Chapter 15
T he morning was another brisk one. Priya was grateful to be inside while Justin was out doing chores. Her snow-moving experience during the last storm had proved that she wasn’t cut out for ranching life. Her body had ached for days.
But it had propelled her toward a gym membership.
Spin class each morning gave her the serenity to face passing Dr. Bezos in the halls as Human Resources researched her claims. She grinned and beared her way through the dirty glares from his nursing staff and his pompous grunts each time he passed her office.
Each weekend, she woke up with Justin and refused to think about work. Until last week, when Sarah from HR had called her and said that Dr. Bezos was being encouraged to retire—or he’d be fired.
Her job was secure, and she’d passed through the drama—with her parents’ help, but without her hand being held.
Her insecurities had died down in time with the turmoil at work.
Perfect timing. Today was Valentine’s Day.
She was ready for a real relationship and she only wanted one with Justin.
Her gaze strayed to her overnight bag. She had a little gift for him.
The day was all planned out. Make pancakes for breakfast—regular round pancakes, not heart-shaped ones. They’d eat, and she’d present him with her gift, an engraved Leatherman multitool, and broach the subject of dating for real.
This would work. She washed up, brushed out her hair, and loosely tied it back. She’d release it after she cooked. The way Justin ran his hands through it and buried his face in her tresses—well, anything helped.
Isaiah’s cry came over the monitor. She went upstairs and into the nursery. “Good morning, little guy,” she cooed. He was such a happy baby. He grinned and wiggled as she picked him up.
She didn’t get to see babies much after she brought them into the world, but moms sometimes had them with during their follow-ups.
The visits were quick and she cherished them, but other than helping them be born, and perhaps being their OB/GYN in the future, her role in their life was minimal.
Being a part of Isaiah’s life was a gift, and not just because he connected her to the best parts of her lost friend.
She knew his cries, she witnessed his smiles, and she even made him giggle. Every time she was in the store, she found cute new clothes, bibs, and toys. Last night, she’d wrapped him in a new fluffy blanket with duckies on it after his bath.
And these morning cuddles with Isaiah while she fed him his bottle were the highlights of her days. Once he was done, she started on breakfast. The tiny package was wrapped and tucked away in the silverware drawer. She already had the small kitchen table set for just the two of them.
As she was alternating between scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes, the back door opened, and Justin stomped inside, banging the snow off his boots.
“Smells good.” The deep growl of his voice sent delicious shivers through her. If all went well today, maybe during nap time she’d get to experience those naughty whiskers of his up close and personal—again.
“Pancakes and eggs.”
“My favorite.”
He said that about everything she made. While she suspected it was his gimmick, she’d tested it earlier when she made her dad’s creation—vegetarian chili. And no cornbread. She’d used her Nana’s recipe for pav buns instead.
But no, her rancher and diehard meat lover had cleaned up two bowls of chili and half a dozen buns.
She finished up at the stove. Bringing the food to the table as he washed up in the mudroom, her hands shook only slightly. She hadn’t been this nervous since taking her board exams.
Justin came around the corner, rubbing his hands. “I’m famished.” He popped out to the living room to drop a kiss on Isaiah’s head before he came back. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope. Sit.”
Playing it cool through the whole meal taxed her limited acting skills. She finished before him. To keep from fidgeting at the table, she cleared her plate.
After placing her dishes by the sink, she ran her finger over the counter.
“Found something to clean again?” Justin shoveled another forkful of eggs in his mouth.
“No, it’s not that. Whenever I’m here, I always imagine how this room would look after a remodel.”
His chewing slowed, and he looked around. When he turned his gaze back on her, his eyes were a few shades darker.
Had she upset him? “It’s just that this L cuts off flow.
An island, maybe.” She walked forward a few steps and held her arms out.
“Right here. Oh, and the cupboards. They go all the way to the ceiling, which works for you. I’m too short for the top shelves.
But if you opened up the top— And that wall.
” She was babbling now as she pointed at the wall bordering the dining room.
“I know it’s supporting, but even a cutout? This kitchen feels like a dungeon.”
