Chapter 1 #2
Another chorus of celebratory shouting fills the restaurant. My gaze zeroes in on the nearest TV. Two points have been added to the lead score.
I look back at Devin. He’s staring at the TV too. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you,” I say to his profile, now noting the strong outline of his jaw and the jut of his chin.
His eyes lower back to mine, his mouth curved into the perpetual small smile that seems to be his default expression. “In its original life, that poutine was destined to be a plate of comfort food. I’m only trying to help it fulfill its destiny.”
I choke on another laugh. It was supposed to be comfort food.
And don’t get me wrong, I still want to stuff my face with gravy fries and cheese curds, but the point of the poutine was to make me feel better about my rotten day.
Funnily enough, my brother’s best friend seems to have done that himself.
“Want to talk about it?” Devin offers as he takes a pull from his bottle.
I pick up my own drink, the sides of the glass wet with condensation. Placing the straw between my lips, I sip a stream of Sprite and cherry grenadine, thinking.
For him to really understand the situation, I’d have to explain more than just today.
I’d have to get into complicated family history.
Ongoing medical issues. And not just any medical issues—female medical issues.
For some reason, people tend to get squirmy when reproductive organs are mentioned by anyone other than a doctor.
The words uterus and menstruation make people unreasonably uncomfortable.
This, of course, ties back to the whole celibacy thing, which I think he thinks I didn’t mean and is just something I say to reject unwanted advances but is actually a lifelong decision based on said family history and medical issues.
I sigh. Yeah, I’m not going to overshare any of that. Better to just let him see the tip of the iceberg and not all the hidden damage under the surface.
“My boss warned me that the next time I call off work, I’m going to be fired.”
His brows pull down. “Do you call off a lot?”
I try to give my hackles the stand-down command, but they rise anyway. “Only when necessary.”
Like when the pain is so bad that I can’t get out of bed and not even my heating pads or prescription-strength pain relievers bring any sort of alleviation to what feels like barbed wire tightening around my abdomen and lower back.
Not to mention the shooting pains down my legs or the nausea roiling my stomach.
I expect to see a measure of skepticism enter Devin’s eyes at my answer.
I mean, who could possibly have a relevant reason to miss work so much that they’re threatened with termination?
Even my boss, who is a woman, thinks I’m being dramatic.
Everyone has cramps, she says. She told me to take a Midol and get over it.
To my surprise, Devin only nods like he believes me and doesn’t think I’m a lazy person who just wants a day off.
“Do you like your job?” he asks. “You work at a daycare, right?”
“I do,” I answer. “Work at a daycare, that is.” As to whether I like my job . . .
I love kids. It makes sense I’d decide to work at a daycare so I can still be around children, since I won’t be having any of my own.
“Is that what you’ve always wanted to do? Did little Madison dream of growing up to take care of a room full of babies?” He grins at me like he already knows the answer and that it’s a resounding yes.
A memory unfurls. Me with my two best friends.
We must have been about eleven at the time, because Annabel still lived next door and Brooke had a mouth full of braces that she got off before we started seventh grade.
That spring my mom took the three of us to the tulip festival here in Skagit Valley.
We were awestruck by the fields of vibrant colors, the millions of flowers laid out like a magical carpet before us.
We’d never seen anything so beautiful and were overcome by the brilliance of it all.
When summer vacation came around, we spent the months dreaming of the flower fields and how, when we grew up, we’d buy a tulip farm together and grow acres and acres of flowers and live amid the blooms and blossoms like fairies.
“Actually, I wanted to own and operate one of the tulip farms in the valley with my two best friends,” I find myself admitting out loud.
That startles Devin out of his relaxed pose. He sits up a little straighter in his bar stool. “Really?” he asks in surprise.
I nod. “I know it’ll never happen. Farms like that either stay in the family or get taken over by larger operations. You never see them on the market for sale.”
“True,” he says.
The bartender sets a steaming fresh plate of poutine in front of me. I give him my thanks, then slide the plate over a bit so it sits between Devin and me, a silent invitation to share.
He raises his brows at me. “You sure? I seem to recall Nathan telling me you stabbed him with a fork when he tried to steal a fry from your plate one time.”
“You’re not stealing since I’m offering.” I bite off the end of a salty potato. “Besides, Nathan’s a punk and had already absconded with half my burger before I took defensive measures.”
“You and your defensive measures.” He grins at me before his gaze slides to something over my shoulder. His mouth forms an O right before he winces. “Speaking of defense.” He gestures to the TV behind me. “These guys really need to step up their game. Maybe you can give them some pointers.”
“Hardy-har-har.” This guy thinks he’s got jokes.
“You know”—he stabs a pile of fries with his fork, gravy dripping down the sides—“if you and your friends ever get your dream tulip farm, you’ll need a real-life farm manager.”
“Aren’t you already employed at a tulip farm?”
“Yeah, but I work mostly with equipment maintenance.”
I eye the streaks of soil imbedded in the weave of his Carhartt pants.
“This?” He brushes at his thigh. “Sometimes they let me get my hands dirty in the greenhouses and play with the flowers.”
“And you’d rather play with the flowers than the equipment?”
“I’ve always wanted to work my way towards farm manager, yeah.
” His gaze goes a bit wistful. “I fell in love with growing flowers in my grandmother’s garden.
Every fall we’d design a special flower garden in her backyard and plant bulbs of snowdrops, crocus, daffodils, hyacinths, squill, and tulips.
We’d tend to the ground throughout the winter, waiting for the first shoots to come every spring. ”
“That sounds lovely.”
His gaze refocuses, and he looks at me. “It was.” His jaw tightens. Whatever he’s thinking of now doesn’t give him the same nostalgic happiness as memories of his grandmother.
It’s unnatural to see him so ill at ease when he’s always the epitome of joviality.
I want to do something to bring his good-natured grin back and reset the equilibrium.
“Tell you what, as soon as my friends and I buy our farm, you’ll be the first person we hire.
” Which, of course, will never happen, because adulthood doesn’t work that way. Dreams don’t just magically come true.
But my teasing does the trick. His jaw muscle relaxes, and his easy grin is back in place. “Sounds like a plan, boss.”
I smile, more relaxed than I thought possible after leaving work this afternoon.
If there was ever a mystery as to why my twin brother has called this man his closest friend for over a dozen years, tonight would have rendered the case closed.
It seems that I, too, am not immune to Devin Rhoades’ appeal.