled at me and laid his hand on mine. The taxi jerked to a halt, I pulled my hand away to pick up my bag, and we climbed out.

  His touch seemed burned into my skin.

  *****

  He was the consummate professional once we entered the restaurant, and we worked steadily, getting a lot done and gradually becoming more comfortable with each other, until a bit after eleven o'clock, at which point somebody called, "Anyone want coffee?" A chorus of agreement swept through the building, and I joined in.

  Kegan said quickly, "I'll go get it. Candy, you can come help me."

  The staff surrounded me, and I wrote down everyone's request. Once the list was complete, we set off. After walking in silence for a few minutes, we started talking at once. We both stopped, and he said, "Go ahead."

  "Oh, no, you go ahead."

  "I insist."

  "I just wondered, why is your deadline so soon?"

  "It was my first day at law school. I like the idea of starting this on the same date."

  "Ah. But it's a bit of a rush. Why not wait until next year?"

  "I needed to do it now. Okay, my turn to ask a question." His tone made it clear that the topic was closed. "Where do people go for fun in this part of town?"

  "You mean nightclubs and stuff?"

  He said, "Yeah. Take you for instance. What do you do on a weekend night?"

  "Well, usually I stay home. But if I do go out, everyone goes to Light these days."

  "That's the big nightclub down by Lake Ontario?"

  I nodded. "It's huge. Mostly a younger crowd, but every other weekend they do an 80's and 90's night. But they wouldn't be your competition. Totally different thing."

  He shrugged. "Anywhere people go to spend money is my competition. Okay, good to know."

  Another question came to mind. "Why is your restaurant on this side of the city when you live down by the lake? I mean, you used to live there, anyhow. I don't know where you live now." I didn't want him to think I'd been stalking him online or something like that. I had looked him up, maybe once a year or so, but I'd never found anything interesting.

  "I'm not in the apartment I used to have, but I am still by the lake. I bought a condo. My parents are in their old house down there too. That's why the restaurant is on this side."

  I wrinkled my forehead as I tried to process this. It didn't make a lot of sense. "Wouldn't it be easier for you if you lived near the restaurant?"

  He sighed. "Yes, but it wouldn't be easier for my parents. They don't want it anywhere near their house."

  "Why not?"

  "You know why not. They wanted a lawyer for a son, not 'some chef'." His bitterness was clear, and I felt sorry for him.

  The subject of parents, especially mothers, and their lack of support was a sore spot for me. "You're the owner, not the chef. And even if you were the chef, they should support you." My voice was louder than I'd intended in my indignation, and he smiled.

  "You're sweet. And you're right. But they don't. Nothing I can do about it."

  We arrived at the coffee shop as he finished his last words. He held the door open for me, and put his hand gently on my shoulder as I walked past him, guiding me through the door. I could feel the heat of his hand through my light shirt and walked a little faster to get away from him. It wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be, working with him, but I didn't like the shivers his touch sent through me.

  We went to the counter, and after that we were far too busy imparting the complicated coffee orders to
talk.

  *****

  Our walk back to the restaurant was all business. When we returned to the restaurant and distributed the coffees, everyone pulled out money and tried to pay Kegan back. He waved them all off.

  "What kind of boss would I be if I didn't treat you guys occasionally?"

  They looked unsure of the right answer, so they just thanked him profusely and wandered off with their coffees. Kegan and I worked together, choosing tables and chairs from several catalogues, until about twelve-thirty. His obvious passion for the restaurant brought a lump to my throat a few times, but I didn't think he noticed.

  "I should get back to the office and order some of this stuff," I said.

  "Okay. What time will you be here tomorrow?"

  I took a deep breath. "I won't be. We've got nearly everything down now, and the last few things will depend on how Lou does the actual design. He should have it done early next week, but he can't do it until I do the legal research for it."

  "So I'll see you next week?"

  "You'll see Lou," I said.

  "But I want to see you."

  I shook my head, feeling flustered by his insistence and silly for letting myself imagine he meant it personally. "Lou'll be here. I don't usually have client contact after the initial stage." I felt my cheeks grow hot at the thought of having contact with Kegan. His eyes sparkled a little, and I felt even more embarrassed, and angry with myself at how I was reacting to him.

  "I'd rather have you." He paused, eyes locked on my face, and then added, "I've already started working with you."

  There, not personal. "It won't happen. Lou always--"

  I was cut off by the ringing of Kegan's cell phone. He looked aggravated but reached for it and barked, "Hello?"

  As he listened to the caller, I threw him a smile, mouthed, "Bye," and got the heck out of there before he could talk to me again.

  *****

  Back at the office, I went right to work on the preliminary legal research for Kegan's restaurant. It required approximately eight million phone calls to nine million people asking about tiny little details. It was exhausting.

  Knowing it was for Kegan made it all seem so much more critical. Every decision I made, from which potential suppliers to list to which font to use on my documentation, was a reflection on me. I swung wildly between wanting to make the best impression possible and wanting to prove I didn't care. It didn't make for high productivity, but I managed to get nearly half of it done by mid-afternoon.

  I gave what I'd finished to Lou. He was cautiously pleased, and I was delighted. I often only got a response of 'okay' from him; any serious expression of pleasure, no matter how cautious, meant I was doing a pretty great job. Feeling refreshed by his acknowledgement, I got back to work on the rest of the research.

  At least, I did until he came back ten minutes later. "Kegan wants you to call him. Do you have his number?"

  I shook my head, the energy and happiness draining away in an instant. "Did he say why?"

  "I faxed him the research, so that might be it," Lou said. "Let me know if he needs something else from me, okay?"

  "Will do," I said, and waited until he'd returned to his office before picking up the phone, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in my hand.

  "Hello," he said, his voice somehow darker and richer than it had been in person.

