ChapterNine
SKYE
It’s been a few days since I last saw Seth. Time enough for me to research the heck out of P.T.S.D. While not a registered shrink, there are things I can apparently do to help.
As I tidy up after getting a final tray of apple pies into the oven, my mind is a muddled mess as to how the afternoon will play out. While we’re on civil terms, I don’t have a clue how he’ll react to my turning up out of the blue.
I’m wondering how much time I’ve got before I have to leave when it’s as if the bakery lights have been turned off. A look through the glass panel in the back door has me cussing quietly.
I honestly thought I had more time than this. After grabbing one of the cellophane-topped boxes we use for special orders, I waste no time folding it. My mom always says the way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach.
And while my apple pies are good, it’s my cherry pies that will guarantee the fastest route. They always help me when I’m stressed. I collect half a dozen of them, before helping myself to a seventh; purely medicinal, of course.
As the sugar floods my system, it goes some way toward calming my nerves. I’ve never been proactive about anything in my life, other than my business, that is.
This is uncharted territory for me on so many levels, and thoughts of what might happen have my heart thundering. Then another idea pops up, resulting in blood pumping through bits of me that aren’t discussed in polite company.
“Paddy, I’m heading off for the day. Are you okay to take the final tray of pies out of the oven and lock up?”
So unusual is this request that my off-sider stares at me open-mouthed, before assuring me he’s more than capable of locking up. On seeing he’s about to ask why, I hold my hand up before closing the lid on my box of cherry pies.
My nerves are such, that I don’t have a hope of explaining why I’m acting out of character. I’m so nervous, I risk telling him a lot more than I want to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Color heats my cheeks before I stutter out, “I, ah, might be, ah, little late.”
I don’t wait to see his reaction to this bombshell, and I’m out the back door before he has a chance. Despite Paddy having worked for me over three years, I do not want to discuss my fledgling love life with him. I’m not sure I want to discuss it with myself.
Outside, I open the passenger door of my mom’s car. I’m stuck with it until I sort my insurance claim out, with the company looking at me sideways after I’d listed the damage. In the meantime, it’s her beige sedan or catching Ubers and I’d had enough from that soccer mom on Tuesday.
Pulling into the parking spot out front at Seth’s place, I squint so I can see through one of the head-high skinny windows in that enormous roller door. Great, his truck’s here. He’s home for the evening.
The threatening sky tells me why he’s not out and about tonight. I won’t have been the only one checking the weather forecast.
Now comes the tricky part. After grabbing the box of pies off the passenger seat, I clamber out and put it on top of the car while I lock up. Soon after I’m at the bottom of the stairs, ready to do one of the scariest things ever.
SETH
I’m starring at the bottle of bourbon on my coffee table, and the empty glass next to it, when there’s a knock at the door. I’m about to yell out that I don’t want any, when something occurs to me.
Surely she wouldn’t be crazy enough to visit me with a thunderstorm threatening? Especially with the weather report saying it’ll be a big one and her knowing how loud noises affect me.
The last thing I need is company, with tonight all about self-medication and a weighted blanket.
Jeez, what woman would be interested in a man whose Friday night featured those two?
There’s another knock, this one louder than the last. Damn it, she’s not leaving me to it. I can’t make up my mind if I’m happy about this, or not.
One thing is for sure though; I’ll have to answer the door.
Sure enough when I swing it wide, Skye stands there surprising me on several levels.
First off is that she’s holding a box of cherry pies, with their glistening filling visible through the cellophane top of the box.
The next thing I notice is that Skye is a mess. Her gorgeous hair is hidden under a battered paper hat, and there are smudges of flour on her face.
And yet, despite all this, she still does it for me.
Unable to speak, I stand to one side and gesture for her to enter. She’s doing so when, out of nowhere, the rain arrives, hammering the windows of my apartment. I’m wondering how long I’ve got before the thunder hits town when it does, with a vengeance.
