11. Lacy
11
LACY
I have felt a little off all day. It could be the nightmares that woke me in the early hours, or the fact that I took Victoria’s advice and booked a session with my therapist at Marie’s Place which I had earlier today. I was also out of sorts last night at the party after Hudson and I shared a moment in the garden.
My focus for years has been solid. Get Mom well, help her through it all, and make money to run our household and pay her medical bills. But my usual steadfast approach to life has hit a bump in the road when Hudson whirled into town like a storm blowing in a fresh breeze.
This morning with my mom at his office, when he spoke about his wife, the feeling in my gut was a mix of sympathy for his loss, raw emotion because of my mother’s health, and jealousy of a dead woman, which I immediately felt bad about. I knew, of course. Mom was always talking to Susan about it, whenever I was home from college, but at the time, I had little investment in the information.
I also feel off because he is clearly offering us medical support, which will be expensive, and I can’t afford it. I don’t like being in someone’s debt.
I shake my head of the thoughts and look back at my emails. I’m waiting on an email from a supplier, so I’m trying to keep on top of them. I scroll to the top and see a new one sitting there, and my body stills.
Statistics Summer Camp is the subject line, and I swallow quickly as my pulse races. It’s professional, the college logo on clear display as it is in all his correspondence, but I understand the tone. My old Professor has been contacting me relentlessly for months. My eyes skim the words. A summer term back at college to complete a statistics unit face-to-face. I huff my anger down because he knows I completed it remotely, but he still acts like he is in control, using phrases such as direct personal tutoring and one-on-one personal assessments . I feel sick and delete the message, like I have all the others. I never want to see him ever again. His contact has increased lately, and I’m not sure why. But with a myriad of other things going on in my life, my infatuated former professor is the least of my problems.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Connor asks, waltzing into my office through the open door.
“I was just wondering if your beard could get any longer,” I murmur, teasing him, coming up with the lie quickly. We didn’t get along at first. He didn’t like the idea of working with someone new whom he had to train, but now we are almost like siblings, teasing each other and pushing each other professionally almost daily. We get along well, and I’m so grateful.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, running his hand down his beard, looking affronted.
“Could do with a trim…” I murmur, sorting out my files. It doesn’t; he looks fine, if the lumberjack look is one you go for.
“The ladies love it.” He shrugs, plopping down in the small armchair on the other side of my desk.
“Which ones? The ones who see your shiny shoes, your expensive watch, and your fat bank account in the city?” I tease some more, knowing that Connor is a ladies’ man and is always having dinner with a different woman in the city.
“Touché…” he admits in defeat, knowing that all the women he spends time with can smell his millions miles away. None of that matters to me.
“So what’s up?” I ask him, leaning back in my chair, feeling exhausted.
“We need to go to the city,” he tells me, and my eyebrow rises. Connor is often at our city office, but I have only ever been once.
“Really? When? Why?” I try to ignore the slight panic that tightens my chest. I love going to our city office, and spending time in New York is amazing. But I hate leaving my mother. When I left last time, I put together a roster of people who could come to see her and ensure she was looked after, and Susan stayed the night with her. It was fine, but a lot of work. Mom is much better and more capable now, but she is my responsibility, no one else's, and I hate asking for their help .
“We need to start researching spas, therapists, products, treatments… Or rather, you do,” he says, looking less than pleased about it all.
“So you're telling me that you’re going to pay me to fly in your private jet to New York, spend a week there, going to all the different luxury spas for treatments so I can come back and tell you which ones we need to incorporate here at the new spa we are building?” I ask, sitting forward, already liking this prospect.
“Perhaps take Victoria with you. Dad will hate to have her gone, but I’m sure she will love it.”
“And why is it that you don’t want to be pampered in mud and scrubbed from head to toe?” I tease, knowing that Connor is the last person you will ever catch at a spa. He’s the definition of masculine.
“Sounds like a thing for women, not really my idea of relaxation,” he grumbles.
