Chapter 18 Friend Zone
Friend Zone
Fiona
“That sounds like a hard couple of days.” My therapist puts down her notebook.
Hard? The last two days stunk.
“Let’s talk about why none of the tools we set up stopped you from harming yourself.”
That’s the part I was afraid of. “It really wasn’t that bad.” If one of my kids said that, I would give them a frowny face, just like my therapist is doing right now.
“You screamed loud enough to draw six men with guns to protect you because a man touching you hurt so bad, but you don’t consider scrubbing your skin raw, self-harming.”
“It wasn’t as bad as normal. That has to count for something.” What a feeble excuse.
“Fiona.” She tips her head to the side and stares at me.
“Fine, it was self-harming. And I knew it and didn’t care. I didn’t want anyone to stop me, so I ignored the safeguards we put in place. All I wanted was to feel clean. I wanted to feel clean.”
“Thank you for being honest with yourself and with me.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “And after you hurt yourself, did you feel clean?”
She asks me this question every time. The answer never changes. “No.”
“That’s because you aren’t dirty. What they do, what they say, has nothing to do with you.”
“I know that.” I really do. “But sometimes I can’t control it.”
“Let’s figure out a few more ways we can take control back…”
***
This session was completely exhausting. All I want to do is curl up on the couch with a cup of cocoa and vegetate.
“We have just one more thing to talk about.”
I groan. “What?”
“The man who almost took a bullet or six for you.”
Uh oh. “It wasn’t that close.”
There goes the eyebrow raise.
“Fine, it was in the realm of possibility, but highly unlikely. The most they would have done was give him a good thrashing.”
My therapist chuckles.
“Max wouldn’t have just taken it. He’s huge…and strong.” And beautiful. “He’s not just a big man. He’s all muscle and smart enough to talk his way out of it.”
“Interesting.”
Nothing I said was interesting. Scary, but not interesting. “Huh?”
“Tell me more about Max.”
I shrug. “There isn’t much to tell. He’s my new intern’s father.”
“Your kids don’t have families.”
“This one does. She doesn’t live on The Street. She’s the neighbor of a good friend.”
“That means Max lives by your friend.”
Um, why is she talking about this? “I guess.”
“Interesting.”
There’s that word again. “It’s really nothing special. I mentor kids all the time. It’s not much different that this one has a caring father who makes sure she’s safe at all times while helping her fulfill her dreams.”
“That man sounds pretty incredible.”
“He is,” the words slip out of my mouth before I can edit myself. “But then I know a lot of incredible men.”
“Why did you need to rationalize that comment?”
Um… “I didn’t. I’m just blessed to have so many amazing men in my life.” There’s no way she bought that. Even to my own ears, it sounded sketchy. Something about Max always throws me off.
“Did you apologize to this incredible man for almost getting him shot?”
“Yes.”
“And do you think the two of you will be friends?”
That word doesn’t feel right with a man like Max. “Yes.”
“Do you know I’ve never seen you blush before?”
What? “I’m not blushing.”
“You definitely are, but I’m not going to push you. I look forward to hearing more about this interesting man in the future. Our time is up for today. Don’t forget to work on that list.”
***
Interesting man.
He’s not that interesting. Who cares if he’s a self-made tech billionaire—which I shouldn’t already know, but it was too tempting not to look him up—who has an amazing family and is raising a bright, kind-hearted daughter on his own?
Even I can’t lie that much.
What in the world am I going to do? My therapist is right. I’ve never met a man like this.
I lift my steaming cup of coffee and stare up at the mural behind the bakery.
Cup number three is blissful. It can solve all the problems of the world.
But can it solve the problem that is Max?
How do you make a man into a non-issue? Friend zone him. It’s worked with every other man in my life. Why would he be any different?
Max certainly isn’t here to do anything other than protect his daughter.
Today I’m going to turn Max into my friend. It’s as simple as that.
No muss. No fuss. I have hundreds of male friends.
