I waved her off with a snort. "Not me. My bed is calling. It's been a long week."
"Yeah. I'm not in the mood, either." Linda's tone was flat and unconvincing.
My gaze immediately dropped to her stomach, which looked flat as a pancake. I was astute enough to know that something was off with her. She hadn't had a drop of alcohol the past few times we'd been out, offering instead to be the sober driver, even though her husband usually picked her up.
I knew they were trying to conceive and were forced to go down the IVF route. Could she be...? She hadn't said anythingabout starting the procedure yet, so perhaps it happened naturally. Not that I was going to say anything—even I knew it wasn't smart to ask a woman if she was pregnant, even if she was on her back pushing.
"Where did the girls say they were going?"
"Malley's. The Homestead's closed tonight, apparently. Some sort of private event."
My brow pulled down at that tidbit. Private event? The Homestead was popping on the weekends, so for them to close the whole venue down for a private function was a pretty big deal.
I was then reminded of the last time The Homestead had a venue closure.
Simon and Sofia's engagement party.
Christ, what if it was their wedding reception? A bubble of amusement rose at that thought, and I quickly dismissed the absurdity. The idea of Simon—MrArmani, andGucciloving Simon Dawson—having a wedding at The Homestead was laughable. He would only demand the best for himself and Sofia.
I waited for the inevitable sting of pain and resentment that usually accompanied thoughts of Simon, but the familiar hurt never came.
In fact, it had been a long time since I'd thought of him in that way—or inanyway.
When did my feelings for him change? During therapy, I came to realize and accept that my leftover emotions toward Simon were an unhealthy attachment method, low self-esteem, and constant need for love. But I had still felt an empty sadness whenever I thought of him.
Now, all that was left was regret at the wasted time.
I knew the answer to my question, of course. It was no coincidence that my feelings for Simon started to falter when a certain construction owner with a penchant for mixed signalskept overtaking my thoughts. It wasn't a good sign that I was replacing one unhealthy obsession with another, but at least this time, I recognized the path I had been about to go down.
I tried not to think about Brian, but he was annoyingly stuck in my mind like a piece of gum burrowed into the pavement. I’d left his makeshift office with my head held high and a piece of my mind ringing in his ear, but I still felt sad for what could have been. I’d talked it through with Dr. Anna, who insisted that my feelings were common and praised my ability to set clear boundaries.
Although I knew Brian's feelings for me might have been genuine, and he truly did regret his words and actions at Da Vinci's, it didn't negate the fact that he was still going through his own personal struggles. The old me would've powered through, ignored the red flags, and accepted his flowers and apology. I did accept the latter, but the former had all sorts of strings and mixed messages attached. It would be wrong to entertain his attention. Still, I was allowed to feel a little blue about the whole thing.
Pushing those dreary thoughts aside before they overwhelmed me, I focused on my friend. "You're welcome to take off and join them if you like. I've got it from here."
Linda shook her head as she pocketed her phone. "Uh, no. I'm not drinking right now."
I waited for her to elaborate with another excuse, but she kept quiet, her eyes averted. I didn't need an explanation for someone choosing to remain sober, but the awkward manner in how she delivered the news had me pondering.
"Oh. Well, okay." My gaze again dropped to her stomach. Linda wasn't behaving like a person guarding an exciting secret. Instead, she seemed anxious and pensive. Come to think of it, she’d been very subdued lately and not her usual bubbly self.
When she started sweeping the floor for a third time with fast and jerky movements, I knew I had to bite the bullet and ask. Not that I wasn't concerned about what was bothering Linda; because of course I cared. I just wasn't exactly someone's first choice for deep conversations and sympathy. I’d probably make them feel worse.
"Hey," I said, reaching out to take the broom from her hands. "We're going to find out what the original flooring looks like if you keep sweeping that hard."
She blinked as if coming out of a trance. With a breathy laugh, she wiped her hands down her jeans. "Oh. Right.”
Just as I was about to demand she tell me what was up, Linda suddenly blurted, "Um, I wanted to ask you something."
Relieved that I didn't have to pull the words out of her, I leaned the broom against the wall. "Sure. What's up?"
"I need a week off from the 3rd of next month," she breathed out in a rush.
The silence hovered.
That was it?
Vacation requests were submitted through an online portal and went straight to my emails for approval. Asking me in person was odd.
