Chapter 5 #2
I was on the verge of stabbing him with my keys but I chose peace. That didn’t mean I was going to give up, though. I needed some damn soup. I tried again to get the counter guy’s attention.
“Excuse me, I just need—”
“You gonna order or what?” A big, pushy guy in a Knicks jersey appeared at my elbow, glaring at me like I had personally insulted his mother.
“I’m trying, I just—I’m just trying to order soup for my sick friend.”
“Then get a move on,” he snapped.
This was ridiculous. I was brave enough to move to the city all alone and now I couldn’t even order soup without having a breakdown. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe I should just go back to Wyoming where people said thank you and sorry and actually waited their turn in line.
A shadow cut through the crowd. And then Dane was there, his hand on my back, firmly pressing me closer to the counter.
I could feel the solid presence of him beside me, tall and broad and somehow carving out space in the chaos just by existing.
“What do you need?” His voice was low, meant just for me, but it cut through the noise like he’d used a megaphone.
“The—the soup—the chicken—” I couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence. My brain had short-circuited the moment his hand touched my back.
Dane turned to the counter, and his entire demeanor shifted.
“One large chicken soup,” he said, his voice loud and commanding. But there was something else in it too, an accent I’d never heard before, Irish and rough around the edges. “And make sure it’s hot.”
“We’re busy, pal. You’re gonna have to wait.”
“We’re all busy,” Dane said, his voice dropping into something almost dangerous. “Now get the soup. Now.”
The counter guy opened his mouth to argue. Dane leaned forward, and whatever expression crossed his face made the guy step back. “One large chicken soup.”
What followed was the most aggressive soup transaction I’d ever witnessed. When the guys behind the counter tried to push back, Dane got louder and seemed to grow ten feet tall, eyes blazing with challenge, like he was ready to hop over the counter and get the soup himself.
The deli guys caved. Dane also ordered a sandwich for me and for himself.
In record time, a to-go container of steaming hot chicken soup was thrust into my hands, secured in a plastic bag.
The sandwiches were in brown paper bags, grease already darkening them.
Dane paid for everything before I could even reach for my wallet.
Then he was guiding me toward the door with that same firm hand on my back. Suddenly we were outside in the frigid air, and I no longer felt so overwhelmed.
“Thank you for that,” I said. “And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “This place has good sandwiches.”
I stood there on the sidewalk, clutching my soup and my pharmacy bag, staring up at him. He looked down at me, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Well, I appreciate your help,” I said.
He laughed and handed me the sandwich he’d bought for me, still wrapped in its own brown paper bag. “Have you ever been mean in your life?”
I blinked at the question. “What?”
“Mean. Rude. Aggressive.” He was looking at me like I was some kind of fascinating specimen he couldn’t quite figure out. “Have you ever just pushed back?”
I shook my head, confused about where this was going.
“I didn’t think so.” He smiled, and it transformed his entire face. For a second, he didn’t look like the grumpy CEO who barely spoke to me. It was like he’d flung the curtains open to let in the sunlight.
He glanced at the pharmacy bag in my hand. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my roommate. She’s sick. Really sick. Like, I thought she might be dying. I had to get her prescription and now I have soup that’s apparently worth going to war over, so thank you. I had no idea ordering soup required a degree in warfare.”
I was babbling. Oh God, I was babbling at my boss on a street corner while he looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite read.
Concerned? Confused? Mildly disgusted?
I had no idea.
So I did what any rational person would do in that situation.
I gave him a thumbs-up.
“Great!” I said, my voice suddenly several octaves too high. “Well! Thanks again! Bye!”
And then I turned and ran like someone was chasing me, skidding around the corner onto my street and immediately yelping when I spooked a trio of cats that had been feasting on scraps from a shredded garbage bag.
I didn’t stop until I’d climbed all five flights of stairs and was safely inside the apartment, where Abby was still alive on the couch, now watching some cooking competition show with half-lidded eyes.
“I got you soup,” I said breathlessly, setting the medicine, soup, and my sandwich on the coffee table.
“Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?” Abby asked. “Did you steal this stuff?”
“No, of course not. One crime a day is my max.”
Abby gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me for a second but was too sick to press the issue.
I collapsed onto the other end of the couch and buried my face in my hands.
My heart was still racing. My cheeks were still burning. I could still feel the phantom warmth of Dane’s hand on my back.
A thumbs-up.
A thumbs-up.
“Are you okay?” Abby asked, peering at me over her soup container.
“Never been better,” I lied.