That’s exactly what I’ll do. Trying to make up for flipping out on him yesterday will probably help with that. Max and I are going to be great frien—
“Hey, Fiona.” Hope’s friendly voice pulls me out of my coffee-filled dream world.
Time to put my plan into effect. I twist around and see Max standing next to Hope in a cable-knit sweater that does nothing to hide all those massive muscles. But what should be illegal is that smile, with one side of his full lips tipped up to the side and his honey curls falling in his face.
Friend zone.
You need to get him into the friend zone, and everything will be just fine.
“Morning. You ready to see all that goes into putting in a weekly grocery order?”
Hope does a little jump of excitement. “So ready.”
I can’t ignore the smiling man any longer. “Morning, Max.”
“Morning, Fiona.” That smile spreads across his face.
Who is this happy before their third cup? Maybe he already had his third cup.
“Hope, go on in and get started.” Max directs. “Give Fiona a chance to finish her coffee.”
That was sexy…I mean, thoughtful. Very thoughtful.
“Will do, Dad. Do you want a cup too?”
“If I won’t be disturbing your break, Fiona?”
Just looking at you disturbs me. “Of course not.” I motion for him to take a seat at the picnic table.
He holds out a hand to help me take a seat.
Which is normally an easy thing because I wear jeans to work, but today was another soft dress day to avoid chafing my sore skin while covering every inch of it.
Why did I have to do this to myself in the middle of winter?
Life would have been so much easier with a flowy silk dress.
I step up onto the seat and plop my butt down on the table without touching his hand, like it’s something I do every day, which, to be fair, is actually a common occurrence.
We need to switch out these benches for chairs.
He climbs up next to me, close enough that we could touch if I slid my fingers over a few inches, but far enough away that he isn’t crowding me.
Though it still feels like he’s overly close.
“This seems like a nice place to enjoy a cup.”
“It’s the only quiet place at this time of year.” In the spring, it’s bustling with children eating breakfast outside.
“The chill in the air keeps the children inside.”
And why isn’t it keeping you there?
“You must have limitless patience to deal with all their problems. I only have Hope, and she makes me want to tear my hair out.”
I laugh. “Hardly. It’s easier because I don’t have them all the time. They come to work. Do their job. Then they’re Jules’ or Paisley’s problem.”
The back door opens, and Hope steps out. “I brought you a cup of coffee, Dad, and some biscotti to share.” She hands him the cup and sets the plate between us before heading back inside.
His coffee looks decidedly dark. Max drinks his coffee black. Why did he try my sweet one? Odd.
“You must still deal with their problems.”
“Teenagers do find unique and interesting ways to make their lives harder. The tales I could tell would make your hair stand on end. And whenever I think I’ve seen it all, they find a new way.”
“My cousin’s kids are that way. They’ve taken every insane dare the other brothers have come up with. I’m kind of shocked they haven’t figured out a way to jump out of a plane yet.”
“We had two sixteen-year-olds do that. They got fake IDs and paid a pilot to take them up with the money they made working at the bakery. Did I mention that they are two little girls? I’m pretty sure they’re going to kill themselves before they turn twenty-one.”
“They should meet Rath and Ruin.”
Who names their kids Rath and Ruin? “Please tell me those aren’t their actual names.”
“They aren’t, but it’s close enough. No one uses their given names except their mother when the boys are in trouble.”
“Which they probably hear quite often?” If I were the mother of two boys like that—
“Nope. They’re scared enough of their mother not to get in trouble near her often.”
“Does she—”
Max shakes his head. “No. Annika loves those boys more than anything in the world except maybe their father.”
“That’s sweet.” Sometimes it’s hard to believe in love like that. Yet I have a half dozen or more examples of it all around me.
“War and Annika are anything but sweet—”
“Fiona.”
I turn towards where Paisley’s voice is coming down the street up to the alleyway Max and I are sitting in.
She rushes around the corner carrying a baby that I’ve never seen before.
This can only mean one thing…