Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finn
It’s only been about a half hour, and I’ve counted at least eleven eye rolls.
But they haven’t been irritated eye rolls. That’s a good thing. Progress, maybe?
That entire car ride should’ve served as a reminder that Raya Hart will never look at me as anything other than an annoyance—but all it did was make me like her more.
She sees straight through me. Most people don’t even bother to look that hard.
I walk around and meet her on the street. “So this is your town.”
“You’ve been here before,” she says.
“Yeah, but I haven’t been downtown.” I look around as we cross the street. It’s the kind of town you might see in one of those cheesy Christmas movies. Buildings line both sides of the quaint little main street—businesses and restaurants, most with awnings and decorated windows.
“After Thanksgiving, there’s a big Christmas kickoff. All the businesses down here will be decked out for the holidays. There’s a carnival and a Gingerbread Walk—the official start to the Christmas season.” She avoids looking my way. “Not the kind of place you’re used to, I’m sure.”
“You really have to stop assuming things about me,” I say. “You don’t actually know that much.”
She stops moving. “You’re right. Sorry about that.”
“Two apologies in one day? Look to the east! Is Jesus coming back on a cloud?”
“You bring out the worst in me.” She bites back a smile and starts walking again.
“I actually prefer this sort of small-town Christmas celebration,” I say.
She looks at me. “And you live in Chicago?”
“Only because of the team.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. I move around her so I’m on the street side as we stroll down the sidewalk. “When hockey’s done with me, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up back in a small town. I’m not built for city life.”
“I love the city,” she says.
“But you bought a house in Loveland.” I look at her. “Why?”
She pulls a pair of gloves from her pocket and puts them on. “To be close to my family. In case they need me.” She quickens her pace, and I have to jog a few steps to catch up to her.
I put a hand on her arm.
She looks at it, then at me.
“We’re not in a hurry,” I say, dropping my hand.
She looks a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m used to—”
“Yeah, I know. But today we’re taking it easy.” This is how I can help her, right? Help her slow down?
“I don’t need to—”
“It’s for me,” I lie. “My body is a perfect specimen that requires a full nine hours of sleep each night, and I didn’t get it.”
Her eyes go wide. “Nine hours? That’s insane! I usually shoot for four.” She starts walking again, toward the end of the block.
“Four? What are you, a giraffe?”
She half-laughs, “I have no idea what that means or if I should be insulted.”
“Giraffes sleep like five hours a day, sometimes standing up.” I shrug. “I’m not sure how I know that, but it’s true.”
“You’re so weird.” She stops under the sign for Poppy’s Kitchen. “Whoa, it’s busy,” Raya says as she pulls open the door.
We step inside, and I look around the space. Every table is full, and people wait in a small alcove by the door.
A young woman at the hostess stand looks up and smiles. Her expression quickly turns confused. “Raya? Poppy didn’t say you were coming in! We never see you on weekdays.”
Raya looks unsure. “Hi, Bella. Yeah, I’m, uh—taking the day off.”
Bella’s eyes widen. “Wow.” Then, she looks at me. “Well done.” She grins, like she’s just slid two puzzle pieces together.
If Raya wants to correct her, she doesn’t.
“Poppy will be so happy you’re here,” Bella says. “But you might have to wait a little bit. I’d move you to the front of the line, but there’s nowhere to put you.”
Raya looks around. “Should we come back for lunch?”
Bella shakes her head. “It’ll be the same at lunch. Poppy’s kind of freaking out. She thought it would be slow today, and she didn’t call in a third cook.”
Raya turns to me. “By the time we’re seated, our meal won’t be fun anymore.”
“Do you think we could help in the kitchen?” I ask, ignoring her sarcasm and flashing Bella my most charming smile.
“I think I’ll lose my job if I let you back there,” Bella says.
“Ah, we’ll just go say hi,” I say with a nonchalant wave.
“We’ll be in the way,” Raya says.
“I’ve worked in kitchens,” I tell her. “You said you live close so you can jump in when your family needs you, right?” I look around. “Seems like your sister could use the help.”
