For Fox Sake

Chapter 13

Ryan

I bite my lip and glance down at the heels I slipped on at the last minute to add some glitz to the rest of the outfit. They’re just black strappy heels with a smidge of sparkle, but I haven’t worn them in years. Haven’t had a reason.

“Is it too much?” I put on mascara for crying out loud. I had to dig into my bathroom drawer and find it, and I was lucky it wasn’t completely dried out.

Now I’m reconsidering everything. As I was getting dressed, it wasn’t enough, and now I’m thinking it’s too much, although we’re well matched since he’s also wearing dark jeans and a dark gray button-up shirt that’s nice without being overly done.

Jake hasn’t made a peep. His hair is damp and brushed back from his face. He swallows. “Not too much. Amazing.” His eyes are warm with appreciation.

Everything inside me melts.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jake grins, the brightness driving out any lingering doubts I had about this whole thing.

I lock the door and follow him to his truck.

Flutters spread from my stomach to my limbs, my whole body warming with an awareness I haven’t experienced in years. Maybe a decade. I don’t even remember the early days with Shane anymore, the whole relationship tainted by the end of it.

The feelings for Jake snuck up on me. He’s been eating with us every night this week, bringing over pizza, being wonderful with Ari and solicitous and kind and all things amazing, but he hasn’t made any moves. Not since the other night when he asked me to dinner, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t want to.

He opens the passenger door and helps me climb in, his warm fingers surrounding mine for a couple of seconds, and just that fleeting moment sends heat racing up my arm, nerve endings flaming.

I shift in the bench seat. “Where are we going?”

“InDullgent Bistro.”

“Oh, nice. I’ve heard it’s good.”

“You haven’t been?” He flicks the blinker on, checking the blind spot before switching lanes.

“I don’t generally eat in places without built-in play areas.”

He flashes a quick smile in my direction. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

I dip my head, rubbing a worn spot on the strap of my purse. “I did go on a lunch date a couple weeks ago. It was... not great.”

“What happened?”

I tap a finger on my chin. “Let’s see, he chewed with his mouth open, spit while he talked, made sexist comments about the waitress, and showed up that same night at my place—to return my wallet, which I had accidentally left at the restaurant—and tried to invite himself inside. Until he spotted Ari and ran for the hills.”

“Ooh. Yeah, I saw him.”

My eyes widen. “You saw him?”

“That was my first night here. I heard the car door slam and looked out the window.” He winces. “Maybe I should have looked away. I didn’t hear anything, but you looked kinda uncomfortable, so I kept an eye out.”

“Ah. Well.” I shrug. “Thanks.”

“The guy sounds like a total dickhead.”

I chuckle. “That’s what Bernie said, except using the word dick at least a dozen more times.”

He turns into the parking lot. “Well, I promise to chew with my mouth closed, make a valiant attempt not to drool in front of you, and I’ll only make sexist comments when I think you aren’t listening.”

I laugh. “Perfect.”

He parks his truck, turning it off and then pointing at me. “Don’t move.”

I lift my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He jogs around to my door and takes my hand again to help me down.

This time he doesn’t let go, his fingers weaving through mine as we walk toward the restaurant. My stomach dips, my skin tingling from the contact.

InDullgent Bistro doesn’t look like much from the outside, situated at the end of a strip mall, next to a tax preparer office and pet groomer, but it is the nicest and newest restaurant in town.

Inside though, it’s easy to forget the shoddy exterior. Large, plush booths line the periphery of the dining area. The wooden tables are polished to a subtle sheen and set with linen napkins and shiny silverware.

We follow the host around the well-worn dance floor and to our table. Laughter and quiet conversations fill the space. Jake’s fingers are a light pressure on the small of my back as we weave through the building.

Once we’re seated and we’ve put in our drink orders—tea for me and soda for him—I have no idea what to say. My mind blanks. My heart is beating too loud in my ears. How do people do this with people they actually like? What if I open my mouth and say something stupid? More stupid than the past times I’ve opened my mouth and wordgitated all over him. A fake flickering candle sits on the table between us. I stare at it and fidget with the menu.

Jake reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “Did I ever tell you about how I got into cross-stitch?”

A surprised laugh gurgles out. “Cross-stitch?”

“It’s kind of a funny story.”

He launches into it, telling me how Archer—his sister’s boyfriend—was hell-bent on finding activities to distract him from wanting to drink and forced him into anything and everything he could think of, from bowling to fishing... to cross-stitch. Which was supposed to be CrossFit, but something got lost in translation.

While we’re talking, the waiter comes over to read us the specials and takes our orders.

When he leaves, Jake leans back in the seat, considering me. “We’ve talked so much about our crappy pasts, I haven’t heard enough about all the other things.”

“What other things?” My life has been entwined with tragedy. It’s like wading through a thick swamp, trying to dig for the good that’s been buried under the weight of the sad.

“Like, what’s your favorite color?” he asks.

I consider the question for a second. “Black.”

He blinks. “Black? Seriously? That’s not even a color.”

“Uh, it’s technically all of the colors.”

He shakes his head. “It’s depressing. I said non-crappy things.”

My mouth pops open. “Are you calling my favorite color crappy?”

“Again, not a color.”

