by Lydia Reeves
An awkward pause followed this, and I worried for a second that he’d taken me seriously and I may have hurt his feelings. Claire sometimes told me my humor was too blunt.
But a second later he replied, “I’ll admit I don’t know you that well, but I think I’m getting the hang of your sarcastic streak. You’d better be joking or I’m going to need to hang up and go die of shame.”
I grinned, and when I spoke, I could hear the smile in my own voice. “I miss you too. Come back. My bed looks so empty without you.”
“Don’t tempt me. Your bed is much more comfortable than mine anyway.”
“All the more reason you should come back,” I said. “I’ll call in sick tomorrow. I’ll call in sick forever and we can just live in sin.”
“Until we end up homeless and freeze to death together on the streets.”
“At least we’d be together.”
He chuckled. “When do you get off work tomorrow?”
“Seven. I’ll be useless though; it’s a twelve-hour shift.”
“Let me bring dinner over and we can be useless together.”
“Deal.”
There was a long pause.
“This is too fast, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. Then, “Do you want to slow down?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
After that, the days began to run together in a kind of blissful fog. Claire had indeed noticed that my car had never made it home on Saturday night, but I managed to sidetrack her with questions about Jeremy, who, it seemed, had finally suggested he might like to paint her at some point. Unfortunately, she’d lost his attention when his ex-wife had arrived with his six-year-old son in tow, but Claire thought there had definitely been something there between them.
I returned home that night exhausted and filthy and sweaty, as I ended most work days, and fell into Geoff’s arms. It took me longer than necessary to shower, despite his assistance—maybe because of his assistance—but eventually we found our way onto the couch together. Our bowls were filled to their brims with chili he’d cooked after work—it turned out he could cook, just preferred not to—and we swapped stories about our days. He’d even brought me one of the pastries he’d made that morning for Sam’s store—something with a totally unpronounceable name that seemed to consist mostly of thin flaky layers of pastry sandwiched with cream. It was indescribably good. He watched me eat with hooded eyes, tensing every time I licked my lips or moaned in delight, until finally he just took the plate away and took me to bed, rubbing the soreness of the day out of my muscles until his touch became too much to take, and I climbed on top of him to demonstrate I wasn’t as tired as all that.
Our days fell into a kind of pleasant routine. The weather outside grew colder and work was…well, the challenge that work always was, but at the end of every day somehow I still had Geoff, and I found that nothing else really seemed to matter all that much.
* * *
“Good news, Mrs. Burris, the X-rays show it’s just a bad sprain, not a fracture. I’m going to wrap your ankle for now, and you’ll need to try to stay off it as much as you can for the next couple of days, but it’ll heal up on its own.”
Mrs. Burris, a somewhat uptight-looking woman in her mid-sixties who had glared disapprovingly at my tattoos as they wheeled her in, gripped my hand in relief at this news. “Oh, thank you so much dear. I don’t have the time to deal with a broken ankle.”
I smiled and handed her the discharge papers. “Well, all the info you’ll need to take care of it is in here. I’ll go over it with you, and then you can call your primary physician with any questions and to follow up in a few weeks.”
She took the papers and flipped through them as I wound the bandage securely around her ankle.
“Oh, and Mrs. Burris, please try to have a spotter if you’re going up on ladders. It really could have been so much worse.”
“I will, dear,” she said dismissively, patting my hand. Then she looked at me sadly. “Such a pretty girl. Why you would ruin your skin like that, I’ll never know.”
“You’re good to go, Mrs. Burris,” I said, working to keep my face pleasant. “Have a nice afternoon.”
Back at the nurses station, Claire was holding a flyer, printed on thick, pale yellow paper.
“What’s that?”
“Annual fundraiser,” she said, handing the paper to me as I came behind the desk. “They’re combining it with a holiday party this year though, so maybe it’ll be fun.”
I snorted at the thought, but took the flyer from her anyway. Claire had already warned me that the fundraiser would be coming up. According to her, they were always dreadfully dry and boring affairs, full of people with too much money and sky-high opinions of themselves, schmoozing with hospital executives who were all far too similar to the donors they were attempting to woo. But apparently, they strongly encouraged whatever staff wasn’t working to attend, so it didn’t look like we had a choice.
I skimmed the flyer, phrases jumping out at me. “Black tie.” “Silent auction, all proceeds to benefit the hospital foundation.” “Hors d’oeuvres and light appetizers provided.”
And just like that, I had an idea.
* * *
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s a wonderful idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea. Baking for the entire hospital foundation and staff and donors…not to mention my dad? Nothing about that sounds even remotely like a good idea.”
We were lying in bed at Geoff’s apartment, one of the few times we’d come to his place instead of mine—it was true, my bed was more comfortable than his. I was snuggled in his arms, and he was looking at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Has your dad ever actually eaten anything you’ve baked?” I asked, pushing up to sit against the headboard.
“No. And it’s so much better that way.”
