The cool voice startled her so much that she froze midstep, forcing the man walking behind her to veer sharply. His briefcase clipped her on the way by, and she sucked in a gasp at the stinging pain. “Mom. I didn’t—”
“So you need photos taken?” Josie’s mother never had time for pleasantries, not even with her only child.
“I-I do, yes.” Josie gripped the phone with one hand, cradled her bumped elbow with the other, and tried to ignore the pathetic swell of happiness that enveloped her to be hearing from her mother after so many months of silence. “It’s for—”
“I got your message. A bakery website you’re launching. I’m in town early next month, so I could squeeze you in on the weekend. Maybe a Sunday.”
“That would be great. Thank you. How’ve you be—”
“I need to run, but text me the location.”
With a click, nationally renowned photographer Pamela Ryan ended the call, leaving her daughter with a throbbing elbow and a blank phone screen. She stared down at it as if it would flare to life with a follow-up message.I love you. I can’t wait to see you. Sorry I suck so much as a mother. Sorry I turned my daughter into a bottomless hole of neediness, willing to accept any scrap of affection that lands like soft rain on her parched heart, forever chasing relationships with unworthy men, doomed to be alone forever, yearning for a connection that never comes.Hell, she’d even accept a winky emoji.
When her phone buzzed again, she almost fumbled it out of her hands, and this time she checked the caller ID before answering. “Man Bun. Calling me for a change. Wow.” The same joke but delivered in such a subdued tone that Erik paused before speaking.
“Uh. Everything okay?”
Well, shit, the man with no emotions was alarmed by her existential despair. She must be in a bad way. She pursed her lips and exhaled on a slow five count, reaching inside herself for the fire she’d learned to nurture and feed as a child. “Good. It’s all good. What’s up?” There, she sounded more like her perky ol’ self.
“Just checking in. You worked out the transportation?”
“Yep. It’s handled.” This was her zone. She launched into motion again, rejoining the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk as she filled him in on the details she’d arranged. “I asked my friend with a Jeep if we could borrow it for the open house. We should be able to load up all the containers in the back. You’re all set there?”
His answering grunt sounded affirmative, so she assumed he’d acquired the containers and other serving supplies he’d need.
“I was thinking I’d be at your place around eleven on Saturday. The open house runs from two to five, so that should give us plenty of time to get things loaded and set up at the store.”
“You’re going to help?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not useless.”Snippy, Josie. Don’t take your bad day out on the innocent man.
“Didn’t say you were,” he replied levelly. “I appreciate it.”
Of course he wasn’t saying that, and of course he was appreciative. He had good manners when he actually chose to speak to people, and she was a touchy bitch. Regardless, time to change the subject. “I found you a photographer. My mom. I’ve set it up so she’ll do the photo shoot at your place when she’s in town in a few weeks.”
That prompted a trace of surprise from him. “Your mom’s a photographer?”
“A good one. Look her up: Pam Ryan.” Pride mixed with bitterness in her mouth as she said it.
“Cool. Oh, did you talk with Lily about the centerpiece-arrangement idea I had for Richard and Byron?”
She reached her train stop and climbed the steps to the platform, stepping around a cluster of men in jeans and work boots, presumably headed home for the day. Lucky bastards. She had a corporate dinner to swing by to see for herself that the room had been arranged to the company’s directions.
“Yeah, I did. She loved the feather idea. I’ll run it by the boys next.”
The testosterone-y group all climbed onto the red line as it slowed to a stop, leaving her alone on the platform.
She dropped onto a bench and flexed her feet in their pointy heels. “I love that you’re better at this wedding stuff than I am.” A grunt was Erik’s only answer, and she had to laugh. “At least we know you’re not better at this talking stuff than I am.”
“Yeah, you’re the talking champ.” She heard a soft noise that could almost be a chuckle, then he ended the call with “See you Saturday.”
When her train arrived, she was still thinking about that small sound, wondering if that really was a twinge of affection she’d heard or if she had only imagined it.
Eleven
“We’re here!”
Josie’s bright voice crackled over Erik’s ancient apartment intercom as he was snapping a shot of the bounty he’d assembled for the Fielder open house that afternoon.
