Chapter 15
“How was work today, honey?” my mother asks as she reaches into the back of my little Honda.
Her arms wrap around one of the big planters I’ve been carting around for a few days now, ever since the sale at the garden center where she works.
She hands it to me.
I crouch to set it down on the lawn, then brush stray flecks of soil off my hands. “Er… fine. Thanks for coming by to help me unload these. You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, I know I didn’t have to. You are so strong, sweetie. I just want to see how they look by the front door. You know how I get excited about these things.” She grabs another planter out of the back seat and once again passes it to me. “You sure work was okay?”
“Yep! Fine.” I carry a planter past her and set it down near the first one.
I can’t tell my mom that my work day started with a stolen kiss in the break room and then got more naughty from there.
I’m pretty sure Brock and I shouldn’t have closed the door to his office to kiss again at our mid-morning meeting.
The flirty texts we sent back and forth all day were not professional.
The same goes for our phone calls, which were often not at all necessary.
Which was fun… I will admit. To myself. Not to my mom.
“Honey?” My mom quirks her eyebrow and hands me a third planter.
“Hm?”
“You seem distracted. And you’re quiet in that way you get when you’re overwhelmed. Anything I can do?”
I place the heavy ceramic pot down on the patchy grass near the others. “No, no, thanks. I’m fine. Work’s fine…”
She’s not buying it. “Clay says you took on some extra responsibilities. He says your boss is very high maintenance. The demanding type, calling you at all hours, asking too much of you.”
“Clay said that?”
She nods. “Your brother is very perceptive, honey, you know that. He seems to think you’re struggling at work, and I promised him I’d try to get a feel for what’s going on.”
We unload a few more pots until the back of my car is empty.
My mom brushes her hands against her hips, wiping flecks of potting soil away. “I am so glad you picked these up, by the way. Wasn’t that a great sale? Fifty percent off… we won’t see deals like that again until after Christmas. I was thinking I’ll fill them and put them around the front door, all along there.”
She gestures toward the rickety porch. “I mean, once you have that area spruced up. It’ll look great with some pretty flowers in the mix, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. Thanks, Mom.”
She reaches for me, rests her arm around my shoulders, and squeezes me in. “We’ll get this place fixed up. Don’t you worry. It’ll just take time. And I think your work situation will get better, too. Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Movement, way down the street, catches my eye.
Cars drive down this street all the time, but this one is unique. The shiny, new, black Land Cruiser slows down as it nears my home.
The blinker comes on.
My heart flutters. My stomach drops. I feel my palms heat up.
Is that…?
Yes, that is Brock behind the wheel.
I smile at the sight of him. What is he doing here?
It looks like he has the dogs in the back of the car. I can make out Zoey’s pale head, nose to the back window.
He told me—in one of those extra phone calls, between his other meetings—that he and the dogs have reached a new level. He said it’d still be helpful if I did morning and mid-day walks but that he felt comfortable handling the rest. I congratulated him on his progress and told him he was becoming a great doggy uncle.
So, what’s he doing here?
When I reach up to fuss with my bangs, my mom watches me. She eyes the black SUV, then swivels to face me again.
“Ooooh…” she says, with a knowing nod. “Ah ha. I see.”
I bend my knees quickly to check my reflection in my car mirror.
The mirror used to be crooked. The mechanic that Brock hired yesterday to put in that new battery also took care of other things; when we got back to my car, I found that the side mirror had been straightened, and a dent on one of the back doors popped out and smoothed. The driver’s side window miraculously works again, too.
My mom giggles as she watches me examine my reflection and fuss with my bangs. “Oh, Gwen,” she whispers. “You are an open book!”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper back. I shift to the side so I can look past her.
Brock steps out of his car and positions himself by the back door. When he opens it, the dogs crowd in on him. Zoey licks his face as he hooks a leash to her harness.
My mom looks that way. “An open book with good taste, I see. Who is he?”
“My boss.”
“He’s your boss? The one Clay said has been calling you at all hours?”
“Yes, Brock’s been calling me a lot, but it’s more complicated than Clay thinks. Mom, Clay is perceptive, but he’s also a guy, and I can’t tell him girl stuff.”
“Like how you are in a total tizzy over your boss!” My mom wiggles her eyebrows. “Honey, I am so happy for you.”
“There is nothing to be happy about,” I say, now through clenched teeth. “And I’m not?—”
I peek past her again. Brock’s working on Mr. Brown’s leash-harness connection now. His fingers work the clips.
I still have time.
Time to ask my mother to please, pretty please, not embarrass me. She’s prone to telling men stories about how cute I was as a toddler, for some reason. I do not want Brock to know how much I loved traipsing around pushing my dolly in a stroller, while wearing nothing but my diaper.
I would die.
“Can you not say anything too… you know… embarrassing? And also, I’m not in a tizzy, whatever that means.” I shift back again so she’s blocking me and touch my hair again. “Do I look okay? Any potting soil on my face? Hair okay?”
