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

by Heather Wardell

  I turned back to look at him, and he smiled. "I'm not stupid enough to think I could convince you not to work."

  For a moment I wished he'd tried, but work would be the best distraction so I smiled back. "Let's get to it before my coffee gets cold."

  We did, and for a few hours I lost myself in the intricate code. I wanted to be lost.

  Eventually, he stood up and stretched. "I need a break, my friend. My brains are trying to escape out my ears."

  I looked up. "Revolting image," I said, then added, "my friend," because I liked how he'd said it to me.

  He grinned. "But accurate. Want to quit testing the game and play it for a while?"

  I couldn't deny that I did, and we were soon deep into a mission together. As a way of keeping myself from thinking and feeling it was nearly as effective as work, and I kept pushing us onward, barely giving him time to heal his character before moving on to the next fight.

  At one of our brief stops, he said, "Hang on. Want pizza?"

  I glanced at my computer's clock in surprise. "It's seven o'clock! I've been here all afternoon. Do you want me to get out of your hair?"

  I prayed he'd say no, and relief flooded me when he said, "Definitely not. Pizza?"

  I'd weighed in with Joel the day before and been down a whole pound. Buffer zone. "Yup, but could you—"

  "Get a salad," he finished. "Of course. Want your usual pizza?"

  "Sure," I said, then realized with a sharp pang of something I couldn't identify that Andrew and I had been together enough times to have a "usual".

  He placed the order online while I fiddled around in the game and thought about our relationship. Whatever it was.

  I had acknowledged to Sandra and to Louisa that week, both times through my tears, that I did like Andrew as more than a friend, that those feelings I'd thought had died with Bill were truly reawakened. Sandra had hugged me and cried too, while Louisa had simply smiled, but then they'd both said the same thing: go for it if you're ready.

  But was I? And did he have any interest in me even if I was? What if I made a move on him, assuming I even remembered how to make a move, and he shot me down? He wouldn't be cruel, I knew that, but I couldn't face losing his friendship if my attempt at romance went sour. Not that I could try anything today of all days.

  "It'll be about forty minutes," Andrew said, and I pushed aside my thoughts and turned toward him as he went on. "We could keep playing, but we might be at a bad spot when it arrives. Want to watch TV instead?"

  After I tried to give him cash for the pizza and was refused, we settled onto the couch and he scrolled through his list of saved programs. "CSI, maybe?"

  "Never seen it."

  "Really? You should."

  As we watched, he explained who the characters were and how they related to each other, and I was soon caught up in the action. The episode he chose dealt with an arson that had left three people dead, and we quickly developed different theories on who'd committed the crime.

  He fast-forwarded through the first few commercial breaks, while we debated the arsonist's identity, but he got a text message on his phone just before the next break so set down the remote control to read it and respond.

  The commercial started with a close-up of a strange fragmented white landscape with flashes of every color imaginable. As I squinted at the screen, trying to identify it, the camera pulled back enough to show a huge diamond engagement ring.

  My throat tightened just at the sight of it, but when the voiceover announcer said, "She'll wear it forever, so make sure it's perfect," my heart pounded and a sick weakness flooded me. I'd come here to escape this, and now—

  I found myself on my feet and moving toward the door, and Andrew said, "Rhiannon?"

  Forever. I couldn't speak through the vicious tightness of my throat, so I just shook my head and fumbled with the closet doorknob.

  He was beside me before I managed to get my coat. "What's wrong?"

  I locked my hands into fists, so tight my nails dug into my palms, and pressed one against my mouth, afraid of the emotion rising in me, the uncontrollable anger and pain and desolation.

  "God, Rhiannon, what is it?"

  Andrew put both hands on my shoulders then pulled me into his arms.

  I'd wanted to feel his embrace, but now I could barely breathe never mind enjoy it. I needed him to hold me, though, so I locked my arms around his waist with my fists still clenched and pressed my face to his strong chest.

