4. Emma
4
Emma
When I get into the clinic the next day, I still can’t shift Ryan’s visit from my mind. It’s not just that I’m clearly still holding on to something I should have let go of long ago. It’s also the fact that he was so arrogant—expecting me to drop everything because he’s some big star on the ice.
My life is easy. I’m happy. I have my practice and good friends, and I live in a lovely little town where everyone knows you by name. But his arrival seems to have shaken something in me. Which is surprising, given that I’m a pretty put-together and successful woman.
“Are you okay?” Sharon asks when I walk in.
“Sure,” I lie. “Why?”
She gives me a long look. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m missing your usual cheerful greeting.”
At that moment, I realize I was so occupied thinking about Ryan Steele that I have indeed walked into the office without even saying hello.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Emma. But you know I’m here if you need an ear.”
I don’t say anything to that, and then she says. “It’s Ryan, isn’t it?”
Her insight does not come as a surprise to me; she has been my closest friend forever. We know each other better than we know ourselves. I’m now annoyed at myself that I’ve allowed him to move into my headspace rent-free. And why? Because he showed up yesterday? I must be out of my mind.
So, kick him out so you can move back in.
Shaking my head, I say, “I just need to shake it off. I’ll be fine.”
When my first client arrives, I pin on my warmest smile, give myself a metaphorical slap in the face, and tell myself that I need to get it together. These people are not paying me good money to be in the same room with such negative energy.
Losing myself in the work I love so much, I find my usual rhythm, and soon, I’m laughing and smiling again with my clients. Somewhere along the way, I realize that I won’t be seeing him again. My decision was final, and knowing the kind of man he is, he has likely already moved on to someone who would accommodate his need to be the center of attention.
At lunch, I slip on my coat. Sharon and I take turns to go out to get our midday meal. What we have is more of a partnership than boss and employee.
“Ooh, can I get the chicken tikka today?” she says, her eyes lighting up at the sound of it. “I’m in the mood to spice things up a bit.”
Rolling my eyes at her, I reply, “Sharon, you get chicken tikka three days of the week. Your idea of spicing things up is adding chili mayo to your sandwich.”
“Hey, just because you could eat fire if it was offered to you, it doesn’t make you better than me, you know,” she counters with a smirk.
I do like my spicy food. It’s not practical to eat it for lunch, given the proximity I have with my clients, but on a weekend, I like to experiment with my spices. Sometimes, Sharon is brave enough to try my concoctions, but not recently. Maybe because the last time she did, her face made more moves than John Travolta on the dancefloor, she turned bright red, and—shrieking like a little girl—she drank my house out of milk.
I throw a wink over my shoulder and head out into the street.
The bitter wind tugs at my coat and scarf, and I nearly lose my trilby altogether. Oh, yes. I wear a trilby. I get some strange looks when I’m anywhere other than Maple Springs, but here in my hometown, no one bats an eyelid.
It belonged to my daddy. I was only nine when he died, and for six months, I wouldn’t take it off. I wore it everywhere: around the house, going to school. I even took it to my room at night, where it sat on my bedside table while I slept. In my nine-year-old little head, it kept me close to him somehow. My sister is ten years older than me, but I was always Daddy’s little girl, and his death left a huge hole in my heart.
After a while, I got through my grief, and the trilby was put away. I didn’t see it again until I was twenty-two. Penny, my older sister, and I were clearing through Mom’s house, trying to get rid of old stuff for new furniture arriving. Most of Dad’s stuff was gone by that point, but I just couldn’t let the trilby go, and so, much to Penny’s dismay—at least at the time—I began wearing it again. I don’t need to wear it to feel close to Dad, but somehow, I always know he’s with me.
After rounding the corner, I head into The Rusty Spoon, a quaint diner on Main Street. As well as delicious food, they also do take-out, which is how Sharon and I get our lunch every weekday.
“Hey, Emma,” Jimmy says, beaming a smile at me over the counter.
He’s a tall, broad man with a soft belly and an open face. About fifteen years older than me, he’s known me all his life—or should I say, all my life, because like me, he’s never left Maple Springs. This is his father’s place, and when Jimmy left school, he moved from helping his dad on evenings and weekends to full-time work.
“Hi, Jimmy.” I smile back. “How are Whitney and Tess?” Jimmy’s wife has just had a baby.
With glowing pride, he says, “Great. We actually got five hours of sleep last night.”
“Woohoo,” I laugh.
“Hey, we take what we can get, right?” he grins. “Speaking of which, what can I get you?”
I give him my order and then stand out of the way so he can serve the customers who came in behind me. They’re all locals, and we nod and greet each other, like we do every time we meet.
