6. He Got Cookies
6
HE GOT COOKIES
Diana
It was lunchtime, and I was introducing Hugger to Sack’s sandwiches.
Hugger had ordered the Overture (prime beef, sweet onion, horseradish sauce and fixin’s).
I went for the Symphony (turkey, bacon, avocado, sprouts, cream cheese and fixin’s).
He paid.
I didn’t fight him on it because fighting about paying was one of my pet peeves.
Someone offered or elbowed their way in to do it, why argue?
This , of course, made me hone my skills at elbowing my way in to do it, but this time, Hugger got there before me.
He was able to accomplish that because I had a lot on my mind.
It started with the fact that I’d learned that Hugger’s presence at work wasn’t going to be him stealthily hanging around outside the workshop, keeping an eye on things.
No , he came right in and sat in my studio with me.
This made me happy my boss had a day of appointments away from work because I wasn’t really sure how I was going to explain why I needed a man hanging with me at work.
Fortunately , it was a Friday , and I didn’t have to come up with an explanation until Monday .
Further fortunately, my boss was a little ditzy.
Okay , a lot ditzy.
Annie might not even notice he was there.
Also on my mind was, at first, it felt awkward, having Hugger there while I did my thing.
But most of the time, he did stuff on his phone, and for about a half an hour, his head was tipped back, his arms crossed on his chest, and his booted feet were up on the windowsill, and I could swear he was taking a catnap ( I just knew that couch wouldn’t be comfortable for him).
In the end, it didn’t seem awkward at all.
The last thing that was on my mind was, riding on the back of Hugger’s bike, with Hugger , was the new meaning of my life.
There was something freeing about it. The sun on your skin. The wind in your hair (and I’d been wrong again, and Hugger right, there wasn’t too much of that, my hair had needed some taming—both at work and after we hit Sack’s —but not as much as I thought, probably because we couldn’t go superfast on city streets).
But mostly, it was about giving over to Hugger . Trusting him. Smelling him. Hooking my thumbs in the belt loops at his sides. Feeling the heat come off his body. Sensing his strength. Watching the alert concentration on his sunglassed face as he navigated the roads, keeping us both safe together on the back of his bike.
It was amazing.
And I had to admit, I further got off on the fact he was him, in jeans and a tee, messy hair, big beard; and I was me, balayage, pink crop pants and pumps.
The dichotomy that was us, together on his bike, was a specific kind of turn-on that practically begged me to lean into it, embrace it, wrap my arms around his stomach, press my cheek to his shoulder and be one with him on his bike.
It wasn’t lost on me Hugger was a certain kind of trouble and I needed to tread cautiously.
But it was now dawning on me he was definite trouble, and I had to watch myself carefully.
I’d had two long-term relationships.
The first was a heartbreaker. I was deeply in love ( I thought). So when I found he was emotionally cheating on me via texts with his high school girlfriend, I’d been gutted.
After I broke up with him, she broke up with her boyfriend, and they got together. They were that way for a while, even got engaged, then in a rather spectacular (and humiliating for him) fashion, she returned to the boyfriend she dumped, and he tried to return to me.
That didn’t happen.
The second just petered out. He knew it, I knew it. We went our separate ways and were still friends, in a more friend/acquaintance/used-to-sleep-together kind of way.
I’d never dated a biker. I’d never dated anyone outside my social or cultural stratum.
The thing with Hugger wasn’t that.
It was Suzette and needing to focus on her. It was also Suzette , and her needing all kinds of support, and not having to witness right in her face two people circling each other (and what might come of it). It was Denver , and the fact he lived there.
And it was that he gave no indication he wanted my thumbs out of his belt loops and my arms wrapped around him, my cheek to his shoulder.
Oh yeah.
That was the biggie.
“ I don’t get it,” he said, bringing me back to us sitting opposite each other in a bodacious sandwich joint.
“ You don’t get what?”
“ You spit on paintings for a living. How did you get your sweet crib?”
I put aside my unsettling thoughts, laughed at what he said, and told him, “ Saliva has enzymes that help gently clean away dirt.”
“ I suspected. Still , you live in Scottsdale , which is class. And so is your complex and your unit. It’s a lot for someone who cleans paintings with spit and a Q - Tip .”
