Page 63 of Hating the Boss

“I-I don’t know. A gala? That sounds fancy…I don’t know what fork to use for what dish. Or what to talk about.”

The excuses kept coming and I found them all endearing.

“Plus, I don’t have anything to wear to something like that…”

I grinned at her.

That was something I could help her with.

“I will make sure you have everything you need.”

Chapter 25 Sarah

“You’re home early,” called Jessica as I tossed my keys on the small entryway table and plopped my black purse next to it.

Sounds came from the kitchen, and the air smelled of melted cheese and butter. She was making her famous grilled cheese. My stomach grumbled at the smell. My heart lurched at the memories of her making them when she was younger. They were the one thing she could do that was simple enough and didn’t take that much time, giving her that little bit of independence when she was at her weakest. She had spent her time perfecting them.

I glanced at the clock above the door to see that it was, in fact, just shortly after 5:30 p.m. It was the fifth night this week that I had come home at a reasonable hour. There had been no more late nights at the office keeping me after hours.

Something had changed since Brad and I went to breakfast and spent the rest of the morning at the park. We hadn’t officially called it a date, but that was what it felt like. Getting to know each other over a delicious meal and walking in the park, arm in arm. It was everything I had let myself imagine it to be in the past few weeks, but it also scared me. The feelings that I had been trying so hard to deny, were now front and center.

Since then, the days we had spent together in the office were kept professional, with me focusing on my secretarial work and the occasional display of PDA to keep the watchful eyes of the office convinced. We no longer bickered. Instead, a peaceful comfortability sat between us. It was enough to keep me from spiraling on why he didn’t make a move on me once everyone had gone home. Things were good between us. Really good.

The walls we both held up had come crumbling down that morning in the park, leaving us both vulnerable. It had brought us closer. I saw a new side of him, and he learned about my “tragic little past” as my ex had liked to put it. He really listened, and instead of feeling sorry for me as most did, he saw me, encouraging me to take the pain and fuel me. Enough time had passed for me to believe it might be possible.

Maybe.

“Yeah, it’s slowed down a bit,” I said as I walked into our small kitchen, my assumptions about tonight’s dinner correct when I spotted the golden brown bread sizzling in the pan.

“That’s good,” said Jessica. “Right?”

She must have noticed the small frown on my face.

Was it good? Less time with Brad didn’t necessarily feel good, though the time I did have with him made me feel full.

“Of course,” I said. “It means more time with you.” I put my arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. She stuck her tongue out in protest and reached for a nearby spatula on the counter. Expertly flipping the sandwich in the pan, she grinned at me, pleased with herself.

“I’ll get started on the soup,” I said, turning to rummage through the pantry for a can of organic tomato soup.

“Make it two!” said Jessica. “Brittany is coming over, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” I said, remembering we had pushed our “girls’ night” to tonight. I could really use it right now, with the gala just a day away and my feelings scrambled. I grabbed a second can of soup and carried it over to the stove top. Jessica had already pulled a pot from a lower cabinet and placed it on the stove.

Ever since her motorized wheelchair had come in, she was moving faster. I could see the happiness radiate off her with her increased mobility. She had a new zest for life. It was all because of this job. Because of Brad.

When it arrived, she couldn’t believe it. We had never thought it could fit in our budget, and after many arguments with insurance we had given up on it. But now, Jessica moved expertly around the kitchen and I felt nothing but pride.

There was a knock at the door just then.

“I’ll get it!” she said gleefully, pressing a button on her chair and weaving around me toward the front door. I laughed after her and began pouring the tomato soup into the pot on the stove, a flame flickering underneath it.

“Oh, my gosh! Your famous grilled cheese!” exclaimed Brittany as she walked through the door. She entered the kitchen excitedly, and plucked a half a sandwich from the plate on the counter. I swatted her hand away.

“Wait for the soup!” I said, pointing a tomato-drenched spoon at her.

She rolled her eyes and dropped the sandwich back down.

“I’m hungry,” she said with a pout. “The boutique was crazy today! I have never sold so many dresses in my life.”