Five minutes later, Jimmy hands me the parcels, and I go to pay.
But he shakes his head. “It’s been paid for already.”
“What?” I frown.
He nods across the diner. “Over there.”
Turning to look, I see Ryan Steele sitting in a booth, sipping coffee. He’s not looking in my direction at first, but then he turns and sees me. I’m still staring at him when his mouth curls up into a half smile, and he silently salutes me with his coffee.
Turning back to Jimmy, I say, “I want to pay.”
But the big man shrugs. “It’s already paid for, Emma.”
“Then I’ll buy something else.”
“Paid for,” Jimmy comes back.
My eyes fly open wide.
“I’m just doing what I’m told,” he says, “and I was told that whatever you order, he’s paying for.”
“Is that right?” I huff.
Well, if he thinks he can buy my services, Ryan Steele doesn’t know me at all, and turning on my heels, I stride out of the diner without giving him a second look.
The next day, the same thing happens, and when Sharon returns from the diner with our sandwiches, she’s beside herself with delight. Yesterday, I kept the incident to myself. Sharon would only have made it a bigger deal than it was, and she’s already making it a big deal.
“Can you believe it? What a great guy.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You know what he’s doing.”
She grins at me. “Course I do,” she says. “But I thought it was the other way around.”
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes are twinkling when she says, “Well, I thought the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.”
When I head to the diner the following day, I don’t even greet Jimmy. He gives me a knowing grin, and I throw my head back and sigh.
“This is ridiculous. How long is this going to go on?”
Jimmy just shrugs. If he does know, he’s certainly not telling me. All the reasoning in the world doesn’t change Jimmy’s mind, and then I finally realize that he’s an ice hockey fan. Or should I say, a Ryan Steele fan?
I’m heading back to the diner with our lunch when Ryan appears from nowhere and falls into step beside me.
“Hi,” he says.
I stop walking and turn to look at him. “This has to stop.”
“Why?” he says, a smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just lunch.”
“It’s bribery, and you know it.”
He tilts his head and looks thoughtful; then he says, “I see it as more of an investment.”
“Investment usually involves you getting a return, Mr. Steele, and that isn’t going to happen here,” I reply firmly.
But my words seem to bounce off him, and with that same air of confidence, he says, “What is it those investment bankers say? Your capital is at risk, and there are no guarantees.”
I really don’t know what to say to that, and so, I just stare at him in astonishment.
When I don’t reply, he nods to my head. “Nice hat, by the way.”
Still flustered and searching for words, I reply. “I have to get back to work.”
As I turn away from him and head down the street, he calls after me. “Still no appointments?”
“Nope,” I call back.
The next day is worse.
I’m not in the office for more than a half hour when a delivery arrives. It’s not the normal delivery of antiseptic wipes or paper rolls that I use on my medical bed. Oh, no. It’s a huge bunch of roses.
“This cannot be happening,” I cry once the delivery guy leaves.
Sharon is nearly jumping up and down with delight. “Who are they from?”
I give her a look. We both know exactly who they’re from. She grins widely, and then shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal. But it’s a big deal to me.
You should be happy there’s a guy paying you attention.
I ignore my inner voice and watch Sharon snatch the card from amongst the blooms. Tearing it open, she reads it out. “The first of many.”
“What?” I gasp. “No. No way. This has gone far enough.”
Grabbing my coat and hat, I fly out the door and head down the street. I need to put an end to this, and I need to do it now. I should have done it two days ago, but now is better than never.
Barging into The Rusty Spoon, I watch Jimmy’s head jerk up at my unusual entrance. I’m a reasonably quiet, demure person who doesn’t make waves, which is likely why he’s gawking at me as I approach the counter.
“What’s the matter?” he gasps.
“This ends today, Jimmy. Either I pay for our lunch from now on, or I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
A strange look comes over his face, and I’m pretty sure he’s trying to hide a smile. He then hands something to me. It’s a business card with nothing but a phone number on it.
“He said to give you this.”
I know exactly who he’s talking about. I’m just struggling to comprehend his foresight.
Jimmy smiles. “He knew you’d lose it eventually.”
“Did he now?”
“Hey, Emma. He’s just trying to be nice,” Jimmy says, giving me a soft look.
When I leave the diner, my mind is a mess of thoughts. Not least of which is whether I might have overreacted to the situation. I mean, Jimmy isn’t wrong. Ryan probably is trying to be nice. He’s doing it to get his own way, but still.
But I have a very secure feeling that he’s not going to quit, either. So, what do I do?
Just call him.