“How is it better that way? If he knew how good you were, surely he would understand—”
Geoff cut me off. “Understanding isn’t exactly something he excels at.”
I glared at him. “You know what I mean. Besides, this has nothing to do with your dad.”
“It doesn’t?” He raised a cynical eyebrow.
“No,” I informed him. “Don’t you remember how you felt when Sam’s party was a success?”
He hesitated, and I sat up straight, ready to make this argument in earnest. “I’ve seen the way you look when you bake, Geoff. I see the way you watch people in the cafe when they eat your food, the way you watch me. You don’t just love baking. You love baking for other people.”
He looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I—” But he broke off and I didn’t let him finish.
“You keep telling me you’re thinking about law school, but you can’t, Geoff. You can’t do something you’ll hate just because it’ll please your dad. Hell, it probably won’t even please him. He probably wouldn’t be satisfied if you were a doctor, the chief of surgery even. You should do this, Geoff. You know you can, you proved that at Sam’s open house. You should do it for yourself.”
“This would be way bigger than the open house,” he protested weakly. “You can’t compare them.”
I could see he was starting to waver, and I decided the wisest move was to back off, at least for now.
I leaned in close, brushing my lips over his. “Just think about it, okay? It would be a huge opportunity.” I bit lightly on his lower lip, then sucked on it gently. “Just think about it?”
He gave me a look, suggesting that he knew exactly what I was up to, but he let me get away with it anyway. “I’ll think about it,” he promised, then kissed me back.
Chapter 8
GEOFF
They were all conspiring against me. Bria had been careful not to bring up the fundraiser again since our talk two days before, but when I received a surprise phone call that morning from the hospital
Foundation, I knew she’d still been busy, if not direct. And when Sam cornered me at the bookstore that afternoon, it seemed like the whole world was working against me.
“So…I heard something about a catering job you were considering.” He was stacking books on an endcap near the cafe, carefully busying himself with his work and not meeting my eyes as he tossed out his comment in the most nonchalant manner.
I snorted out loud. “Very smooth, Sam. So, I’m considering it now, am I?”
He dropped the pretense and looked at me directly. “Are you?”
I paused. I mean, no, obviously I wasn’t going to do it. Why would I set myself up for failure? But in the privacy of my own imagination, I had to admit I’d thought about what I might make. The chocolate mousse again, definitely—that had been a big hit. Probably an array of macarons, maybe some eclairs? Would it be too messy to make single serving trifles? I’d already built mental supply lists, tallied costs, thought about things like timing and fridge space.
But those mental exercises, while fun, were unrealistic. I’d done the open house because Sam was a friend, and my boss. It had been a favor, and a success, but it was only a matter of time now before I would need to get serious, and figure out what to do with my life. Bria had been right; I would be a terrible lawyer. But that wasn’t the only option. Besides, maybe I’d been too hasty to dismiss med school.
“Geoff?” Sam prodded, and I realized I’d been silent a little too long.
“No,” I told him, turning to organize the bags of coffee. “I’m not.”
Rather than be put off, Sam came over and laid his hands flat on the counter, leaning toward me. I scowled at him and reached for the cleaning spray. “Why not?” he asked bluntly.
The cafe was deserted, the store quiet. Why were there never any customers around when I needed them?
I sighed. “I did the open house, didn’t I? Why do I need to prove myself again?”
Sam frowned. “It’s not about proving yourself. No one doubts your abilities. We want you to do it because you want to.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I do, do I? Is that why I keep saying no?”
He paused, narrowing his eyes at me. “How many people are they expecting at this event?”
“They’ve sold about two hundred and fifty tickets so far, so with the hospital staff, probably around four, maybe five hundred total. It’s a pretty big fundraiser; it brings in people from some of the surrounding towns that don’t have their own hospitals.”
He leveled his gaze on me. “And how do you know all that?”
I felt the flush creep up from my shirt collar and spread across my face.
“You’ve talked to them about it,” he stated.
“Bria had one of the Foundation members call me,” I confirmed, frowning as I wiped down the counters. “When I brought it up, she got defensive, and we haven’t talked about it since.” Yet another reason not to do the event; I didn’t need it adding stress to my relationship as well as to my life.
Sam heaved a sigh, moving his hands out of my way. “Look, man, I’m not trying to trap you or back you into a corner. If you want me to drop it, I will. But tell me honestly, do you really not want to do it?”
I let the dishcloth fall from my fingers and sagged against the counter. It felt like all the breath was draining out of my body. Sam came around to the other side of the counter and leaned next to me. I kept my gaze on the floor so I wouldn’t have to look at him.
“Of course I do,” I said quietly. “The lady at the Foundation says she needs an answer from me by the weekend. I already know how much it’ll cost, and mostly what I’d make. I just…”
“Just what?” he prodded, and I looked up.
