Chapter 8 Olena
OLENA
“Glad you could make it; was the commute hellish?” Sam winks at me, reaching out for a hug. I embrace him tightly, rocking us side to side in the small apartment hallway. Balloons and streamers hang from the corners of the ceiling in the kitchen and living room nearby.
“Oh, just brutal, all ten feet from my bedroom.” I pull back, sporting a sarcastic deadpan expression, then break into a grin as I squeeze his hand. “Happy birthday, darling. You don’t look a day over twenty-five. What’s your secret?”
Sam’s youthful glow is enviable. “Asian genes and overpriced skin care products.” He adjusts his Happy Birthday tiara with a coquettish pout and smooths down his silky black hair.
We crack up and head over to the kitchen where Wyatt is busy using every pot and pan in our possession, stirring and flipping a variety of dishes. The aromas wafting through the apartment are already making my mouth water.
“Wyatt, you’re killing me; it smells so good in here.” I put my arm around his shoulders and give him a squeeze.
He glances at me quickly before returning his attention to the multiple pans and bowls sprawled out in front of him. “Beats crackers and cheese, right?” he teases me pointedly with a raised eyebrow. I’m famous for treating every meal like a picnic.
“Oof, shots fired,” says Sam from behind us as he loads a small plate with appetizers from the kitchen table. “Let’s save the drama for hearing about Olena’s new hunky lumberjack.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively at me, grinning.
“Sam!” I exclaim in alarm. “He’s not my hunky lumberjack!” I try to keep my cool. “He’s not my anything, either. Except maybe my coworker,” I say primly.
Sam rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Uh-huh.”
“He’s a landscaper, too, by the way, not a lumberjack,” I add, a bit defensively.
“That’s not what I heard from Wyatt,” Sam says.
I shoot Wyatt a look; he gives me a guilty smile.
“But seriously, Olena, we need the whole story. Consider it a birthday gift to me. All the juicy details, please and thank you.” Sam sits at the table, patting the seat beside him.
I pour myself a glass of wine and narrow my eyes at him good-naturedly, shaking my head. I don’t sit down.
“Okay, fine, but no more lumberjack talk.” I raise my eyebrows and point a threatening finger at each of them.
The door buzzer sounds. Wyatt wipes his hands on a tea towel and answers it, letting Nat in, then turns back to his post at the stove.
“Alright, don’t worry,” says Wyatt, “we’ll be on our best behavior. I want to hear more about how things went with Uncle Charles, anyway.”
Because Wyatt had been so busy preparing for tonight, I’d only had time to give him a quick summary of what happened yesterday at the property. Somehow, what seems to have stuck is Jude’s appearance. I may have likened him to a lumberjack, but I definitely did not use the term hunky.
I cautiously sit down beside Sam as Nat lets herself in. “Best behavior,” I remind Sam with a stern look.
He raises his hands in an obedient pose.
“Remember, I’m a consummate professional,” I add, holding a hand to my chest, the picture of restraint.
Nat shrugs off her coat, dumping it and her purse on the chair near the door, then kicks off her shoes.
“Who’s a consummate professional?” she asks.
“Ooh, are we hearing about Olena’s new job?
” Nat catches up quickly, joining us at the table.
She rubs her hands, then wraps her arms around Sam’s shoulders from behind.
“Happy birthday, Sammy,” she adds quietly as she gives him a squeeze, a few of her dark braids falling forward over his shoulder.
He smiles up at her.
“Yes, I’ve been roped into recounting the whole messy tale,” I say, glancing pointedly at Wyatt. He’s drizzling sauce into the skillet, steam hissing up from the pan.
“I want to hear everything,” Nat squeals, sitting down with us.
Wyatt begins clearing away the appetizers to make room for the feast he’s prepared. He’s been teaching himself how to cook traditional Vietnamese dishes lately, even secretly calling Sam’s mom from time to time for guidance on technique so he could get everything right for the party.