“ I won at roulette, thirteen black, about three months before my grandfather died of a stroke and left me some money.”
“ Right ,” he said, munching into a potato chip.
“ Most of my place was like it is, but Larry is a contractor and he put in the kitchen at a massive discount using stuff some rich lady ordered, paid for, decided she didn’t want, and just ordered something else even though it was custom and she couldn’t get a refund on it. She didn’t want it hanging around, so she told Larry he could have it.”
“ Rich people do crazy shit,” he muttered, picking up his sandwich and taking the last big bite.
“ They do,” I agreed. “ Anyway , his guys did some adjustments so it could work in my space. Larry was able to get his hands on some top-notch appliances that had some scratches and dings you can’t see. And voilà ! Fantastic new kitchen.”
“ Who’s Larry ?”
“ My … I don’t know. My ex-stepmom’s husband. So I guess he’s kind of my sorta-like stepdad, once removed.”
Hugger studied me, his deep brown eyes active, but I didn’t know exactly what he was mulling over.
“ I take it you’re still tight with your stepmom,” he noted while I took a bite of my own sandwich.
I chewed while nodding.
Then something occurred to me, so I blurted, “ I’m not that woman.”
He tipped his head to the side. “ What woman?”
“ The kind who lets daddy pay for everything. I quit school because he and I had a thing. I was fed up with having those kinds of things with my dad, although, that was the worst thing we’d ever had. Since he was paying my tuition, not to mention for everything else, I walked away. In the end, I did it myself. Sure , Gram and Gramps and Mom gave me very generous checks for my birthday and Christmas to help out. But it was mostly me. It’s all mostly me.”
“ I wasn’t takin’ a jab at you,” he said.
“ Just so you know,” I mumbled. “ It’s a point of pride for me.”
“ It should be. You told your dad to fuck off and built all that, and you’re not even thirty. Yeah . It should be.”
I suddenly felt warm all over.
“ What brought you to the biker life?” I asked.
“ My ma wanted it for me.”
I smiled at him. “ She a biker babe?”
“ No . She was a prostitute.”
I choked on saliva that would clean a good inch of an oil painting.
“ Yeah ,” he whispered, and now the brown in his eyes that were locked on me was like petrified wood. Dry and impossibly hard.
I pulled myself together and promised, “ My reaction was about surprise, nothing else.”
“ Right ,” he muttered, throwing his head back with the edge of the chip packet to his lips so he could consume the last bits.
And man, he was just him. In my kitchen. At a sandwich joint.
I liked it.
I totally had to be very careful.
Especially now.
“ I’m serious. I have no issue with sex workers,” I asserted.
“ Let’s move on,” he said on a sigh.
“ Let’s not,” I returned sharply. “ I don’t know your story, but I can read some of it, considering she wanted the life you’re leading, and you’re leading it. So I can assume you were close and she mattered to you.”
“ She mattered to me,” he said low, sharing just how much she did.
And it was so much, a shiver slithered up my spine at the intensity of it.
I adjusted my tone and asked, “ Since we’re talking in past tense?—?”
“ Dead ,” he stated flatly. “ Breast cancer that metastasized and totally took her over.”
“ God , Hugger ,” I whispered, feeling my eyes sting. “ I’m so sorry. She had to be young.”
“ Too young to die.”
“ God ,” I pushed out, reaching across the table to wrap my fingers around his wrist. “ I’m so, so sorry.”
“ She was a good woman,” he stated while gently, but firmly, extricating his wrist from my hold.
I felt that loss, too much, but I buried it and nodded again.
“ I bet. Since she made a man like you,” I noted.
“ What’s that mean?”
I fished a chip out of my bag and asked, “ What do you mean, ‘what’s that mean?’”
“ You think you know the man I am?”
I stared at him.
Then I said, “ Well …yeah.”
He sat back, already done with his food, outside the cookie they included with every sandwich (maybe he didn’t like cookies, and even though that would shock me to my core, if he didn’t, that meant I could eat it), and he asked, “ Enlighten me. What kind of man am I ?”
