Chapter 8
Eight
Beck
Thank you for lunch.
But I exist just fine on sugar and caffeine, thank you very much!
I disagree. Eat the food, Beck.
I’ll see you in the morning.
Beck
Yes, Sir!
What the fuck am I doing? Throwing my phone onto my desk, I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.
I never make impulsive decisions, and in less than twenty-four hours I have made two…no, three. I don’t know; I’m losing count. An impromptu dinner last night. I picked her up this morning. Then, I sent her lunch. I’m so fucking stupid. I have spent years avoiding her.
I was placing my lunch order, and without any thought, I duplicated it for her.
Maggie never even questioned me slipping a note into the extra bag.
Hopefully, she doesn’t know it was for her niece.
Who am I kidding? Of course she does. I’m not sure if asking Megan to deliver it to her made the situation better or worse than my taking it to Inkfluence myself.
What was I thinking by offering to drive her again tomorrow?
Seriously? Why am I torturing myself? The scent of cherries already lingers in the interior of my truck.
It sucks that she no longer has a car, but she’s not my responsibility.
There are lots of people who could drive her to work.
Riot has even volunteered. Why do I want it to be me?
It will be fine. It’s a quick trip and I’m driving right by, I keep reminding myself. I can do it for the rest of the week. Long enough for her to make other plans. That’s reasonable. It’s what a friend would do.
Seeing her upset does something to me. I’m trying not to think too hard about what that means, but her tears undid me. I can’t bear the thought of her crying.
For the next two hours, I try to get some work done, but I can’t stop thinking about her. What is going on with her ex-boyfriend? Is he the reason she has no money, or is that only gossip? Emerley has a reputation for creating drama where none exists. But the guys wouldn’t say it if it isn’t true.
I pick up my phone from my desk and look out at the forest beyond my office window. Before I change my mind, I call Carson. It rings only twice before he answers.
“Hey, man. It’s not like you to call during the workday. What’s up?” he asks. I can hear bleating sheep and chickens clucking in the background.
“Do you still have Nana Cathy’s car in your garage?” I ask without preamble.
After a brief pause, he answers, “I do. Why?”
“Would you be willing to lend it to Beck until she can get something else?” It’s a big ask, but the only thing Nana drives now is a golf cart around her retirement village. The car’s old, but I know it has been well taken care of.
“Dude, what’s going on with you?” he asks. “You have never expressed any interest in Beck before.”
“I’m not interested in her,” I protest. At one point last night, I seriously considered buying her a new car, but this is a more reasonable solution with fewer potential consequences.
“No? It looks like you are from where I’m standing.”
“No,” I say firmly, pacing the length of my office. “I started thinking about what you said this morning about her not having money to replace her car. Nana’s car could be a temporary solution until her situation improves. She obviously needs help. Plus, I can’t keep driving her everywhere.”
He remains silent for a moment before saying, “It’s a good idea, Ryan. It will take a couple of days to get it plated and insured again. Probably by the end of the day on Friday.”
“I can pay for whatever you need to make it happen,” I volunteer, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Yeah, I’m sure you can,” he chuckles. “I like it when you throw your cash around, moneybags.”
“Hilarious,” I say, sighing heavily and running my hand through my hair.
Carson is one of the few people in Emerley who knows I have money, and even he doesn’t know the entire story of how I came to have it. I don’t flaunt my wealth, but my trust fund allows me to live comfortably. Well beyond what I earn as a therapist.
“I have one more request,” I say, sitting on the edge of my desk.
“Sure. Lay it on me.”
“When you offer her the car, don’t tell her it was my idea.”
“I can do that. Can you tell me why?”
“I don’t want to get involved.”
“I hate to break it to you, dude, but you are already involved.”