I take a long, steadying breath. “Well, I guess everything started on the drive out there…”
“Wait, so, he just left in a huff for no reason?” Wyatt asks, looking confused and surprised.
“Well, I wouldn’t say he was in a huff, but I guess it was kind of abrupt?” I’m still not sure what to make of Jude’s behavior; he’d taken off so suddenly yesterday.
“Huh, that’s kind of… dramatic and weird,” Sam notes.
“Probably just realized he was stuck working with me for the next few weeks,” I joke.
“Shut your face; he should be so lucky,” says Nat. She takes a sip from her glass of wine.
I smile sheepishly. “I don’t know,” I say, pausing to think for a moment. “I’m probably overthinking everything. Classic me, right?”
“I mean, you would qualify for Olympic gold in that sport,” Wyatt teases, now sitting with us at the table.
The remnants of his incredible main dishes sit in front of us: bánh mì sandwiches, ph? noodle soup, and bún cha—pork meatballs.
Needless to say, there isn’t much food left.
“I remember back in high school we’d stay up until two in the morning talking on the phone about exactly what Brandon Gregson meant when he signed that note ‘love, Brandon’ or analyzing Taylor Copeland’s body language in math class to figure out who he was going to ask to the dance. ”
“To be fair, they were both total dreamboats,” I say wistfully.
“You’re not wrong,” agrees Wyatt with a sigh.
Sam clears his throat, looking pointedly at Wyatt.
“Not as much of a dreamboat as you, honey, obviously.” Wyatt leans over to plant a kiss on Sam’s cheek.
Sam flutters his dark eyelashes dramatically. “I was worried that, maybe, now that I’m twenty-eight, you’ll have eyes for the younger guys.” He pouts jokingly.
“Oh, God, not a chance. Have you spoken to the youths lately?” Wyatt asks, rolling his eyes.
“Because I spend all day with them at the deli. There’s no way.
Too much drama. I’m constantly helping them figure out their little baby love lives.
There’s not much upstairs just yet, you know what I mean? ”
“So, you prefer my brilliant mind, do you?” Sam flirts, leaning toward Wyatt suggestively.
Wyatt smiles and kisses him.
“Ugh, get a room, you two, shoot!” Nat interjects, ripping off a piece of her bread roll and tossing it at them. It hits Wyatt on the shoulder, and he looks up at her in alarm and amusement.
“Oh, leave them be,” I say, coming to their defense. “They’re cute. Plus, it’s Sam’s birthday. No bread pelting allowed.”
Sam looks at Nat smugly, agreeing with me.
The reality is, Sam and Wyatt are the most solid couple I know; they’ve been together three years now, and often talk about getting married.
Their plan is to move in together once Sam finishes business school and Wyatt can get a better job than managing the deli.
For now, Sam’s living with his parents, and Wyatt’s saving money by splitting the rent with me.
I watch their easy closeness with envy. The contrasting image of Jude high-tailing it away from me flashes in my mind, and I frown to myself.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out. Another text from a number I don’t recognize.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Why won’t you respond? Talk to me.
The crease in my brow deepens as I delete the message and quickly block the number. I feel queasy.
“So, when do you start work for Uncle Charles?” Wyatt asks from the kitchen, breaking into my thoughts. He’s gotten up to take dishes to the sink, so he doesn’t catch the look on my face as I stare at my phone. I glance up. Nat and Sam are busy talking to each other and haven’t noticed either.
I blink and force myself back into the present with my friends, pushing Sean’s text out of my head. I put my phone back in my pocket. “Oh, um, right away, basically. I’m going to be taking measurements and working on the designs this week.”
“So, you’ll be back at the job site on Monday?” Nat cuts in with a knowing look on her face. She pops a bite of bread into her mouth, grinning. “Will Jude be there?” She draws out his name, pumping her eyebrows.
I swat her in the arm, then take a deep breath. Yes. Yes, he will.