“ Well , you rode down from an entirely different state to see to the safety and protection of a woman you’ve never met. Doing so requires you to sleep on a couch, which, for a man your size, I know isn’t comfortable, no matter what you say. I’ve noticed you’re you. People take you as you are and that’s it. The confidence of that is striking. You’ve inspired the loyalty of other good men and give it back. I haven’t known you long, but there’s a lot there. Of course, this could all be about you and that was who you’d grow up to be. But I suspect she didn’t play only a small part in that.”
His voice sounded strange, coarse, even guttural when he stated, “ She didn’t. I am what she made me.”
I reacted to his tone, thinking this was deep for a sandwich joint and two people who were probably ships passing in the night. And as much as the last part sucked, since it was likely true, I didn’t need to put him through it.
I popped my chip in my mouth, chewed, swallowed and said. “ Anyway , I’m sorry you lost her.”
“ I am too.”
“ Are you gonna eat your cookie?” I asked.
“ Yeah .”
I frowned.
His beard moved as his lips tipped up.
It was hot.
Crap !
It was a small cookie, and he made a show of putting the entire thing in his mouth and chewing it.
“ Very uncool,” I noted.
His lips tipped up again.
Then without a word, he got up and walked away.
I suspected he was going to the bathroom. What I knew was, there wasn’t a lot left of my lunch hour, and I had a deadline on an oil-painting cleaning. I needed to eat so we could get moving.
I focused on my sandwich and chips ( I was going to save my cookie for an afternoon snack), and was trying to decide if I could get myself to a place I didn’t care what people thought if I shook the dregs of the chips into my mouth straight from the bag, when I heard my phone vibrate in my tote.
I pulled it out and saw it said Father Calling .
Ugh .
I wanted to let it go to voicemail.
After yesterday and my conversation with Nicole , I couldn’t let it go to voicemail.
I took the call and put the phone to my ear. “ Hey , Dad .”
“ Hello , Diana .”
“ Listen —”
“ I’ve paid Janie a generous severance and recommended her to an attorney I know who’s looking for an excellent PA and has been having trouble finding one.”
I sat very still and listened very hard.
Dad kept talking.
“ And this morning, I filed the papers to withdraw as counsel for Imran Babi? .”
Oh my God .
Oh my God !
Oh my God , God , God !
Dad kept going.
“ I’ve spoken to Detective Scott , and he assures me he has full departmental approval to provide a safe location and protection for Suzette Snyder until she testifies, regardless that will be months from now. He’s also speaking with the FBI , who has some interest in this case, and they want to talk to her, and depending on what she has to say, they might be able to offer her witness protection.”
Oh my God !
“ I know you’re old enough to make your own decisions, and advice from your father might not be welcome,” he continued. “ However , I still strongly advise you to speak to her and urge her to accept this offer from the police.”
“ You withdrew?”
“ Yes .”
I put my elbow on the table and dropped my forehead into my hand.
“ Diana ?” he called.
“ I can’t?—”
I gulped.
I was going to cry.
Shit !
I was so totally going to cry!
“ Diana ,” Dad called again.
“ What the fuck is goin’ on?” Hugger demanded.
I lifted my head and looked at him.
It appeared he was carrying a bag full of cookies.
God , this guy.
A tear fell from my eye and slid down my face.
Immediately , Hugger reached in and pulled my phone out of my hand.
“ Who’s this?” he barked into it after he put it to his ear. There was a pause, then, “ It don’t matter who I am. I asked, who the fuck are you?” Another pause and, “ Props , motherfucker, she’s crying.”
“ Hugger ,” I whispered.
“ What ?” he bit into the phone. And then, “ Fuck no, I’m not handing the phone back to her. Don’t contact her again unless she contacts you. Got me?”
With that, he pulled the phone from his ear, dropped the cookies on the table, and jabbed the screen with his finger.
It vibrated in his hand.
He declined what I knew was Dad’s call.
I took a deep breath to corral the emotion and shared, “ It wasn’t what you think it is.”
He moved into the space between tables, dragging his chair with him, and he sat in it, so he’d be so close, our knees would brush (and they did).
God , this guy .
Once in position to be right there for me, he asked, “ What was it?
“ He’s withdrawn as counsel for Babi? .” I swallowed and finished, “ Because I asked him to.”
“ Fucking hell,” he whispered.
