chapter 18
[Angelica]
After breakfast with Santa, Jude quietly excuses himself while I’m in the middle of a final inspection of the kitchen. He stayed to help the cleanup crew pick up and dispose of trash, and he folded tables and chairs, assisting in collecting both items and returning them to the storage closet.
Three days have passed since then, and I haven’t heard from him. Deep down, I’d hoped I might, but logic told me I wouldn’t.
I picked up an extra shift on Monday, then worked my regular two days, and went to the bar with Maddix afterward. I hadn’t been feeling great, so I told Maddix one drink was my limit. O’Malley’s is our regular stop and the location of last week’s A Snowball’s Chance fundraiser.
Sitting beside me at the bar, Maddix says, “I can’t believe you missed the fundraiser.”
“I told you, I wasn’t feeling well.” The lie was the excuse I used because I didn’t want the guys knowing I’d agreed to go on a date with a previous patient. Even if it was a fake date.
Karma seems to be catching up with me, though, as my throat is itchy and my face has that tingly the-flu-is-coming-for-you sensation. Even with a flu shot, I get a severe cold at least once a year.
Tis the season.
Still, I’m able to swallow down a beer I probably shouldn’t be drinking.
“Ever get a date for Beau’s wedding?” Maddix teases while I stare mindlessly up at the television behind the bar playing a holiday movie on mute with subtitles.
“Yeah, but it isn’t going to work out.”
“What? You haven’t even gone out with the guy,” Maddix prods.
“And I shouldn’t.” I squint, swallowing down the lie, because I have already gone out with Jude, so to speak.
We had a rather incredible two nights when I think back on the time.
Our fake relationship felt real in rare moments.
That kiss certainly felt real. But his silence means he’s accepted our broken deal.
I’ll probably never see Jude Ashford again.
For some silly reason, my eyes blur while reading the subtitles on the television screen, and I rapidly blink back the threat of tears. I’d never be able to explain them to my partner.
Maddix is quiet beside me a second before he says, “I’m still available to go with you.”
“Nah.” I sigh, lifting my beer for a sip, before turning toward Maddix and offering a weak smile. “I can handle Aunt Gertie and Gran on my own.”
Any one of the guys would have stood up as my stand-in, but my family would have seen through their attendance. Friends. And that failure would be added to my list of lacking accomplishments. I couldn’t even find a date for a family wedding, other than a pity date with a friend.
I’ll just tackle their disappointment. How so-and-so is a doctor. And Sally Lou Whoever is a nurse. How I am reckless, racing around in ambulances, rushing into situations that might be dangerous. Emergency medicine isn’t for the faint of heart.
However, my job isn’t always a battlefield. It can be filled with sweet elderly people in need, innocent accidents, and the occasional asshole retailer.
Only, he wasn’t an asshole. Not really.
“Hey, Angelica. Thanks for the donation.” Zebb Scroggs’s kind voice has me turning on my stool and facing the former football player-turned-firefighter. “Didn’t know you made that kind of money driving ambulances. I’m definitely in the wrong division in the department.”
He’s teasing because he has more money than anyone in our respective departments. His warm smile confirms the jest, but I’m confused.
“What donation?”
“The one for A Snowball’s Chance.” His dark brows pinch, his eyes questioning me a second.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I pledged a hundred bucks, which isn’t chump change, but doesn’t warrant the grateful enthusiasm coming from Zebb.
“How much did she give?” Maddix asks.
“Dude,” I grunt, lifting my beer for another sip. None of your business.
“Half a million dollars.”
Because my glass has just reached my lips, I exhale sharply, then inhale too deeply. The first action causes me to spit across the bar, like a loose fire hose, spraying beer everywhere. The other causes me to choke on a nearly nonexistent swallow.
“What?” I spin toward Zebb, slamming my beer mug down and swiping the back of my hand over my mouth like I haven’t been bred with manners.
Zebb leans his six-three form a little closer to me. “Know anyone with that kind of money?”
I lower my head, averting my gaze. Only one person, but it couldn’t have been him, could it? He wouldn’t have.
“I know a guy,” Zebb continues. “Real dick. Used to be my wife’s boss.”
