I trap my bottom lip with my teeth, weighing the option to confess what happened. Now that Dad is home safe, I don’t see a reason to hide the truth anymore. “Well, it is sort of weird, but Oliver jumped on him the other day, and made him fall down the subway. I didn’t want to bother you with the stress while you were trapped out of town. Christian spent a couple of days laid up, and I didn’t want Oliver to get in trouble, so I helped. I think we both realized we got off to a bad start. So, yeah, and so far, it's . . . "
I pause giving Dad time to chime in, but he is quiet, so I say, “Dad, you still there?”
“I’m here.” He huffs into the phone. “Sounds suspicious.”
“It’s not sus. His business is failing since I took all his customers, and like I said, we’re starting over.”
“That’s not how things usually work.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s up to something. Playing a game, or he likes you. I’m going to have to meet him. Do you work tomorrow?”
“Dad,” I rush to cut him off. “You’re always welcome to visit me, but there’s no reason you need to meet him, other than he’s my boss.” My cheeks heat, despite my denial.
“You didn’t answer my question. Do you work tomorrow?”
“I close, so I’ll be there until seven.”
“Then I will, too.”
“Dad—”
“Love you.”
I flash my eyes heavenward and blow out a breath. “Love you, too.” He’d already ended the call. I stuff my phone back into my coat pocket, focusing on my walk with a new smile on my face. What if Dad is right?
twenty-two
Christian
I hike the stairs to Portia’s apartment with frustration over her broken elevator simmering up. I don’t even live in this building, and I’m about to start looking for a new apartment. This is getting ridiculous. I brace my still-tender lower back and slay another flight.
Something is going on with my chest. It started on the drive over here. Adrenaline surged and it’s been hours since my last coffee. Despite my attempts to practice measured breathing, my heart rate won’t slow. Evidently, the stress of the last few days has now given me a heart condition.
I stop on the top landing, supporting my hands above my knees, panting. This must be thelast timeI climb those stairs to Portia’s Rapunzel tower. I adjust my jacket collar to let in some air. It’s supposed to be a nice night for December, staying way above freezing. I hadn’t packed much other than work clothes when I arrived on Long Island. I knew I wouldn’t have space tostore anything, nor did I have plans to do anything but work. Something told me a Coffee Loft apron isn’t appropriate for this event. I managed to find a red-collared shirt at a clothing store down the street, and it only set me back forty-five bucks. I hate spending money on clothes, or rather anything other than my bills, but I did it. I smooth down the front, before resuming my route to Portia’s apartment, knocking firmly on the wood door.
Portia appears, wearing a smokey blue dress that sets off a fire of blue sparkles in her eyes. Now that she is not glaring at me about a missing French press, I find her eyes enjoyable to look into. No words are needed from me. I’m fine, just standing here.
“Hey, you.” Portia’s lips are accentuated by a rosy lip shade, a color she doesn’t wear to the Coffee Loft. She pins on a grin. This isn’t her malicious smile, the one that despises me, or her forced one. This one lingers, setting off another series of sparkles in her eyes, making it feel extra special—like adatesmile.
“Hey.” I prop one hand on the door frame, leaning in. I hadn’t asked her to come for any other reason than to help me network, but with the way she’s looking at me . . . “How’s it going?” I wince as I should say something more charming than that!
“Good.” She passes through the door, locking it behind her, and we set off together back down the stairs.
“I’m getting in great shape from running up and down these stairs,” I say, easing into conversation.
“It’s been an adjustment.” One of her hands slides down the rail while the other secures a petite clutch in front of her. “But actually, I did see guys working on the elevator today. Maybe if everything goes well, I’ll have a functioning elevator before I need a walker.”
“I’m ready to complain for you. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that it’s completed soon.” We round the first landing of stairs and start on the next flight. I’m trying hard not to support myback as I don’t want to look weak in front of her. Actually, it’s a lot better than it was a few days ago. Things are looking up.
Now, if I can meet the right people tonight, maybe even some event coordinators, who can become regular clients for large catering, I can start to get my name out there. That will be perfect.
“You seem to be feeling much better.” She keeps the conversation rolling.
“Yes.” I give a nod. “The first day was the absolute worst, but each day has been better, and now I barely even notice it except for a few random spasms.”
We settle into a comfortable silence as I descend the stairs one stair above her, counting off each flight in my head. When we reach my car, she rushes to open the door for herself. It’s a tad awkward as this isn’t a date, but my mother raised me right, and I prefer to do that for her. I stand back, waiting for her to lift her feet inside the car, and close the door. Then I hop in my side of the car, crank the engine, and pull onto the road.