“ There’s more. A lot more. I can’t… I don’t?—”
I was losing it again.
“ Not here. At your work. No one is there. Let’s go.”
And with that, he got up, pushed his chair away, grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my seat.
I had just enough time to nab my cookie and shove it into my mouth (couldn’t leave that behind). He snatched up the bag and handed it to me, and then he pulled me out of Sack’s .
I stowed the cookies in my tote, swung it on my shoulder, and after he got astride his bike, I jumped on behind him like I’d done it a thousand times and not only two.
There was a lot going through my head. Janie . A plea to have dinner with Dad . Babi? . Suzette . The FBI .
It was too much.
So much, I didn’t even think as I wrapped my arms around Hugger and rested my cheek to his shoulder as he pulled out of Sack’s parking lot.
It hadn’t even been a day.
Dad and I had our first conversation in years, and it hadn’t been a day when he did what I asked, even things I didn’t ask him to do ( Janie ) and…and…
And he withdrew as representation of a mob boss.
I stiffened and took my cheek from Hugger’s shoulder.
“ Almost there,” he said.
Almost there .
He got cookies.
I rested my forehead against the base of his neck.
Not long later, Hugger pulled into the small and empty parking lot outside the workshop.
I swung off. He swung off. But when he grabbed my hand to pull me inside, I tugged him to a stop.
“ Dad withdrew as representation of a mob boss,” I said.
“ Yeah , you told me. Let’s get inside.”
“ No , Hugger , I mean…this guy.” I shook my head. “ He’s not right. Is this going to piss him off? Is my dad in danger?”
Hugger had put on his sunglasses (mirrored aviators—yes, they looked insanely good on him) and a lot of his face was covered in whiskers.
I still saw the tightness enter it.
Oh my God .
I put a hand to his chest and pushed close. “ He had another firm he worked with. Babi? . They dropped him after he was arrested for what he did to Suzette . I’m not a rabid news hound, but I haven’t heard of a local attorney meeting an untimely death. So maybe he won’t call a hit out on my dad, or whatever guys like him do.”
“ Can we go inside, baby?” he asked.
We could.
We could do anything he asked if he ended it in that sweet “baby.”
I tugged his hand again and led him to the door.
He took the keys from me, unlocked it and pulled us inside.
He locked the door behind us and guided me to the room that held my personal work studio, one of only two, since it was only me and Annie who worked there.
He sat me down at my stool in front of the painting I was working on. He then dragged the chair he’d been sitting in over to my stool. He folded into it, bent forward so his elbows were to his knees, the entire time his eyes were on me.
Once in position, he ordered, “ Tell me.”
“ We …like I mentioned, we had a falling out. It was bad. I froze him out. When he learned Suzette was with me, he asked to talk to me. I kinda sprung myself on him by showing at his office when he wasn’t expecting me. It went…well, it went someplace I would never have guessed it’d go. In his way, he made it obvious he missed me. That my freezing him out was rough on him. That he…he wanted to talk. It seemed like he wanted to mend fences.”
“ Okay .”
“ I told him the only way I’d consider that is if he dropped Babi? as a client.”
Hugger said nothing.
“ This happened less than twenty-four hours ago, Hugger ,” I finished.
He drew in a big breath, sat back, and let it out.
“ Well , goddamn,” he whispered.
“ That about covers it,” I replied.
“ What are you gonna do?”
“ I think I need to have dinner with him.”
“ I don’t know the history, babe. But seems to me he’s extended one helluvan olive branch.”
I nodded.
“ Should I …do you think I should call him back?” I asked.
“ No ,” he said decisively. “ You should text him. Say you’re processing shit. Give him something to go on about the gesture he’s made. And let him know you’re thinking about that dinner.”
This was good advice.
I pulled open my tote to get my phone.
I then typed in, Sorry about that. I was overwhelmed. Can you give me some time to process things? Then maybe we can talk about dinner.
I finished typing, turned the phone around and showed it to Hugger .
“ Good ?” I inquired.
He read it and nodded.
I sent the text.
My attention drifted to the painting and I noted inanely, “ I’m not sure I have any spit to get on with this.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone vibrated in my hand.
A text from Dad .
I opened it and it said, One minute .
