Chapter 16 #2
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not like that.” She gives me what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it’s too wobbly to be convincing. “Really. It’s… complicated, that’s all. Family stuff and… other things. I’ll be fine.”
“If that changes, you’ll let me know.”
“I will?” she asks, the ghost of her usual sassy self in her expression.
“Yes.”
“OK. You really are a good person, aren’t you?”
The way she’s looking at me, like coming across someone with good intentions is as unexpected as finding a diamond in a box of cereal, tugs at my heart.
My throat thickens. “I try to be, but like you said—I’m also a grumpy fucker.
” She snorts a laugh, and damn, it shouldn’t be endearing, but it is.
“Are you ready to come back inside? Not to work,” I rush to assure her.
“You’re going home, but we can get you a dry top from the office first.”
“I can finish my shift,” she argues, somewhat undermined by her full-bodied shiver. “I’ll just need to eat something sugary first.”
Giving her my most unimpressed look, I reply, “Absolutely not. You’re going home.”
“But it’s really busy.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want people to think I’m unreliable.”
“They won’t.” When she looks poised to keep arguing, I add, “Look, I know you’ve not been in town long, but we watch out for each other here. Nobody will mind.”
“Molly will,” she grumbles so quietly I almost don’t hear it over the downpour.
“If Molly has a problem, she can take it up with me,” I reply with more bite to my words than intended.
Molly’s attitude has been an issue all week, even after I had a quick word with her.
If it continues through the weekend, I’ll need to have a more serious conversation with her about it.
She’s been alright with the customers mostly, but I’ve overheard her being rude to Mei, Cassie, and Jamie more than once.
Softening my tone, I continue, “Come on. Time to get out of the rain.”
“Yeah, OK.” Cassie hesitates, then looks at me with a sheepish expression, a few dark strands of hair plastered to her forehead. “I might need a little help standing up.”
“No worries.” I get to my feet, then hold out my hands for her to grab onto so I can pull her up. “I’ve got you.”
* * *
Cassie
I’ve got you. The words play on a loop in my head as I follow Austin through the bar and towards the office, one hand still in his.
I must zone out for a minute because the next thing I know, we’re in the office and Austin’s holding out one of the spare uniform t-shirts still in the plastic for me to take.
I stare at it blankly. Oh, right, he brought me here so I could change. My brain is slow to put the pieces together, but I finally register the unpleasant sensation of wet clothes sticking to my skin.
“Sorry, I’ll open it for you.” Austin pulls the top closer to himself so he can remove the plastic packaging.
I’m suddenly too tired to speak, so I nod instead.
My body feels heavy, as though someone replaced muscle and bone with boulders.
Unable to remain standing, I lean against Austin’s desk.
He unties the string holding the size tag in place, then hands me the t-shirt.
Wordlessly, I accept it. I should say thank you, but I don’t.
He rubs a hand over his short beard and clears his throat, pale cheeks flushing pink. “I’ll just, er, turn around.”
He turns to face away from me, then pulls his wet t-shirt over his head, exposing his broad back. My gaze catches on the cluster of freckles over his left shoulder blade. They’re delicate and pretty, a stark contrast to his imposing size and stature.
Wait, I’m supposed to be changing too. Quickly, I drop my eyes to the bundled fabric in my hands, knowing I shouldn’t stare.
Just because he knows I might catch a glimpse of him while I’m changing at the same time doesn’t mean it’s OK for me to look.
Austin bends to pick up his fresh top from the sofa, the movement drawing my attention once more.
I only allow myself to be distracted by his broad shoulders and tapered waist for a moment before averting my gaze again.
It’s more difficult than it should be to peel the sodden fabric of my t-shirt from my body and lift my arms high enough to pull the garment over my head.
Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve had a panic attack, and they always leave me feeling like this.
Drained. Empty. Miranda used to make dealing with the aftermath even worse.
I stare at the dry top in my lap for a good thirty seconds before mustering the strength to put it on.
My skin is still damp, so the fresh shirt sticks to me a little, but not as much as the previous one.
“Are you decent?”
I nod.
“Cassie, you good?” Austin asks, concern tightening his voice.
Right, words. My mouth is drier than a desert, which seems wrong given there’s water dripping from the rest of my body. “Yeah.”