My head snaps upward. Zebb’s wife, Eva, worked at Ashford’s a while ago. A long while ago.
“Didn’t she work for Ashford’s?” Maddix interjects, like he’s read my mind.
I don’t look at him.
Zebb continues. “After she helped raise their sales for eight consecutive years, he accused her of shorting a cash drawer, essentially stealing from the company.”
Slowly, my head bounces, like a Santa bobblehead springing forward and back. Sounds like the man I know.
When I finally look directly at Zebb, his dark eyes lock on mine. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, so be careful around him.”
“Nothing to worry about,” I admit, straightening my back and letting out a long sigh. “He’s already gone from my life.”
Haven’t heard from him since Sunday morning; don’t expect to hear from him again.
“Are we talking about that Jude Ashford guy?” Maddix grunts. “We got a call on him about . . .”
I risk a glance at my partner, whose eyes suddenly narrow, putting two and two together.
“I didn’t know he was in your life.”
I swipe my hands like brushing cookie crumbs off them, signifying how I’m done with Jude. And done with this conversation. Only, sourness fills my belly like I’ve eaten too much raw dough.
Jude’s donation was generous, but what does it mean? When did he do it? And why?
I spin back for my beer, apologizing to Sullivan, the bartender, for making a mess. Lifting my glass, I take one whiff of the pale ale and decide I’m not thirsty after all. My throat is really scratchy.
Along with my heart.
+ + +
While I’d had full intention of storming into Ashford’s and demanding what the hell Jude thought he was doing, I decided a donation was a donation, and Zebb’s foundation could use the money.
Also, I was officially sick. Fever. Chills. Headache. Stuffy nose. Sore throat. And as much as I didn’t think Jude would be sick, I still felt obligated to inform him of my plight. The flu was no joke. Other viral diseases were even worse.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I sent him what I considered an obligatory text.
Hey. Just wanted to let you know I’m sick. I hope I didn’t pass anything on to you.
I hit send before re-reading the text that sounds like I’m warning him about an STD, and I’d love to delete the message, but I’m too tired to care.
Instead, I power through a second message.
Thanks for the generous donation to A Snowball’s Chance. The foundation will put it to good use.
I click off my phone, snuggle deeper into my bed, and fall back asleep until the hammering in my head becomes too much.
“Holy snowballs,” I whimper as I clutch at my skull and curse the rattling at the front door, which happens to match the thumping in my head.
As my family members all have a key to my place, I’m assuming the urgency is from a misplaced delivery person.
Sometimes a food service pops into the building and knocks on the wrong apartment.
When the thump-thump-thump continues, I peel myself out of bed, wrap the duvet around me, and shuffle to the front door.
“No one’s home,” I attempt to holler, though the sound is closer to a bark.
“Angel?” A pause. “Angelica, open up.”
Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, but then the voice registers.
Jude?
Slowly, I step forward, twist the deadbolt, unlatch a second upper lock and turn the knob.
I’d say he’s a sight for sore eyes, but my eyelids are heavy.
The walk to the door took all my energy.
I don’t even ask why he’s here, I just turn for my living room, stumble to the couch, and collapse onto the three cushions.
“Holy shit. What’s wrong with you?”
“Hi, Jude. Great to see you again. Thanks for the donation. Get out.” Only the words all sort of roll together, and I’m not even certain any of them came out of my mouth.
He doesn’t respond, but after a minute his cold hand covers my forehead, and I snuggle into the touch despite a shiver that runs down my spine.
“Hmm. That feels nice,” I purr.
“You’re burning up.”
“Yep. I’m hot.” I attempt to smile, giggling at my own joke. I’m a hot mess. I haven’t showered and a funky smell is coming off me.
Wait. What day is it?
“Friday,” Jude answers, because I guess I asked out loud.
“Friday,” I whisper, like it’s the greatest day of the week, but I work odd hours, so I don’t really have weekends. More like midweeks. Sometimes Mondays.
And it’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve messaged Jude.
“How did this happen?” he asks as if people schedule getting sick.
“You know the old adage, don’t go out in the cold with wet hair. Mine might have been damp this past weekend.” When I’d taken a shower and then we went for a walk. Then, we stayed outside in the cold, ice skating. However, that isn’t exactly how one catches the common cold or the flu.