“ He says ‘one minute,’” I told Hugger , then asked a question he could not answer. “ What does that mean?”
And he couldn’t answer it, so he replied, “ Don’t know, Diana .”
I stared at the phone. I stared at it more. Even staring at it, I jumped when it went again.
Another text from Dad .
Apologies . I had to delay a client meeting. Are you okay?
“ Oh my God ,” I breathed.
“ What ?” Hugger asked harshly.
I looked at him. “ He delayed a client meeting to text me.”
“ All right.”
“ Hugger , he’s never done anything like that. Work is his life.”
Hugger just held my eyes.
“ He wants to know if I’m okay,” I said.
“ I think you should tell him you are,” he suggested.
I nodded, bent to my phone and typed in, Yes . You just surprised me. It was a good surprise .
I turned the phone to Hugger . He jerked up his chin in approval. I sent the text.
It barely went before I got another one. Are you sure? That man said you were crying .
I was just overwhelmed .
But you’re okay .
Yeah , Dad . I’m okay.
Do you have a man in your life?
Uh -oh.
I turned the phone to Hugger .
And my lungs seized when he ordered, “ Tell him yes.”
“ But —”
“ Tell him, Diana .”
“ We might be fixing things,” I pointed out. “ I can’t start fixing things with my dad by lying to him. What if I decide to agree to dinner and he wants you to come?”
“ Then I’ll come.”
Was he nuts?
“ You can’t come!” I exclaimed.
“ Why , ’cause you don’t wanna bring a biker to your dad’s for dinner?”
“ Don’t be insulting,” I snapped. “ Have I once given you even the slightest indication I give a shit about you being a biker?”
A glimmer of remorse hit his eyes and he mumbled, “ That was out of line.”
“ Uh … yeah ,” I bit out.
“ Just tell him you got a man at your back. You don’t gotta tell him why that man is at your back.”
I was as certain about Dad not being all that thrilled Suzette and I had a posse of protection as I was that the sun rose in the east. And sadly, for Dad , that would partly be about them being bikers.
Mostly , though, it was that we needed protection at all.
“ Dang and crap,” I muttered and bent to my phone again.
Yes . He’s kind of protective.
I turned the phone to Hugger .
“ Good ,” he approved.
I sent the text.
Dad responded quickly.
He didn’t hide that. This brings me relief. You and that young woman alone was concerning me. A protective boyfriend alleviates that .
Oh shit.
“ What ?” Hugger asked.
I showed him the text.
His lips in his beard tipped up.
I slapped his arm. “ Stop smiling, you big lug. This is going to come back to bite me in my ass, I know it.”
“ I don’t know how.”
“ Then you have not read a single romance novel where the fake boyfriend gig bit the heroine in her ass,” I returned.
“ No , I haven’t,” he agreed readily.
Ugh !
My phone went again and I looked down at it.
I’ll wait for you to contact me about whether or not we’ll have dinner. I hope you agree to do so. I’d very much like to know what’s going on in your life and have you back in mine. Please , think hard about it, Buttercup .
Reading that last word, I lifted the phone and rapped it repeatedly against my forehead in an effort to forestall the new assault of tears that were threatening.
Hugger slid it out of my hand and read the text.
“ Why’d that make you bang your head with your phone?” he asked me. “ Is this his way of exerting pressure without seeming like he’s doin’ it?”
I shook my head. “ No . It’s because he hasn’t called me Buttercup since I was probably twelve.”
“ Shit ,” he whispered.
I held out my hand, palm up. “ Hand me my phone.”
He put it in my palm.
I tapped out, I will. I’ll think hard, Dad . Please be careful.
I didn’t send it.
I considered ending it with Love you .
Instead , I added a little blushy-smiley emoji and sent that.
Then I blew out a big breath.
“ Get your spit back?” Hugger asked.
I rolled my eyes.
“ Painting’s not gonna spit-shine itself, babe,” he remarked.
I rolled my eyes again.
Hugger got up and returned his chair to the window. He slouched in it, put his boots on the sill, ankles crossed, and fired up his phone.
With nothing for it, considering I had a mortgage to pay, and that required me getting work done so I could earn my paycheck, I turned to the painting, reached for a Q - Tip and got to work.