Chapter Fifteen
Still feeling like I’d had the rug pulled out from under me, I met Jeremy at the front of the school, unsure and totally confused about my encounter with Derek. The whole thing made my head throb.
Jeremy parked at the edge of the parking lot of the motel and silenced the truck, leaving us in an eerie void.
“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet since we left the school.”
“I think I’m just worn out.”
He smacked his forehead with his palm. “Of course. That was a long walk and you’re still healing. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not you… It’s just…” I faked a yawn.
“You need to rest. C’mon, I’ll help you.” Like previously, he assisted in helping me get out of his truck and insisted on carrying the bag of groceries to my door. “Can I get you anything?” He set the bag on the counter.
I shook my head. I needed to think, and typically the best way was for me to grab my flute and play. It brought a sense of clarity to my brain, but that wasn’t going to happen today.
“I’ll be okay, but thanks.” I brought my right arm over to my left shoulder like I was giving myself a hug.
“I’m worried. You’re sure you’re okay?” Jeremy crossed the short space in two long strides.
I looked everywhere but in his eyes. I didn’t want to see any concern or pity on his face like his voice was projecting. Another yawn pushed out of me, but this one wasn’t fake.
He stepped toward the door. “I’ll be in the office if you need me, okay?”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” It was beyond comprehension to have someone be genuinely concerned. “When I get up, I’ll come find you.”
“I’d like that.” With another once-over, he gave me a quick nod and exited.
I closed the door, tipping the back of my head against it, the cool wood grounding me for a moment. Derek’s words still buzzed in my ears, sharp and tangled, but I wasn’t going to let them settle. Not anymore. What I needed now was a drink.
Opening the cupboard, my eyes landed on two bottles.
The first was a Pinot Grigio Derek used to pick out on our dates. It was safe, predictable, the kind of wine that wouldn’t overpower or offend. Derek had always liked that about it. My fingers brushed the label, and for a moment, I could almost hear him in my head. “This one’s good. It goes with everything.”
My hand hovered in front of the other—a Malbec. The deep maroon label caught the light, its edges slightly frayed from being shuffled around the shelf. It was bold, a little risky, unapologetic in its presence. The kind of wine that might not fit perfectly with every meal but carried its own weight, demanding to be savored on its own terms.
I hesitated, the choice hanging in the air.
The Pinot would be easy. Familiar. But hadn’t I spent enough time choosing what fits best with someone else’s plans?
I reached for the Malbec, my grip firm as I pulled it from the shelf. A quiet thrill ran through me as I uncorked the bottle. This was my choice—not Derek’s, not anyone’s.
Pouring a glass, I took a long sip, letting the flavor settle on my tongue. It was rich, vibrant, and just a little wild.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was mine.
Hours later, after a nap, I texted Jeremy to let him know I was up, but still not feeling one hundred percent, so I was staying in for the night, but I’d see him tomorrow for the trivia night.
I woke up with a dull ache in my head, the faint hum of confusion from earlier still lingering. The nap had done nothing to untangle the mess Derek had left in my mind.
He’d been so willing to let me go, cutting me free with a precision that stung more than I cared to admit. And yet, here I was, desperately clinging to the idea that if he was jealous, maybe that meant he still wanted me. Was that hope, or just old habits refusing to die?
But then, Derek had flipped so many times in as many days that I couldn’t keep up. One moment, apologetic and almost tender; the next, cold and sharp, leaving me questioning everything. An old actor friend of mine used to call it ‘pretty boy syndrome.’ The kind of guy who could play the part of the perfect boyfriend, but only so long as the narrative suited him.
Was that Derek? Was he trying to pull me back because he genuinely wanted me, or was it just about control? Did he really care, or was this about making sure no one else had me if he couldn’t?
The thought made my stomach churn. I didn’t want to be that girl—the one who confused jealousy for love.
And then there was Jeremy.
Not that he wanted me either. He was just being a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
But still, when I thought about the way he smiled—soft, a little lopsided, like he wasn’t trying too hard—it felt different. Safer. Realer. He didn’t push or pull like Derek did. Jeremy just... was.
I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. It wasn’t about Jeremy. It couldn’t be.
And yet, a tiny part of me whispered, Then why are you thinking about him?