Jude is quiet a second before his cool hand comes to my head again. “We need to cool you down.”
Suddenly, I’m up in the air, pressed into Jude’s chest. He sniffs. “And you kind of stink.”
“You stink, too,” I argue. “Like something expensive. And sexy.” I smile to myself, digging my nose into his shirt.
Wait. Jude isn’t wearing a suit. Maybe he’s not feeling well. Maybe I’m delirious. Maybe this is all a dream. With my eyes closed, I hum again, hoping the dream doesn’t end. I’m in Jude’s arms. He’s taking care of me. He cares about me.
The next thing I know, Jude is helping me sit up on the edge of my bed and he’s removing the blanket around me.
“If you wanted to get me naked, you lost your chance,” I grumble.
“I wanted to see you naked, but I didn’t want to lose a chance at something more with you.”
Something more? Like what? If I ask this out loud, Jude doesn’t answer.
“I’m gonna help you get undressed, but I promise not to look.”
“Yep. Don’t look. I wouldn’t want to tempt you.” I laugh. No, I think I cackle. “Don’t want you to fall in love with me.”
Jude snorts. “I don’t know what love is.”
That’s so sad. Jude is so sad.
He grunts.
Oops. Did that slip out of my mouth?
Jude removes the sweatshirt I’m wearing and then reaches for the waistband of my pajama pants. I fall back on the bed, instantly closing my eyes as he tugs the flannel pants down my legs. Braless and in day-old panties, I can’t look at him, and he doesn’t appear to look at me.
He exits my room for the adjoining bathroom, where I hear water fill the tub.
When Jude returns, he takes my hands, pulling me upright, and then I’m in his arms again, floating through the air while tethered to him before he sets me on my feet beside the tub. He turns me to face the tiled enclosure.
“Slip off your panties.”
As I do so, I sense Jude stepping backward but keeping his hand at my waist, so I don’t faceplant into the porcelain edge.
When I stand upright, I fling my underwear over my shoulder at him.
He chuckles and holds out a hand, guiding me to lower into the tub with my back to him, but eventually, I twist and dissolve into the warm water and mounds of bubbles.
I close my eyes and sense Jude kneeling beside the tub. He reaches for the pile of hair on top of my head and finger-combs the greasy tangles.
“You don’t need to—”
“Slip lower,” Jude orders, his voice low, tight even, like he’s holding something back. But I’m too tired to read him. “Get your hair wet.”
I do as he asks, dipping deeper into the warm water and dousing my hair. When I scoot back upright, I keep my eyes closed and hear the pop of my shampoo bottle being opened.
“What are you doing?” I mumble, flipping open only one eye to spy on him.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply lathers up his hands and starts massaging my head.
Holy Santa. He’s washing my hair.
I could argue that my hair is too gross to touch, but the tender pressure of his fingertips against my scalp keeps my mouth shut and my eyes closed.
Jude really takes his time, scrubbing gently near my temples and stroking up and down near my nape.
When he’s finished, I dunk again to rinse the suds.
When I glance at Jude, he’s watching my face, his eyes roving over my cheeks. He inhales. Exhales. Then his gaze drops to my lips.
Kissing him is the last thing on my mind, so I close my eyes once more and sink into the warm water.
Jude takes a seat on the closed toilet lid until I’m sweaty and spent.
“I need to get out,” I whisper.
“I’ve got you.” He holds up an outstretched towel, keeping his head turned as I stand, then he blindly wraps it around me.
Covered by only the towel, he picks me up again and carries me back to my bed.
He slips a clean T-shirt over my head while I wiggle out of the damp terrycloth. I collapse back into fresh sheets.
When did he do this?
“You rest. I’ll make you some soup.”
“Do you even know how to make soup?” I tease, turning away from him and curling into myself.
“I can read a label.”
I scoff, but smile, hugging the covers to my chest. Before Jude leaves my room, he takes the broad-toothed comb I use for my curls and gently combs through the fresh tangle of them.
I drift back to sleep, deciding this is a really nice dream.
Jude Ashford might be a decent guy after all.