  I'd seen him fighting, I knew how powerful he was and how much damage he could do, but none of that showed as he held me firmly but gently, one hand cuddling my head against him while his other arm encircled me. "It's okay," he whispered. "I've got you. Was it the show?"

  I shook my head and muttered, "Can't talk yet."

  He drew me closer, stroking my hair again and again. "Whenever you're ready. Is this all right, though?"

  I nodded. More than all right. I could feel his warmth and his strength flowing into me, the sweetness of his embrace and the kindness of his touch melting the awful jagged lump in my throat, and my hands gradually opened and my fingers splayed against his back as we stood silently together.

  A knock at the door made me jump and try to pull away, but he didn't let me go. After a second I made myself say, "You should get that."

  He squeezed me even closer then stepped back, letting his hands again rest on my shoulders. "Will you be okay?" His eyes held confusion mixed with such compassion that my throat tightened again and I could only nod.

  He released me and moved toward the door, and I went back to the couch because I couldn't imagine smiling and making conversation with the pizza guy. I stared at the floor and waited for Andrew to return, afraid he'd say the wrong thing but not wanting to be alone.

  Andrew handed over his cash and said, "Keep the change," then shut the door without acknowledging the man's surprised, "Thank you, sir." Leaving the boxes in the hall, he sat beside me on the couch and put his hand over mine. "Whatever works for you, including nothing, is what I want to do," he said softly, and his grip tightened for a moment then relaxed.

  I looked down at our hands and laid my bare left hand over his. Why had I thought he'd say the wrong thing? He never had. What worked for me? Trying not to talk about this hadn't worked, so I took a deep breath and talked. "On this day last year," I said, my voice sounding scratchy and dead in my ears, "Bill asked me to marry him."

  With his free hand Andrew picked up the remote control and turned off the television, which he'd paused when I fled on the commercial's final shot of a couple completely gaga over the woman's new ring. He then took both my hands in his, eased me to my feet, and wrapped his arms around me again.

  We didn't speak for a long time. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling his silent support somehow easing my pain, until he finally said, "I am so sorry."

  "Thank you," I whispered, both for what he'd said and for all the platitudes and "I know just how you feel" phrases he hadn't said. A year ago I'd been filled with such hope and excitement for my life with Bill, and now I was beginning to have those same feelings for Andrew. How could he know how I felt about that? I didn't even know.

  His arms tightened around me. "I wish I could help."

  "You are. So much."

  "Is there anything else I can do?"

  I snuggled into him. "Don't let go."

  "Not a chance," he murmured.

  I shut my eyes and gave an enormous sigh. "My parents called today. They wanted to make sure I was okay. I was okay, really, until they called, because I was working too hard to think about it. But after their call I couldn't stop thinking and I had to get out of the house. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have used you like this."

  "Hey."

  Surprised by his sharpened tone, I lifted my head to look at him.

  "No apologizing. Anytime, anywhere, you need me, I am there for you. Got that?"

  So sincere, so serious, and so exactly what I needed to hear. Tears filled m
y eyes, but they were sweet rather than agonizing. I nodded and settled back against him. "I got that."

  "Good."

  He held me close again, and I relaxed into his embrace. Now that I'd calmed, I could actually savor it. He was cuddlier than I'd have expected given his muscular build, and he smelled of fabric softener and the faintest hint of cologne. I hadn't even known he wore any. Joel could learn a few things from him. More than a few.

  After a little longer of his silent support, it stopped being silent. His stomach growled.

  I giggled, and he poked himself and said, "Shush in there, would you?"

  "The monster cannot be silenced."

  "But it has one weakness." He paused dramatically. "Pepperoni."

  "Me and the monster, we've got something in common."

  "That makes three of us." His arms tightened around me. "Are you okay for now?"

  "Yeah. Thank you."

  "Remember. Any time."

  "I remember."

  He released me and mock-punched my shoulder. "You'd better. Can I get your pizza?"

