Chapter 9
WILLA
I’d sent Dean a nice text thanking him for dinner last night and confirming that I’d like to go out with him Saturday night.
It was a bold move. Weekdays and weekday nights were for those first dates and people you weren’t quite sure of yet.
Friday and Saturday night meant someone had passed the first hurdle and was being considered as relationship material.
It was a little early for me to have a Saturday night date after only one Wednesday night dinner, but I needed to do something to convince myself to be Team Dean and not Team Eng, even if I had gone on Tinder and set up that fake catfish profile.
I was already regretting that. But what was done was done. Trying not to beat myself up for indulging in two nights of incredible sex with the wrong guy, then baiting him on a dating app, I went home, showered and changed, and thought about what I should do with the rest of my day.
Most afternoons I taught classes at the gym, but not today.
Evenings and weekends were tricky. That was when the nine-to-fivers were off work packing in the classes at the gym.
Half of my personal training clients were training for a marathon or triathlon or were semi-pro sports figures.
All of them wanted to get their serious workouts done early.
Late mornings were for my retired clients, full-time moms, and the few wealthy business folks who juggled their workout routines and conference calls.
While there was always an opportunity to pick up an evening class, I usually turned those offers down.
In my twenties, I always said yes, but I’d passed my thirtieth birthday and even though finances were tight, I’d made the choice to cut my budget to the bone and have my evenings free for friends, and dating.
My annual earnings had always been a cause of contention with my family.
When I first announced my college major, they’d assumed I would be working in physical therapy and, for some reason, going on to med school.
The fact that I was helping old ladies keep moving and flexible, and ensuring that tech-bro got a PR on his next marathon didn’t make up for my crappy bank balance.
I was driving the twenty-year-old, car I’d saved up to buy my third year in college, still running thanks to Dad’s mechanical talents and the occasional loan/gift of money from my family.
I lived in a studio apartment above a store, a few blocks from the stadium—which was a sketchy neighborhood according to my mother.
My furniture, linens, and kitchen utensils were all hand-me-downs, thrift store finds, or given to me from the estates of great aunts and uncles.
Clothes were TJ Maxx or Marshalls clearance racks, or consignment stores.
A good bit of my budget went to food and entertainment because I refused to let my friends know my precarious financial situation.
And I refused to deny myself an enjoyable evening out with my besties, either.
I think Abby knew, but she never said a word, bless her. And since her offers to “get this one” included Jordan, there was no embarrassment. I reciprocated, but tried to do it when we were just getting a round of beers, or snagging burgers on a Sunday afternoon.
Once more I thought about Grandma Filipkowski’s idea about being the personal trainer for the Tusks.
Pulling out an old notebook, I turned to a blank page and began to write down ideas for workouts and how I could customize them for each member of the team.
Humans were different in terms of their physical ability, strengths and weaknesses, and I was sure orcs were the same.
A few mock-up plans would be a good start until I could evaluate each of them.
But first I’d need to convince the owner to hire me, and I wasn’t sure how to pitch my services.
He didn’t seem to care about whether the team won or lost, so improving their game performance didn’t seem a good tactic to take.
Injury prevention? I’d need to put together some numbers showing that the potential medical and rehab costs plus downtime would cost way more than my annual salary.
If none of those proposal techniques hit, then maybe I could convince the team members to individually hire me for personal training.
They’d certainly want to improve their game and avoid injury even if the owner didn’t care about those things.
And just a few extra clients would make a big difference in my monthly income.
Plus, I could offer them a discount if they paid in advance for a block of training sessions that went through their entire season.
Daily personal training for three or four orcs would be awesome, and my resume would be improved by having professional sports figures as clients, even if they were members of a losing team.
Since I had the afternoon free and didn’t have anything on my calendar until dinner with the girls at six, I put down the notebook and drove over to my parents’ house for a family visit.
“Willa!” My mom was on the porch, a broad grin creasing her face as she waited for me to park.
I trotted up the concrete steps, hopping over the one that was missing a chunk in the middle thanks to age and one of my nieces’ skateboarding mishap. I wrapped my arms around Mom and she did the same to me, squeezing me with surprising strength.
“Is Dad home?” I gasped once she’d released her boa-constrictor grip on my ribcage.
“He is. And Grandma as well. Grandpa just got back from the pub. Seems he met a young man at the park by the port.”
I rolled my eyes. Grandpa made friends everywhere he went, then promptly dragged his new acquaintances either down to the pub to meet the other retired dock workers, or to where all his ancient friends played open-air chess, checkers, and backgammon.
He was a magnet to everyone’s steel, but once his victims managed to get away, they seldom returned.
It made me kinda sad. Not that Grandpa didn’t have a ton of friends his own age, or even my father’s age, it was just that he seemed to crave the companionship of younger people, still strong, active, and on the upswing of their lives.
I had seven brothers and sisters, and we tried to spend as much time as possible with our family, but we all had our own lives where Grandpa, at his age, had nothing but time on his hands.
Things were different for Grandma. She volunteered at the library, reading to the preschoolers.