“Oh, what is your idea of relaxation?” I ask, laughing.
“Corporate box at the Jets, with my whiskey in one hand and a beautiful blonde in the other.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes. Typical.
“Hey, folks, sorry to interrupt.” I look up and see Rochelle at my door.
“Hey, Rochelle,” I greet her, and Connor and I both stand.
“Sorry, no one was at reception. I just need to deliver these,” she says, and Connor takes the box from her.
“Oh, is it something for Dad?” he asks, looking at the box.
“No, it’s for Lacy.” Rochelle looks like the cat that got the canary. My eyebrows rise, not expecting a delivery. I hadn’t ordered any catering for us today.
“I need to run. Have fun, you two,” She offers a small wave and a cheeky grin, walking back out the door.
“Here, there’s a note.” Connor passes the box to me, seemingly just as confused as I am.
I put the box on the desk and grab the note, opening it.
Lacy,
I didn’t want you to miss out on the cookies you like so much. Also, did you know that there are over nine thousand stars visible to the naked eye in the entire night sky?
Hudson.
“Oh.” My cheeks heat immediately, and I huff a small laugh. I’m in my head so much, I don’t even see Connor looking at the note over my shoulder.
“Hudson, ayyy…” he jibes, and I fold the note back. Giving him a scowl, I open the lid and see twelve of Rochelle’s chocolate cookies staring back at me, so fresh they are still warm.
“Yum, my favorite,” Connor says as his hand dives in and grabs one quickly, taking a bite as he sits back down.
“Hey! Hands off my goods,” I scold him as I grab one myself and sit down, my stomach doing flip-flops so fast I’m not sure I will be able to eat it.
“Sooooo, getting cookie deliveries from Hudson…” He and Hudson are best friends, and he looks at me now with a shit-eating grin on his face like he knows everything.
“He is just being nice because of Mom.” I brush off his remark, needing time to process this gift. I mean, they are just cookies, but they are my favorite cookies. I told him about them just last night, and he remembered, ordered them, and had them delivered to me at work today. I swallow the gooey goodness, my head now whirling.
“How is your mom doing?” Connor asks, having already finished one cookie and diving in for another. I don’t mind, they are delicious, and I can’t eat all twelve by myself.
“Good. Great, actually. Hudson has plans for some fancy doctor to fly to Whispers to see her, just for another opinion and as a case study for a new program he wants to implement. His former sister-in-law or something?” I watch Connor closely, and his eyebrows rise in surprise.
“What?” I ask skeptically, waiting for the information.
“Well, you do know how hard it is to get fancy doctors to small towns. It isn’t something those doctors do lightly. They hate to travel and are usually so busy at their own clinics, they can’t spare the time. Hudson must be pulling some strings for you. Either that, or he wants his sister-in-law closer to him and Harvey. It makes sense; she was really close with his wife. The two of them looked almost identical, from what I remember,” he says, finishing the second cookie in one bite.
I balk. The cookie is sitting heavy in my stomach. When Hudson mentioned it this morning, I thought it was a whole program, something he was implementing for the town and Mom being ill would be one of many people who benefitted. But what Connor says makes sense. Maybe he does want his sister-in-law closer. Maybe he misses his wife. Maybe he wants to go on a date with me just to get over her? But it has been a few years now, so it’s hard to know.
I take a sip of water, needing the moisture, my throat now dry. It doesn’t matter. He is just Mom’s doctor. There can be no more daydreaming about what it would be like to date a man like Hudson. The stars, our friendly banter, his sexy-as-sin smile. It all needs to stop.
“When are we going to the city?” I ask, suddenly feeling the urge to get to New York on this research trip.
“Chat with your mom, let me know about your schedule, and we can lock it in then. I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a meeting with Sawyer,” Connor says, jumping up and walking out of my office, but not before he grabs another handful of cookies, giving me an annoying smirk in the process.