Austin turns back to me, a flannel shirt in his hands. It looks soft. “Take this. I was too hot to wear it while I worked, so it’s mostly clean.”
“My arms are heavy.”
“I can help you put it on, if that’s OK?”
I nod woodenly.
For someone with such large hands, he helps me slip my arms into the blue and grey shirt with surprising gentleness. The cuffs hang well past my hands, and I brush my fingertips over the inside of the shirt sleeves. I was right—it is soft. And warm.
Austin’s chuckle is warm too, as he notices my predicament. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he carefully rolls up one sleeve, then the other, until both my hands are free again. “That’s better.”
Hints of bergamot and cardamom tickle my senses, and I tilt my head down towards the shirt collar to inhale deeply. It smells like him. “Smells good.”
“I need to stay here, but you can’t walk home like this. Two of my friends are in tonight—for dinner, not drinks. Reggie and Francis, I think you met them last Saturday?”
I vaguely remember serving them that night. It was obvious how proud they were of Austin. “Yeah, we met.”
“Would it be alright if I asked them to drive you back to the B&B? I promise they’ll get you there safely.”
“They won’t mind?”
“No.”
“OK.”
His answering smile is dazzling, and I find myself wishing he’d do it more. “Great, let’s go ask them.”
I get up to follow him. My legs are still a little wobbly, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
You don’t get through hours-long dance calls without learning how to keep moving even when your muscles have been pushed past their limit—not when Miranda’s overseeing rehearsals.
I used to fake needing extra help from the choreographers for my tours just so my dancers would get proper breaks.
Luckily for my last two tours, the choreographer we hired refused to allow Miranda to attend every rehearsal.
They nearly came to blows over it, but I smoothed things over by appealing to my mother’s ego, saying she must have far more important things to be doing.
The dancers, choreographer, and I were all happier without her constant, overbearing presence.
Right as Austin reaches the door, I notice it.
“Wait.”
“What is it?”
His concern is sweet, but unnecessary. Shakily rising onto my tiptoes, I lift my hands to the back of his neck.
“What are you—”
“Your label was sticking out,” I reply, tucking the bright white strip of fabric back beneath the neckline of his t-shirt where it belongs.
“Oh.” His cheeks flush. “Thanks.”
“Emerald.”
“What?”
Shit, I said my inside thought out loud. Oh well. What’s the saying? In for a penny, in for a pound? “Your eyes, they’re emerald-green.”
The eyes in question stare into mine for several heartbeats.
“Cassie.” Nobody has ever made my name sound like an admonishment and a plea for mercy all at once before. The sound reverberates through him, making me realise my hands are still looped behind his neck.
I drop my arms so quickly that I lose my balance. For a second I’m sure I’m about to topple over, but then Austin’s hands are there, steadying me. His lips twitch but he doesn’t comment on my accidental clinginess or how weird I’m being.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Austin takes my hand, then leads me from the office back into the noisy bar to find his friends. I try to ignore how nice it feels, having my hand cradled in his, but I don’t succeed. Instead, I wish it were Austin taking me home.
* * *
Reggie and Francis are more than happy to give me a ride. When Austin led me over here, it quickly became clear they’d only lingered at their table for so long to make sure I was OK after he ran out to check on me. I’m touched by their kindness but also embarrassed.
The couple put on their coats, reassuring me they don’t mind dropping me back at the B&B.
Reggie, the more vocal of the two, hands me an umbrella, joking that if I spend any longer in the rain, I might dissolve.
His husband sighs with equal parts affection and the kind of weary resignation introverts often feel around boisterous extroverts.
Austin bristles at the joke but relaxes when I laughed it off.
I follow them across the parking lot, listening to their chatter, then slide into the back of their sedan.
Apparently, Francis, a reedy, chalk-pale man with glasses similar to my own, teaches at the local primary school.
While he pulls out of the Bowman’s parking lot, his husband, Reggie, immediately cranks up the heating, claiming that if I shiver any more, I’ll likely vibrate right out of the car.
With his stocky, muscular build, and confident charm, on the surface Reggie seems to be the opposite of his husband, but, even after only a few minutes in their company, it’s easy to see that they balance each other out like two sides of the same coin.