He sawed his fork over more pancakes, his jaw clenched. “It worked for my parents for a few decades.”
“And I’m sure your parents have a more spacious kitchen in their new house.” She pressed her lips together. That might’ve gone too far. But she bet if Justin’s parents could build this house over again, they’d plan a different layout.
“Well, it’s just me here.” He played it off like it was no big deal. Was he wary because she was proposing changes to his beloved childhood home, or because she was doing so while only maintaining friendship status?
Maybe it was the wrong time, or the best moment ever. She crossed to the drawer she hid his present in and withdrew it. “I got you a little something.”
When she turned to face him, she wished she could take her words back and stuff the box into a dark corner. His expression was carefully neutral, his gaze cautious.
“It’s Valentine’s Day.” Her explanation hung heavy between them. The box made the only sound in the room as she put it on the table next to him.
“Okay.” He carefully placed his fork next to his plate and leaned back. “But we’re just friends.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. When we first started…being together—”
“Having sex. You’re a doctor, remember.”
Any nerves she had were wiped out by hurt, but she wasn’t backing down.
She had a right to say how she felt, to express herself.
The last few weeks, she’d worked on herself and her career.
Continuing on with Justin, feeling the way she did about him, wasn’t fair to her.
However this ended, it wouldn’t be with her selling herself short.
“When we first started having sex”—she held his gaze—“I was facing job insecurity and my own little personal identity crisis.”
“Really? See, I didn’t know that. Since you never talked to me about it when it was happening.”
“I wasn’t sure about what was going on at work until a few weeks ago.
Then when I was here, I didn’t want to stew over how I was treated.
” Maybe admitting that her career was tanking had felt a little too intimate for her.
She shook her head and attempted to steer the conversation back to her goal.
No matter how this turned out, he’d know how she felt.
“All I’m saying is that I’m in a different place now. I’m ready for more.”
This conversation was really happening. Justin shoved a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to experience it now—or ever. What they had was good. It had been going well. But this morning as she was telling him she was ready for more, she was redesigning the cupboards—the whole kitchen.
She watched him. Her lips were flat, like the look in her eyes. No, her golden eyes weren’t emotionless. They swirled and heaved with repressed feelings. If he thought too hard about it, he’d recall they’d been that way forever. She always hid what she was really thinking.
“What do you want from me?” he finally asked.
“A real relationship.” She was so frustratingly calm, so centered when she’d just left him feeling as shaky as a newborn lamb.
She was ready for more. And happened to be ready to change the way he lived. No, thanks. Been there. Done that.
He wasn’t changing a damn thing. The house fit him the way it was. The way he was, and he didn’t fucking cook. “I told you that I’m not in it for a relationship.”
Hurt brimmed in the depths of her irises. “Can you really say that after the last few months? That we wouldn’t work as a couple?”
“The level of trustworthiness of the women in my life hasn’t made me think that couplehood is for me.”
She recoiled and gave him an incredulous stare. “What have I lied about?”
“Come on, Priya. You don’t talk to me about anything. You don’t talk to me about your family, or about the problems you have at work.”
“I recall us having several conversations about that.”
“You mention it. Skim the surface. Not once did you really confide in me. I found out from a nurse at Gram’s nursing home that you were alone on Thanksgiving.
What’s that supposed to make me think? I told you my history with Gabrielle.
You know what Maisy was like. Maybe you didn’t lie, but you weren’t open and honest.” Months of wanting her to share more about herself rose.
His own hurt at being sidelined in her life lifted with it.
“How much would you have told me about Maisy if I hadn’t been her friend? As for your previous career and that other woman, you talked for less than five minutes about how many years of your life? And you think I don’t share about myself?”
“If you wanted to know more, then you could’ve asked.”
“I did. How many nights did we sit out there while you waved off my every attempt to open a conversation?” She tilted her head.
So many hours they’d spent over a glass of wine while apparently pondering how little they talked to each other about each other. “You mean like you did every time I tried to ask about work?”
Isaiah let out a happy squeal in his swing, oblivious to the tension radiating only feet away.