She presses her lips together, uncharacteristically unsure, but she must not be able to think of a reason to object because a few seconds later, we’re walking back to the kitchen while Bella pretends not to notice.
I slowly push the kitchen door open and see what can only be described as chaos.
“Holy. Cow!” Raya says.
Poppy looks up from the griddle, her eyes widening, almost like she needs a second to place us. “What are you guys doing here?” She looks at me. “Together?”
“Came to help.” I pull off my hoodie, hang it on a hook by the back door, grab an apron, and turn my baseball cap around. “Put us to work.”
Poppy flips a pancake and lets out an amused laugh, but then she looks at me and seems to realize she’s drowning and I’m holding out the life preserver. “Have you worked in a kitchen before?”
“Yes,” I say, though even if I hadn’t, my family’s big enough to need a short-order cook.
Her eyes jump from me to her sister and back. “Fine. Wash your hands.” She looks at Raya. “You can sit right there, because I know you haven’t worked in a kitchen. Plus, shouldn’t you be home? Resting?” She nods to a stool nearby, and Raya sits.
“If I do any more resting, you’ll have to order me a headstone,” she says, irritated.
“Well, I’m glad you took the day off,” Poppy says. “Shocked, but glad.”
I catch Raya’s sheepish expression and realize she hasn’t told her family about her leave. I dry my hands and tuck the towel into the belt of my apron.
Poppy looks at me. “Do you know how to make pancakes?”
“My hockey team in high school hosted a pancake breakfast fundraiser every year.”
“All that tells me is that you’ve been around people who made pancakes,” Poppy says.
“Flour, eggs, salt, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, oil, and buttermilk,” I rattle off, spinning the spatula on my palm and catching it. “Just tell me if you want them fluffy or ultra-fluffy.”
Poppy’s eyebrows go up, and I grin.
I turn to give Raya a wink, and she props her chin on her fist and watches, amused.
“Okay.” Poppy pushes a bowl of batter into my gut. “Get on pancakes.” She rushes off.
I look at Raya. “I guess bossiness runs in your family.”
“She’s only like this in the kitchen.” Her eyes follow Poppy as she moves around the kitchen. “Impressive, right?”
“It’s awesome.”
Raya drags her gaze back to me. “Do you really know what you’re doing?”
I hold up a hand. “I got this, Hart.” I know she thinks I’m a joke, but I’m a lot more capable than she gives me credit for.
The other cook waves at Raya. “Your sister told me about what happened. You good?”
Raya smiles, but it looks forced. “I’m good, thanks for asking.”
He looks at me. “I’m Miguel.”
“Finn,” I say.
“We’re lucky you’re here,” he says. “Maybe Chef will listen to me and hire a new cook!” He leans toward me. “She’s dragging her feet.”
“I heard that!” Poppy calls from somewhere in the kitchen.
“I wanted you to hear it!” Miguel calls back, then mutters, “She’s so stubborn.”
I look at Raya. “Runs in the family.”
Miguel chuckles, and I get to work. After only one botched attempt, I learn the heat of the stovetop griddle and get the hang of their system. Miguel calls out the orders, and I stay focused on doing the one thing I know I won’t mess up.
I’ve made pancakes so many times for so many people it’s like second nature—and it feels awesome to help out.
“Is there anything I can do?” Raya asks after a few minutes.
Poppy’s eyes dart to me, and I give my head a little shake. Because even though Raya could probably figure out how to run a commercial kitchen in eight and a half minutes with zero training, what she really needs to do right now is sit still.
“Uh, no,” Poppy says. “We’ll get you some breakfast. Guys, when you have a minute—” She points at her sister, and Miguel picks up on the shorthand.
“Coming up!”
I take some of the batter and pour two heart-shaped pancakes on the griddle. Four and a half minutes later, I flip them onto a plate and slide it over to Raya.
“Hearts for Hart! Order up!” I call out, like I’m a line cook.
She almost smiles.
