29. Caden
Caden
“You happy with the work, boss?” Eddie asks, as I follow him through the yellow foyer of Fia’s house, and back outside to the porch. His boots are dusty and baseball cap sweat-stained, but he’s all smiles today because the crew is a few days ahead of schedule. Pretty much unheard of in home repair.
“Yeah, looks great, Fia will be relieved,” I say, running my hand over my jaw. “And the HVAC guy called me this morning, they are delayed, but assured me in a few days they’ll have the new unit in.” I flash Eddie an apologetic look.
“I can drop off some box fans later,” I add as the sun beats down on us on the front porch. However the worn wood is no longer sagging under my weight.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll survive.” He shrugs, pulling a box of cigarettes from his pocket.
“Thanks for fixing the stairs too,” I say, glancing down at the new pine boards.
Eddie pulls his baseball cap off, laughing as he lights up to smoke.
“You know you’re the only son of a gun who can text me a laundry list of fixes and my crew not fight me about them.”
“Wouldn’t happen to be the extra cash I slid them under the table would it?” I wink and we both laugh.
There’s been things here and there, like askew shutters, porch steps that sag, a squeaky iron gate, things that might be minor issues but I know Fia doesn't have the means or time to do them herself. It took the crew a few hours max, it was a no-brainer to do.
I lean against the porch column, lifting my chin towards Eddie. “You know, I was going to bring the crew coffee this morning, but there’s some festival downtown and it’s slammed—”
Eddie shakes his head, exhaling a plume of smoke. “We don’t want no fancy-ass vanilla coffee.”
“Yeah, yeah, well the offer still stands, old man.”
Eddie pulls his cigarette from his mouth and eyes me. “Speaking of that—heard through the grapevine you won some award.”
I shrug it off, eyes on the yard. “Yeah.”
“That’s good, kid, don’t you yeah me.” He steps forward to pat me on the back. My chest tightens at the gesture.
Eddie's been more supportive than my own father through the years.
“You must be doing something right over there.” He pauses, tapping his ashes into the bush. “Keeping your employees happy or something. I’ll tell you, that’s the number one thing. If I wasn’t too old I’d find another company to work for.”
We hold each other’s gaze. He doesn’t have to say anything else. I know what he’s implying. I know how it is to be under my father’s control.
“Anyway,” Eddie continues, “you must have one hell of a manager if you’re doing all this for them,” He swings his head towards the house.
“I do,” I reply, “she’s the reason I won the award in the first place if I’m being honest. Without her, Good Grinds wouldn’t be on the map the way it is.”
“Huh.” Eddie smirks, wiggling his baseball cap. “Well, then don’t be an idiot.”
I glance at him, lips agape.
“Make sure she feels appreciated.” He points his finger at my chest. “And don’t let her get away.”
“I hear you.” I nod, running a hand through my hair, growing hotter as we stand here. “I’ll let you get back to it, thanks again.”
While the cool air blast on my face in the Jeep, I take a moment to check my email. There’s a new one from Wilmington Life magazine. The subject line alone causes my stomach to leap into my damn chest.
Last day for award recipients to RSVP to this weekend’s dinner!
I stare at the large oak tree in front of me as my palm slides roughly over my stubbled jawline, my leg bouncing erratically.
I shift into drive, my mind made up.
I don’t head towards home though. First, there’s something I need to do.
There’s a hundred and one reasons I shouldn’t go into the coffee shop today. It makes no logical sense to fight Monday morning traffic and downtown festival goers just to get into my alleyway parking spot, but that’s exactly what I do.
I’ve been doing a lot of things that don’t make much sense lately. Because of Fia.
After running into her and Daisy in the yard Friday morning, I didn’t see her again all weekend. She kept to herself, and I kept myself falsely busy too.
My heart races as I jump out of the Jeep and weave through the patio full of customers, straight towards the door. The only thing propelling me down the cool brick hallway, straight to the barista counter, is her.