“Jesus, Sam. No one goes against my dad’s wishes. Ever. Even my mom does what he tells her. I’ve spent my entire life trying to make him proud of me. How can I flaunt this in his face? It’s one thing if I cater your open house, or a wedding, or even if I opened a bakery. But to come to where he works, at their biggest event of the year, and throw my failure in his face? I just…how could I possibly do that to him?”
Sam slouched down to sit on the floor, his back against the counter, and was quiet for a moment. I slid down next to him, waiting for him to speak. “You really think he would see this as you flaunting it in his face? You don’t think he’d see how much of a success it was? How the hospital Foundation agreed to work with you at such a huge event even though you’re relatively unknown and untested?”
I shook my head, then leaned it back against the counter. “He wouldn’t see it that way. He takes my working here as a personal affront. He thinks I’m wasting my life baking and serving coffee.”
“Do you see it that way?” He sounded genuinely curious.
I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I love what I do, so I don’t regret it, but sure, sometimes I think he’s right. I should be doing more.”
“Don’t you think catering the event would qualify as doing more?” he asked.
“Not to him.”
“What about to you?” Sam’s face was serious as he looked at me. “Maybe you should consider that it’s not about him. It’s your life, and your choice to pursue something you love. And if it’s bothering you that you’re not taking risks and moving up, then maybe this is the opportunity you’re looking for. And whether or not your dad will be there, or what he’ll think, shouldn’t factor into it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but a voice came from the other side of the counter.
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know why there’s no one over here. Geoff must have—oh! There you two are.”
Marian’s face appeared over the counter, upside-down in my view, next to a confused looking older gentleman.
Sam rose to his feet, then offered me a hand, hauling me up beside him. “Sorry, sir,” he said smoothly. “Just having a staff meeting. What can we get you?”
Marian shot us a bemused look. “I’ve got it. You guys can go talk in the office if you want to. It’s probably more comfortable than the floor.”
Sam shook his head. “I think I’ve probably said all I can. But Geoff,” he said, pulling me to the side as Marian ducked behind the counter and started taking the man’s order. “Don’t be too upset with Bria about this. She really cares about you, but I think she’s afraid that since you two are so new, you might not listen to her.”
I sighed, thinking about how I’d blown her off the same way I’d tried to blow off Sam. How would I have reacted if she’d made the same arguments he had? He was right, I probably wouldn’t have listened to her.
“I really like her,” I told him.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned. “She really likes you, too. Now get back to work before I fire you.”
* * *
Bria didn’t bring it up again, and neither did Sam, but his words kept echoing in my head. My dad’s opinions aside, did I feel stuck in my job? Maybe I did.
When Friday finally rolled around and I had looked at the dilemma from every possible angle, argued myself to death, and changed my mind a hundred times, I finally gave up and delivered my problems into the hands of fate. Then I called the Foundation.
Chapter 9
BRIA
Geoff was manic, and I’d been giving him space. I didn’t know what Sam had said to him, but whatever it had been, the magic words had worked, and Geoff had signed a contract with the hospital Foundation. In the intervening weeks he’d been wound more and more tight, and now, with the fundraiser only one day away, he’d been spending so much time at the kitchen co-op I wasn’t even sure he was sleeping.
I was elated that he had taken the job, and would be catering his desserts at the fundraiser, but I wouldn’t deny a small part of me was looking forward to things going back to normal in a couple of days. That amount of stress couldn’t be healthy. Also, while Geoff seemed to want to talk about the job, running through lists and baking desserts for me to taste test, I found myself hesitant t
o ask questions for fear he would snap at me. Geoff was an easy-going guy by nature, but this had him on-edge, and he didn’t seem to have an outlet for the pressure.
These thoughts were turning over in my head as I headed into the hospital to start my shift on Thursday morning. I assumed he would be at the kitchen until all hours of the night and I probably wouldn’t even see him until the fundraiser. I missed the easy routine we’d fallen into, meeting in the evenings after work to eat together, share our days and relax.
Fortunately, it was a busy day at work, patient after patient, and it helped to keep my mind busy so I didn’t spend my long shift worrying about Geoff. Just another day and it would all be over, and I could have back the gentle, laid-back man I’d been so quickly falling in love with.
I only hoped everything would go smoothly for him over the course of the next day. Unfortunately, in all my worry for Geoff, it didn’t occur to me to hope things went smoothly for me as well.
Thankfully, disaster waited at least until the very end of my shift to strike. It took the form of a uniformed police officer in his mid-fifties with thick-rimmed glasses and an unreadable expression. I was standing at the nurses station with Claire, who was just coming on shift, and Dr. Asshole had just finished with a patient and was typing on the computer. I wondered idly if he had any idea his son was catering the fundraiser. I wasn’t sure how often Geoff even talked to his father; he so carefully tried to avoid talking about the man. Come to think of it, I was pretty sure Dr. Ashvale didn’t even know I was dating his son. I certainly hadn’t brought it up.
The officer approached the desk and looked between the three of us.
“Are any of you familiar with a man by the name of Philip Templeton? Late sixties, in a wheelchair?”