Miguel adds a side of eggs, and Poppy makes her a coffee. “We’ll catch up when this all slows down,” Poppy says. “I had two servers call in sick, and Miguel’s wife, who sometimes fills in back here, is out of town.” She winces. “It’s not usually like this.”
“It’s great that it’s so busy,” Raya says. “Good for business.”
A server walks in with a new order, stealing Poppy’s attention.
Raya picks up a fork and pushes the food around on the plate. I’ll be shocked if she eats any of it.
After about forty minutes straight—constant orders and directed chaos—we start to sense a little break in the madness.
Raya stands and refills her coffee cup, then—shockingly—grabs a water out of the standing cooler and brings it over to me.
She holds it out to me with a soft, uncharacteristic smile.
I look at her, a little confused. “Thanks?”
She nods, and walks back to the counter. I catch Poppy, watching us.
She gives me a look like, What was that?
and I return her look with a half-shrug, shaking my head like, Yeah, weird.
Poppy looks as surprised as I feel by Raya’s unexpected kindness.
Maybe setting her platonic boundary made her feel safe treating me as something other than a nuisance.
She made herself clear, so kindness won’t encourage me.
Or so she thinks.
Poppy wipes the sweat from her brow in the lull and looks at me. “First of all, thank you. I don’t think we would’ve gotten through that without you.”
I give her a little bow. “Always happy to help a friend.”
Her eyes narrow. “Second of all—what are you guys doing here? Together? On a Friday?” There’s an expectancy on her face that’s more hopeful than accusatory.
“We came in for breakfast,” I say.
“Together,” Poppy repeats. “On a Friday.” She moves closer to her sister. “What is going on?”
Raya reaches up and smooths her hair. “I’m taking some time off work.”
Poppy frowns. “Are you okay? Did something else happen?”
Raya holds up a hand. “I’m fine. But my doctor insists that I need time off. If you need some extra help, maybe you could give me a job here for a few weeks?”
“Absolutely not,” Poppy says without hesitation. “I would never let you work here.”
“Thanks.” Raya’s eyebrows pinch together.
“Sorry, Ray, but this is not your wheelhouse.” Poppy walks over to the sink and washes her hands. “Besides, if the doctor is saying you need to rest, don’t you think you should—I don’t know—rest?”
“I tried to tell her,” I say, folding my arms like I’m a parent with a disobedient teen.
Raya shoots me a look.
Poppy dries her hands, stopping in front of her sister. “I assume this means you lied about what they said before you left the ER the other day?” She crosses her arms and stares at Raya.
“I didn’t lie,” Raya says, but when she meets my eyes, she adds, “I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
Poppy shifts. “What’s going on, Ray?”
Raya looks at me, almost like she’s lost.
And that’s my cue to walk away.
Raya
I tell Poppy the whole story. The doctor, Brian telling me to take a month off, even the part about me falsely blaming Finn for this unwanted time out.
I don’t tell her, though, that I’m worried. I don’t tell her that the whole ordeal has me on edge because at the back of my mind, the low-level fear from the day of my episode is still hovering.
“Everyone wants me to relax. To take time off.” I meet her eyes. “But I don’t know how.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” she asks. “I would’ve brought you dinner last night. We could’ve hung out, watched the game.”
“I didn’t want to watch the game. You know I hate hockey,” I mutter with a quick glimpse at Finn, who is now cooking bacon with Miguel, joking and laughing like they’re best friends.
How does he do that? It looks so easy.
“What is going on with you two?” Poppy asks, voice low.
I sigh. “Absolutely nothing. He showed up at my door this morning, and I can’t get him to leave.”
“Aw.” She smiles. “That’s really sweet.”
“It’s really not.”
I can tell by her expression she disagrees.
“I made sure he knows this is all very platonic.” I take a drink, then look at Finn. “I think he felt obligated to check in, since, you know, my brain shut off in his arms the other day.” The words sting a little, a reminder of something still tender.
“Okay, Ray, if that’s what you think,” she stands. “Kind of nice for someone to show up for you, though.”
Poppy picks up a kitchen rag and tucks it into the belt of her apron.
And then she walks away.