A knock came on my door, and confused, I sauntered over, peering through the peephole. A paper bag hung from a male’s hand, and when it moved off to the side, Jeremy was behind it.
Smiling in spite of myself, I opened the door.
Plastered onto his face was a peppy little smirk. “You said you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you some chicken soup and a slice of pineapple poke cake.”
“I have no idea what that is, but it sounds delicious.” I waved him in and closed the door.
“You don’t know what chicken soup is?” Mockingly, he shook his head, shifting the waves of hair.
“I know what that is, but not the pineapple thing.”
“Ah, a special dessert. Unless you’re one of those people who doesn’t like pineapple.”
“I like pineapple.”
“Do you like it on pizza?” He drawled out the question with a curious rise of his brows.
I shifted on my feet. “If I do?”
“Then we can still be friends, otherwise, all bets are off.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a container of soup and a container with dessert. “It’s guaranteed to make you feel better.”
“Wow, that is a strong promise for soup.”
“Didn’t your mother ever make you soup when you were ill?”
Maybe once or twice, but there was no love behind it though. It was done with the intent and purpose to get me back on my feet so I wasn’t going to miss a day of rehearsals and shooting. Being sick wasn’t a luxury.
Once I remember being lovingly tucked into bed, however, after I’d entered the business, things changed. I was a commodity; someone who paid their extravagant bills that suddenly happened, only I was too na?ve to notice it. The memories of it all pressed on my shoulders because despite all that, at least I still had a family. Until I pulled the plug on the money train.
Jeremy stopped moving and tipped his head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re still not okay, are you?”
I dismissed the emotions floating to the surface and jumped on them, pushing them as far down as they could go. “I’ll be fine. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Are you worried about playing in the concert?”
It was one of the things that had momentarily popped up, but not the one taking up the most rent. However, that wasn’t a door I was ready to open for him. “Yeah.”
“Well, don’t push it. I know I don’t have a doctor’s degree, but I do have to agree with your ex. If you test yourself too much, you’ll have massive setbacks and I’m pretty sure that’s not what you want.” He took the lid off the soup, and the air permeated with the strong smell of chicken and spices. “Please sit and eat.”
I slumped into one of the two armchairs. “I want to play again. It makes me happy.”
“Maybe give it a try and see how it goes.” He pushed the container toward me, along with a spoon. He truly came prepared.
I lifted the spoon and noticed that there wasn’t another container for him. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Had some already.”
“Oh.” It felt weird to sit and eat in front of him when he wasn’t eating himself.
“I’ll share the dessert though, if you don’t mind?”
My cheeks pushed up with a smile. “Not at all.”
I lowered my gaze to the steaming bowl of chicken soup; somewhat jealous of how delicious it looked. Mine always came from a can, but this had lots of diced chicken pieces, with various lengths of noodles, and green peppers. And the smell? It warmed me to the core.
“Can I drop you off at practice on Wednesday?” A ribbon of excitement coursed through his words.
It felt foolish to be chauffeured around, especially since I had a license, I was just unable to make use of it currently. Keeping my eyes focused on the bowl, I weakly whispered, “I’d hate to impose.”
“Never. It’ll give me something to do.”
“Seriously? You have nothing better to do than drive me around? I hardly believe that.” Lifting my gaze briefly to him, I spooned some soup, blew on it to cool it, and allowed the flavours to dance on my tongue. This was the best soup I’d ever had by far.
“I can fix the endless things that need to be fixed. Or I can spend my time figuring out how to update this place and make it a more attractive place for guests.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Or I can choose to not worry about those things for a brief spell and help out a friend in need.”
“Well, thank you. I wish I could pay you back, but I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to help.”
“You don’t have a hundred grand lying around, do you?” He laughed, and stretched out in his chair, kicking his legs out. “I’m just kidding. If you did, you wouldn’t be here renting monthly. You’d be living in town with a mortgage.”
The truth was, I did have that money. And more. It was all tied up in investments and TFSAs though. However, the moment I touched it, my location would be outed and I’d have to move again. So far, I liked it here and I didn’t have a reason to leave. I had no reason to … yet.
“Devil’s advocate—if you did have that money, what would you do first?”
He blew out a strong breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. There’s a multitude of upgrades to do that I wouldn’t even know where to start. Ideally, if money were no object, I’d love to expand the rooms by adding in more of a living room area, making them a little more soundproof, and make the kitchens more apartment-sized rather than teeny-tiny. However, that kind of room would be more like a weekly rental, like a VRBO or something.”