I scowl at him. “It is too a color, and it goes with everything. What’s your favorite color?”

His eyes search mine. “I used to think it was green, but now I think it might be blue.”

I bite back a smile. I have blue eyes.

It’s so cheesy. If anyone else threw out that line, I would roll my eyes or make a sarcastic comment, but when Jake says it... it’s real. I can’t explain it, it’s just different.

He drums his fingers on the table, getting back to business. “Next question. What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?”

I give him the first memory that pops to mind. “Last year on my birthday, Ari brought me breakfast in bed. Since her culinary skills were that of a five-year-old, I ended up with a glass of milk, a granola bar, and a banana. And she spilled half the milk all over the counter.” I chuckle. “She also gave me a report card.”

“And how did you rate?”

“Straight As, of course.”

He grins. “Of course.”

I straighten in my seat. “Okay, what about you?”

He rubs his chin. “Hmm. Best gift.” He snaps his fingers. “It was from Archer. He bought me a blanket.”

My brows lift. “A blanket? That’s the best gift you’ve ever received?”

“It was an oversized blanket with his face printed on it.”

I burst out laughing.

We go back and forth for a few minutes about various likes and dislikes, favorites, least favorites, and then guilty pleasures.

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

He snorts. “I’m not ashamed. I love K-dramas.”

My mouth pops open in surprise.

He shrugs. “They’re too good to miss. Romance, drama, excitement, what’s not to love? Now your turn.”

I chuckle. “Liking K-dramas is not that bad.”

He shifts in the seat, leaning toward me. “Well, now I’m really curious. Is yours very bad? Are you a nose picker?”

A startled laugh escapes me. “Oh, gross, no! All right, lest you think I enjoy picking my nose and eating it... my guilty pleasure is that I really like to daydream.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s it? Daydreaming?”

I lean forward. “It’s more than that. I like to vividly daydream entire scenarios and conversations and different realities, like I’m rich and donating a bunch of money to people in need, or I’m a world-class athlete at the Olympics, or a famous singer impressing a crowd.” My face burns and I lift my hand to my head. “It’s weird, right?”

A grin spreads across his face and some of my discomfort ebbs. “No. I think it’s normal, actually. I fantasize about beating Oliver all the time at... anything, really.”

I laugh.

“Do you ever fantasize about applying to a nursing program again?”

I take a sip of my tea and try to ignore the pang of regret and frustration lancing through my gut. There’s no point in fretting over things I can’t control. “I wish. It could never be more than a fantasy. I can’t leave Dull. I can’t move Mom, and there are no nursing schools nearby, even if I had the time.”

“But what if all barriers were removed? Assume you have no other responsibilities.”

“In that fantasy world? Yes, of course. In a heartbeat. It was my dream. I wanted to be a transplant nurse.”

His gaze sharpens on mine. “Because of Mia?”

I fiddle with my napkin. “They do regular nursing care, but they also coordinate everything for the transplant, working with recipients and their families through the whole process. The nurse we had was incredible. It made a truly daunting experience so much better, you know, to just have someone that could keep us informed and be there from start to finish.”

He leans back in the booth seat. “Seems like it would be a really fulfilling job.”

“Absolutely.” And a way to honor my sister’s memory and everything we went through together. Having family in and out of hospitals all the time has been a living nightmare. But the nurses and other hospital staff who have worked with Mia and Mom have made the most awful situations bearable.

His head tilts. “You all moved to Ithaca because of Mia’s condition?”

I nod. “Yeah. There’s only the one hospital here, and they wouldn’t have been able to do a transplant if an organ became available. We would have had to get to Portland.” I blow out a breath. “It was too far. Organs have a specific timeframe where they need to be transplanted, and hearts are only viable for four to six hours. Mia needed more than Dull could provide, even on a regular basis. So, Mom found a job in Ithaca, and we moved.”

Our food arrives, ribs for Jake, salmon for me. We eat in silence for a minute, but it’s not strained. My earlier nerves have vanished, but awareness still throbs between us.

“Then after Mia had the transplant, she moved back to Dull?”

I spear a bite of mashed potatoes. “Yes. A couple years later. I stayed behind for college.”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Did you plan on moving back to Dull after graduation?”

“No. I never wanted to come back. At least, not permanently. Dull has never really felt like home to me. But when Mia got pregnant and started having complications, I had to return.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Ithaca after Ari was born?”

“Mom got sick. She didn’t want to leave Dull. Mia and Dad are buried here and...” I trail off and shrug. What other choice was there?

Music fills the space, a slow, folksy song. The band is only two people, a man and a woman on guitar and piano, harmonizing together with limited instruments, so the volume isn’t overwhelming. Couples trickle onto the dance floor, swaying slowly.

He watches me, his lips turning down. “I have to admit, I’m a little irritated on your behalf that your dreams were put on hold—not because of Mia or your mom, they couldn’t control the circumstances any more than you could. It’s complete bullshit you couldn’t follow your dreams, you know? Sometimes you can do everything right and still lose out and it’s just...” He shakes his head. “It’s so unfair.”

I stare at him, struck speechless by his understanding, by his ability to verbalize thoughts and emotions I’ve had for years, but have been unable to express. It is unfair. Life can be so unfair.

He is definitely getting laid tonight.