  If I needed him serious later, I knew I'd get it. For now, I needed this more, so I punched him back. "You'd better."

  Chapter Eleven

  After we ate our pizza, Andrew and I worked a while longer, though he protested that I should be taking the evening off, then played the game until I was too tired to continue. At his door, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "You'll be okay getting home?"

  I nodded. "Thanks so much. I'm sorry I'm a downer."

  He looked deep into my eyes. "Not even close. Trust me."

  I blushed at his obvious sincerity. "Thank you. Yet again. You're so sweet."

  He blushed too. "Don't tell Jake that, I'd never live it down."

  I smiled up at him. "Secret's safe with me."

  "Good stuff. Give Ruby a hug for me."

  "You'll have to give me one first," I said, then fell over myself apologizing. I did want another hug but what had possessed me to say something like that?

  He cut me off. "You're acting like it's a problem," he said, and opened his arms to me.

  I stepped forward and into his embrace. We held each other a little closer and a little longer than an average hug, then stepped back in unison.

  "Take care, Rhiannon," he said, his voice low and rough.

  "You too," I murmured, and fled before I could throw myself on him again.

  I wasn't without him long, though. Sunday morning he sent a text inviting me to play the game with him, and we spent nearly twelve hours together alternating between work and play and enjoying both. Our hug at the end of the day left me grinning all the way home. On Monday we had lunch together, and then he arranged to meet me for coffee for 'help with a problem' that I knew full well he could solve on his own. It could have seemed like pressure, but I loved being with him and definitely didn't mind that he seemed to feel the same way.

  During that coffee break, he tried to convince me to come to MMA with him that night, saying Jake would be happy to see me, but I simply couldn't afford the time. Without Andrew around I'd have spent the entire weekend working, and while we'd still worked more than our coworkers I felt I'd been slacking and I needed to get caught up.

  "Do you not want to go or you think you shouldn't go?"

  "I do want to," I admitted. "I just think I shouldn't."

  When he couldn't convince me to go, he said, "Well, then do this for me. At home tonight, make a list of all the stuff you've done this year. Every last thing. That'll show you how much you've accomplished." He stood up and pulled me into a hug. "And you can show me at lunch tomorrow."

  I did make the list, since our performance reviews at work were coming up in early January and a list of my accomplishments would be helpful. I left out the staff information database, though, because nobody knew I'd been the one to do it and I didn't want that to change. But everything else was there.

  Before I started writing the list, I knew it would be full of successes. I'd finished a lot of projects ahead of schedule and not a single one had been late, and I had done them all to my high standards. But rereading it didn't change a damned thing for me.

  "You've done even more than I thought you had," Andrew said the next day, perusing my list at lunch in the nearby mall's food court. "And you still don't think you've done well?"

  I shrugged. "It's not bad, I guess, but it never seems good enough."

  "Not bad? I always knew you were smart and a great worker, but this is nuts."

  I laughed. "Always knew. Whatever. We didn't work together at all until October, and before that we spent maybe fifteen minutes talking at that seminar and then we just said hi if our paths crossed at work."

  He looked up from the list. "I knew about you, though. I didn't know who you were, what you looked like, but whenever my team had a tricky problem someone would always suggest asking for your opinion."

  "Really?"

  He nodded.

  I knew I got asked for advice a lot, but I hadn't realized it was being done so deliberately. "Then how come you never asked me? After we met, at least?"

  His neck turned a dusky red. "I let other people do it, even then. Your reputation makes you a bit intimidating, you know. You might have squashed me like a bug."

  "I would not."

  "I know that now, but back then I felt like... like a level two character marching up to ask a level seventy for advice. Why do you think I asked you out over email?"

  He had meant to ask me out? Not a friends-having-coffee situation? Back then the idea of that had terrified me, but now happiness fluttered through me.