“I think it’s doable. Ever thought about an investor?” Where was my mouth running off to? There’s no way I could do something like that, but then again, I did have connections to people who would possibly be interested in partnering up. Jasper is the perfect retreat.
“No way. I promised Grandma I’d do it on my own, and until she takes her last breath, that’s what I’m doing.” He raked his hands through his hair.
“That’s very noble of you.”
“There’s nothing noble about it. It is what it is.” There was a small snip to his words like it wasn’t his first choice in his life’s pursuit, but until you were unburdened from the contract life offered, you put up with it.
“Do you not like running the motel?”
He pursed his lips together, twisting them from one side to the other of his mouth. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I love the location. I love meeting new guests. I just wish it was in better shape, so I could have more of an income to attract more guests and hire more staff. Right now, it’s bleeding money but I’d hate to fold it and call it quits.” He huffed. “However, there’s a chunk of change in her will for me, as she tells me, so I’m just biding my time.”
“Oh, I see. Well, that could be a few more years.”
“Or ten.” He shrugged and twisted his chair to angle outward from the table. “How’s the soup?”
“Soup-erior.” I couldn’t help myself and was greeted with a sweet Jeremy chuckle as a reward. “You made this from scratch?”
“I did.” He scratched the back of his neck, and in doing so, a teeny bit of his hoodie lifted and I got a little teaser of his abs. “How do you come up with the puns so quickly?”
I lifted a shoulder to my ear and pursed my lips. “No idea. They just hit me, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m starting to become entranced by them.”
Chancing a look, I gazed over to him. All stretched out, as comfortable as can be, and he was looking at me.
“Are you prepping for tomorrow night?”
“I will. I work better under pressure.” I winked. “Sage is going to help me with my hair, and then I’ll be ready to go and have some out of this world fun.”
“Excellent. I’m glad you’ll be there. MacMillan needs to be schooled.”
“Oh, I’m all over schooling someone.”
It happened to me a few years back. Thought because I was playing a high sorceress who used a lot of Latin names in her potions and spells, I was skilled in the language. Turned out I wasn’t even in the same ballpark. Lesson learned, and I brushed up on my knowledge of the language so I’d be less embarrassing if we’d met again.
“Star Wars is a language I understand well. As long as it’s post-Clone Wars. If it heads further back, I may not be your best option.”
“You’ll be fine.” He rose and sauntered over to the cabinets, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Mind if I grab two plates?”
“Help yourself.”
He brought two plates over and proceeded to dish up the pineapple dessert.
I finished the last of my soup and set my spoon inside the container as a reminder that it was his, and not one from mine.
“Let me guess,” I said, pulling a plate closer. There was a surprising heft to it. This was a solid dessert, nothing light and airy about this. “Homemade?”
“Is there any other way?” He turned his chair so it was facing the table, and heartily dug a fork in.
I lifted my fork and blew to cool it off, only remembering mid-blow that it wasn’t hot.
“Never seen anyone do that before,” Jeremy said with a sparkle in his eyes.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” I slid the food off my fork and moaned. It was sweet, but not overpowering, and the pineapple and coconut flavour whisked me away to a tropical paradise where the warm breeze blew and the air was fresh and ocean-salty. It was heavenly.
“You okay there?”
“Oh. My. Goodness. This is…” I took another forkful and groaned in delight. “Seriously fantastic. I could eat this every day.”
“Your waistline wouldn’t appreciate that.”
Poof.
Instead of a warm island, now I was in the office surrounded by the director and producer and a handful of studio executives who were going over my recent weight gain and ways to mitigate it as the costume director was getting frustrated with having to let out a few seams here and there.
I pushed the plate away.
The whites of his eyes grew. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t mean that like how it came out. I think you’re beautiful and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your waistline.” He buried his face in his hands. “I just meant in general, and not you specifically, and I’m so sorry that the words fell out rather than me taking a few seconds to think how they may sound to someone as I know—”
I touched his arm to stop his rambling, and gently pulled his hands off his face. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s me. I’m super reactive, and it sparked an unfavourable memory.” For good measure, I loaded another forkful and took a bite.
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I didn’t. I’m doing it for me.”