  "Kegan, it's Candi--"

  "I know," he said. "Call display."

  "Oh," I said, and neither of us spoke for a few seconds.

  "Would you go out for dinner with me tonight?"

  "Pardon?"

  "You heard me," he said. "I want to take you out for dinner."

  "Why?"

  "Because we haven't seen each other for ten years?"

  "So?"

  "I want to get to know you again."

  "Why?" I said again, fighting off the urge to say yes, to go out with him and laugh and relax and forget about cancer and car accidents and absent husbands. Even working with Kegan had been more fun than I'd had in a long time, and dinner would be wonderful. Which was precisely why I couldn't go.

  He paused. "I just thought it might be nice. Nice to have someone to talk to. Never mind. Goodbye, Candy."

  And he was gone.

  *****

  Just before five, as I worked half-heartedly on some of the menial tasks that had come my way during the day and tried not to dwell on the possibility I'd offended Kegan, a client, I heard Tigger laugh. Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

  My predecessor had made the computer make that sound whenever email arrived, and I hadn't figured out how to turn it off. Other than the fact that my coworkers echoed the sound every single time, I actually quite liked it, although I would never have admitted that to anyone.

  One new message, from Larissa. She didn't usually email me at work, so I was surprised.

  To: canw@sapphireinteriordesign.com

  From: larissabobissa@hotmail.com

  Subject: What's the deal, orange peel?

  Candice,

  I haven't heard from you since Monday. Are you all right? Are WE all right? You're not mad because I said Kegan was bad for you, are you? You know he is. Did you get your test results or something?

  If I've done something wrong, let me know. If not, I hope you're OK.

  L.

  I felt a sudden flash of anger. We hadn't talked for two days, because I'd been busy and tired, and suddenly she sent me this?

  With incredible speed, though, the anger was replaced by a flood of tears. Shocked, I managed to bite them back before I bawled all over the office. I clenched my teeth until I had myself mostly under control, then fled the office and hurried to the subway station, stopping only to throw on my MP3 player and turn it up until I couldn't hear myself think.

  As I unlocked my front door, I burst into tears. Exploded, really. I couldn't stop. Couldn't catch my breath. My head was spinning and my eyes were burning. Ninja danced around in front of me trying to give me some comfort, but succeeded only in nearly tripping me to the floor. I eventually reached the couch, threw myself down, ripped off the MP3 player, and let go.

  I cried without stopping for two hours. I'd read books where people "cried for hours" and I'd always assumed it was just a phrase, or poetic license. This was real. I cried for two solid hours. A few times I managed to calm myself down to a dull roar, but it didn't last. Ninja head-butting me in sympathy, catching sight of my new bear and thinking of my stiff and awkward parting with Ian at the airport, the thought of what my eyes would look like tomorrow - no matter how small the provocation, I was set off again and the flood began anew.

  When I finally stopped, I felt light-headed, drained, and utterly dehydrated. I gulped down three huge glasses of water, then took my fourth glass into the bathroom, filled the tub with hot water, and climbed in after adding nearly a whole bottle of 'Calm Serenity' bath oil, a concept which seemed rather beyond me but a good idea nonetheless.

  What had just happened? It was like I'd never cried before and it had all come out at once, like I was crying for a million big and small things that had gone wrong in my life. Was this just about Ian? Or my fear of the test results? Or was there more going on?

  I picked up a book from beside the tub, not wanting to think any more. I'd read the novel maybe ten times, so it was easy to lose myself in the story again. When the water went cool, I dried myself and put on my favorite pajamas, a teal blue nightshirt with white polar bears. I decided to check my email before bed; I figured an email from Ian would cheer me up.

  Bad move. After I read Ian's waiting email, short but definitely not sweet, the day went downhill even more. I slammed out a reply and shut down the computer in a rage.

  How dare he?

  To: ianw@buildaid.com

  From: ninjacatrocks@hotmail.com

  Subject: Re: Re: Hallooo out there!

  First, I'm not 'seeing' Kegan. I'm working. What was I supposed to do, tell Lou to let the contract go? And you asked why I didn't tell you abou
t it the first day? I was afraid you'd be just like this.

  Second, you know Lou never lets me do the client contact stuff, at least not after the first little bit.

  Third, get over yourself.

  Oh, and I'm doing fine here by myself, thanks for asking. Oh wait, you didn't.

  Candice

  Thursday, August 4th

  When the alarm went off at six, it took me a second to remember why my eyes were sore and swollen. I dragged myself into the bathroom and splashed water on my face until I felt halfway human, then rubbed myself dry and checked the damage. My eyes did look tired, but nowhere near as bad as they could have been. I still felt awful, though. Crying yourself to sleep will do that.

  Even though I was exhausted, my muscles didn't seem sore from the previous day's workout. Pleased with that, I put on a t-shirt and shorts and packed my work clothes into my backpack, noticing as I did that I was down to my last few pairs of underwear, the ones I only wore when I had to. I threw a load of laundry into the machine on my way out to the gym, leaving the laundry soap on the kitchen counter as we always did to remind us to dry and put away the clothes.

  I started out on a treadmill, but to my surprise found myself wanting to try the elliptical again. The other gym people seemed to really enjoy it, and I wondered what I was missing.

  After a few minutes on the treadmill, an elliptical that was a bit away from the main pack opened up, and I decided to give it a shot. I hopped off my treadmill and hustled over to the machine before someone else could take it.

  At first, I felt sure everyone was watching me, but after a minute or so I was having too much fun to care. Fun at the gym. I'd never thought it was possible. Somehow I was so much more coordinated than I'd been yesterday. I only hit myself in the face once with the poles, and I stayed on for nearly seven minutes before my legs were burning too much to continue.