She had a weekly quilter’s group that made special blankets for kids in foster care.
She attended a gazillion continuing-education courses at every senior center or community college, and often surprised us by making sashimi for Sunday dinner or delivering an informative presentation on the early German settlers of Baltimore.
I was the youngest of Mom and Dad’s large brood, but they both still worked albeit on a part-time basis.
Dad had the third shift at the port and often worked weekends.
Mom had retired from the school system, but was an active substitute teacher and occasional backup childcare for her many grandkids.
I loved seeing them so active and lively, and hoped I’d be the same at their age.
“Grandma! Grandpa! Dad!” I made the rounds, subjected to more rib-crushing hugs and some pounding on the back from my father who had always treated his daughters the same as his sons in terms of their supposed physical stamina.
“Sit, sit.” Mom waved me to a spot on the floral sofa that they’d bought before I was born. I plopped down onto the velveteen cushions and chatted with everyone, catching up on what my siblings, nieces, and nephews were doing—even the ones I’d just seen this past Sunday.
“How are Nana and Pops?” I asked Mom as she brought a mug of coffee for each of us and took a seat in the recliner that had always been her spot.
“Another cruise. This one is along the Danube River. They’re hitting up all the markets, so expect handcrafted wooden items for Christmas gifts this year.”
I grinned, loving that Mom’s parents were attempting to spend every last dime of their carefully-saved retirement accounts on cruises and tours specifically created for senior-citizen appeal.
“How’s your latest quilt going, Grandma?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.
“This one is dog-themed.” She dug around in the bag at her feet and produced a quilt square with an adorable appliqué gray pit-bull on it. “It’s for the BARCs auction. I’m also working on some granny squares we’re doing for a blanket. That one will go to one of our kids.”
By kids, she meant the foster care children. I was surprised to hear Grandma was crocheting since she was an avid quilter, but I guess it was good to branch out on one’s crafting.
“I made a new friend this morning,” Grandpa announced.
I bit back a smile, because this was nothing new and Mom had already told me. Still, I liked hearing Grandpa’s stories, so I encouraged him to tell me all about this new friend of his.
“Nice young man. He’s one of those exercise guys I see in the mornings, but he stopped to sit and look at the ships and we got to talking.”
“Oooo, an ‘exercise guy.’” Grandma smiled at me. “Like our Willa.”
Grandpa ignored her comment. “He was very interested in the container ships and the gantry cranes. Logistics. We had a nice talk, then he left and I went to the pub. I invited him to join me tomorrow morning.”
I quickly ran through my schedule for tomorrow morning, carving out some Grandpa-time, just in case. “I’m sure he’s got a lot going on with his job and everything. He might not be able to make it, but I could come by the pub at ten. We could have lunch.”
He waved my offer away. “No. I’m sure he’ll be there. I’ve already told the crew about him. The boys and girls at the pub are going to love this guy. He’s well-spoken and was very friendly. Name’s Enzo. Had an accent. Talked about shipping in his country.”
“Enzo? He’s Italian?” Grandma shot me a knowing glance. “Is he good-looking? Got a decent job? Not married?”
“I don’t know any of that.” Grandpa snorted. “Like I can tell if a man is good looking or not. And we didn’t talk specifics about his job. He does some kind of government administration work.”
“You should ask if he’s married when you see him tomorrow.” Grandma gave me another knowing glance.
I had to put a stop to this before she had me in a white poofy dress walking down the aisle toward some random Italian guy named Enzo.
“I had a promising date last night.” Why did my mind veer away from Dean and straight to me and Eng. Naked.
Grandma got out her yarn and crochet needle and settled back in her chair. “Tell me all about this date of yours.”
So I did. I mean, I told her about Dean and not the night of endless sex with Eng. Although knowing Grandma, she probably would have appreciated the other story too.
“Are you going to see this Dean again?” she asked.
“Saturday night,” I replied.
Grandma sucked in a breath and put her crochet down to lean forward. “Saturday night? When are we going to meet him?”
“Mom!” My mother protested with a laugh. “Don’t rush Willa. You know we’ll get an introduction if it’s serious.”
Grandma sniffed. “I’d like to get an introduction before it’s serious. That way I can see if he’s good enough for our girl before we start planning the wedding.”
“It’s a second date, Grandma,” I reminded her.
“I knew after the first date that I was going to marry your Grandpa,” she countered.
“Yeah. I did too. Because she told me.” Grandpa teased his wife. “Not sure I had much choice in the matter.”
Grandma laughed and swatted at him. He easily evaded her hand, then leaned over to kiss her cheek. “It was love at first sight,” he said, his voice soft.
My vision grew misty and I blinked to clear it.
I’d heard this story a million times. It had been love at first sight.
Mom’s parents the same. Mom and Dad had a different story, where he’d been smitten and she’d been cautious, suspecting the fun-loving Polish guy she’d met at a party was a player.
I loved hearing their romantic tales over and over as well as those of my brothers and sisters.
Maybe someday I’d have my own story to contribute.
Someday.