I’m not even phased by the customers propping open the front door, letting all the cool air out with the line wrapped down the sidewalk.
As I stand amongst people waiting for their orders, I find her. The redhead behind the counter, helping a new hire make a stupidly complicated drink. She smiles patiently, laughing, unaware I’m even here. She is wearing those tiny shorts with daisies again, and it makes me that much more enamored.
Fia lets out an easy laugh that cuts through the noise, but when she turns around and catches me watching, the paper cup she was holding slips straight from her hand.
A small smile tugs at her glossy pink lips, and I nod my chin up at her.
“Fia—I need to see you in my office,” I call out over the chatter.
I don’t wait for an answer before turning on my heel and walking back to my office. I leave the door slightly cracked, knowing she’ll be following soon.
There’s no reason to sit down at my desk, what I need to say to her will only take a minute.
Fia walks in moments later, hands folded together over her hips, her eyes searching. “Is everything okay?” Fia asks, crinkling her brow. “I didn’t get to look at the photos you sent yet, we’ve been slammed . . .”
“Yeah, everything’s good.” I let out a tiny laugh. Eddie’s conversation replays in my head.
Don’t let her get away then.
“Eddie’s crew is doing what I paid them to do, work is flawless, all good there,” I add, knowing she likes a lot of reassurance.
Fia sighs, looking relieved, but her green gaze finds me again.
I swallow, standing up straighter, and ask her what I should’ve a week ago, if I wouldn’t have let fear get in the way.
“Do you have plans on Saturday night, after your family lunch?”
Her cheeks flush and lips part—lips I haven’t been able to push from my mind.
“Uhm . . .” She shakes her head, pulling on the tip of her french braid. “No, I’m free.”
“Good.” I flash a cocky smirk. “Then I’d like to take you to the awards dinner.”
Fia stares, stunned. “Oh, okay.” She begins twirling the gold bracelets on her wrist. “Are you sure? I thought you hated those events.”
I shift my weight. “I do . . . but this isn’t about me.”
“Oh.”
“I won’t force you to go, but this award is just as much yours as it is mine,” I add with a racing heart.
Regardless of how I feel about Fia, nothing negates the truth that she deserves to be seen.
A small smile finally breaks across her face.
“I’ll need to line up a sitter,” she says, seriously.
“Of course,” I reply, my voice low.
Fia tilts her head, eyes narrowed in thought. “What’s the dress code?”
I pull up the email on my phone. “I will forward you the details right now.”
“Cool.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “I’m excited. It’ll be fun I think.”
I simply smirk in response because not in a million years would I consider this event fun, but as she stands before me with a soft grin, I believe her.
Maybe it will be fun—for both of us.
She takes a few steps towards the door, thumb over her shoulder. “I should get back out there, we have been slammed for three hours straight—”
“Hold on, there’s one more thing.” I pull out my wallet and hand her a credit card. “Take this, and buy whatever you need for the dinner. A dress, shoes, if you want to wear a Santa suit, I could give two shits. Whatever makes you happy.”
Fia reached for it hesitantly, eyes locked on mine before they drop the black card.
“Caden, this is your personal card, not the business card.” Her voice catches, brows pinched together. “Don’t you want to write it off as a business expense or whatever?”
I shove my wallet back in my pocket and walk towards the door.
“I know what card I gave you.” My voice is gravely, her green eyes snap to mine. “This isn’t a business expense. This is me telling you to buy whatever the hell you want because you deserve it.”
“I deserve a dress?” Her question is barely above a whisper.
“You deserve so much more,” I reply, and before I do something I can’t take back, I step back to let her pass through the door.
We go our separate ways without another word, but I pause at the back door, and glance over my shoulder down the hall, watching her walk back into the role she excels at.
I either just did the most reckless thing I’ve done since I hired her . . . or the bravest.
And for the first time, I’m not sure I care which it is.