  Andrew leaned in, his eyes intense. "Rhiannon, I did always know you were smart. And then I met you and I thought you were—"

  A voice saying, "Hey, there," cut him off as a whiff of far-too-strong and all-too-familiar cologne hit me.

  Guilt and horror sweeping me like I'd been caught doing something dreadful, I looked up to see my diet counselor looking down at me and my food. "Joel. Hi. Just having lunch."

  "I see that." He swept his eyes over my meal: a dressing-free green salad topped with chicken breast, a small carton of skim milk, and the square of chocolate Andrew had insisted on sharing with me from the bar he'd bought for himself. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow night."

  I managed a weak goodbye and he left.

  "Nice guy." Andrew's tone was cool. "Works at a cheap cologne factory, I assume. Friend of yours?"

  I shook my head, looking down at my lunch, now somehow tainted by Joel's gaze.

  "Boyfriend of yours?"

  "No!" I raised my head. "Not even close."

  A hint of relief flickered in his eyes and it sent shimmering warmth through me. "No, he's... he doesn't matter. What were we talking about?"

  Andrew shook his head. "I don't remember."

  I did. He'd been about to say what he thought about me when we met. But his whole demeanor had changed, and I felt sure he did remember and didn't want to tell me any more, so I didn't remind him and we sat in a stiff silence.

  I forced myself to finish my chicken though my throat didn't want to let it through, because I'd already mentally added its calories to my day's total and without it I'd end up low for the day, then sat staring at the chocolate square.

  Andrew fiddled with his remaining fries, eating a little but mostly examining and discarding them, then said, "We should go."

  He sounded so cold and distant, and it hurt. "Wait. I..."

  I didn't know how to tell him. It was stupid to care: the guy had eyes, so he knew I was fat and probably wouldn't be surprised I was on a diet. But I still didn't want to spell it out for him. Embarrassing to discuss it.

  "You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

  The sadness in his voice made the words fall from me. "He's my diet counselor."

  Andrew leaned back in his chair. "Your what?"

  I briefly explained the WeightAway system, finishing with "so I didn't want him to see me eating too m
uch and then gaining even more weight."

  Frowning, Andrew studied the remnants of my lunch. "I don't know where to start here."

  "What do you mean?"

  "First off, that's barely enough food to keep an ant alive, let alone you."

  "The fat doesn't need food, just the rest of me does," I said, echoing Joel's explanation for why I could survive on fourteen hundred calories a day.

  "That makes even less sense. Every part of your body needs food. And you're talking like you're obese."

  "Officially, I am. According to the weight charts."

  "Rhiannon, I say this with all respect. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

  "Really? You should get out more."

  He gave me a "stop screwing around" look. "I mean it. If the charts say you're obese, then those charts were written by morons. That Joel guy wrote them. Although, wait, I doubt he's smart enough to write."

  "He writes up my bill every week. He's at least smart enough for that."

  Andrew shook his head. "So you go there every week to have him say you weigh too much. And you pay for this?"

  "I mostly pay for the food. Nearly all of my meals come pre-packaged from them."

  "But this one didn't."

  I nodded. "So I have to add up its calories and track them so I know if I've gone over."

  He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled something at the bottom of my accomplishment list, then pushed the list to me.

  "Maintained insane focus to lose weight she doesn't need to lose in the first place."

  My cheeks went hot. "I do need to lose it, but thank you. That's nice of you."

  He took the list back and added another item.

  "Manages to live normal life despite fact she is apparently secretly blind, or at least unable to see self in mirror."

  I closed my eyes and reached my hands out as if feeling around for a light switch. "I don't need to see to know I'm fat."

  He took my hands, startling me into opening my eyes. "I think you're gorgeous. Have since the day we met."

  Tears prickled behind my eyes and my throat tightened, both at his words and at his expression, a mix of embarrassment and sincerity. It was so obvious he meant it that I couldn't protest as I might have. Instead, I blinked back the tears and whispered, "Thank you."