“You look great, honey.” She pats my shoulder, then leans in to peck my cheek. “I won’t tell any Baby Gwen stories, I promise. I am going to meet him—just a quick introduction, to see what he’s all about—and then skedaddle and leave you to it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brock has reached the sidewalk.
I want to remind myself that her ‘quick introduction’ should not involve any singing, palm-reading, or long-winded stories about my childhood, but suddenly I don’t have time.
“Hey,” Brock says as both dogs bustle my way. “I’m just getting back from the park with these two. I figured I’d stop over and deliver this.”
He holds out a bag.
When I peek inside, I gasp. “You didn’t!”
He nods. “You mentioned you needed one.”
I pull the notched trowel out of the paper bag to show my mom. “For the floors!” I tell her happily. Then I turn to Brock. “Wow. Thank you. This is awesome. I’ve been stalling on the floors ‘cause of this.”
“I can give you a hand with the linoleum,” he offers.
I am swooning right now—right here in the driveaway, with my mother as a witness.
My heart feels sparkly, just like those emojis Vanessa sent. “Wow. Really? That would be great. You know how to put in linoleum?”
He shrugs. “I helped my buddy Leo do some work on his floors when he moved into his place. We tiled his bathroom. I watched some videos about linoleum, and it’s similar.”
He watched videos about putting in flooring… for me.
I feel so happy, I want to jump up and down. That would definitely confirm my mother’s suspicions that I’m in a tizzy, so I don’t.
Instead, I crouch to pet Mr. Brown and beam up at Brock. “That would be awesome. If you want, I can cook us up some food. The kitchen’s a wreck, but I have the ingredients for Chef’s Salad. That’s pretty simple, minimal dishes required.”
He smiles back at me. “Cool. Sounds fun.”
My mother leans over Zoey and strokes her back. “Gwen has always been the best at making salads,” she says, “ever since she was a little girl. She’d run out to the garden we had at the back of the house and come in all excited about what she picked. You should try her Rainbow Salad. Purple carrots, cherry tomato, yellow peppers… a special dressing made with maple syrup and balsamic. It’s my favorite, and I ask for it every year on my birthday.”
“Sounds really good,” Brock says.
He’s usually so suave, so good at filling silences with that public-speaking voice of his. I wait for him to say something else, anything, so I won’t have to speak up, but he hesitates.
He’s waiting to be introduced.
I am once again in charge of connecting the dots, and this time, I hope to do it without embarrassing myself.
“Mom, this is Brock Benson, my boss. Brock, meet my mother, Allegra Temple.”
My mother’s flowy tunic top trails through the air as she extends her hand. “I am so pleased to meet you after all these years, Brock. I’ve heard from Gwen all about that company of yours and how you’ve really made something of yourself. A real entrepreneur, you are! And it is great to see you here, visiting my Gwen.”
Uh oh,I think, when she pauses. Here she goes.
My mom beams at me but continues to address Brock. “She’s a special girl. I knew the minute I had her, thirty-one years ago, that she was one special little being. It was a home water birth, you know. I had her in a lovely birthing pool that we had arranged in the living room. The minute my midwife handed little Gwen to me, a dove landed on the windowsill.”
“Mom… I don’t think he needs to know about the dove.”
“A White Winged Dove!” she exclaims, still beaming. “Now, this was winter, mind you. Late February. Snow outside. That is very early for the White Winged Dove to migrate north, and yet, there it was, peering in at me through the fogged glass pane. And me, in the water, candles flickering all around, with my sweet newborn in my arms. I looked at my midwife, and I said, ‘This child will bring peace with her wherever she goes.’ I’m sure you know doves have symbolic meaning. Doves tell of peace, purity, and harmony. And ever since she was a girl, Gwen has?—”
“Mom.” I bump her with my hip.
Brock blinks a few times as though he’s bewildered.
My mom giggles. “Quick. I said quick introduction, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“And here I am, telling a story.” She stoops over Zoey again and ruffles the sides of her body as I’ve done many times. Then, she bows down further and scoops up the pair of gardening gloves she discarded earlier.
“I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that Gwen doesn’t like to be the center of attention, Brock,” she says as she fits them in her back pocket.
“I have noticed that. She’d much rather have the focus on another.”
Great. Now my mom and my boss are trading notes about me.
“Mom… did you say you have something to do? Somewhere to go?” I ask, bugging my eyes out at her in hopes she’ll get the message.
She giggles again and offers her hand to Brock a second time. “Really. Honestly. Very nice to meet you, Brock.”
“And you as well, Allegra.”
She nods and fishes in the pocket of her faded jeans. “I’ll get out of here so you two can enjoy your evening.”
When she circles around her car, she catches my eye and winks. “Have fun!” she sings before settling in behind the wheel.
It’s a relief when she backs out of the driveway, waves, and then drives away.
But the feeling of relief doesn’t last—because now, the situation is even more tense. I am now standing in my driveway with my boss, and I have no idea how to handle the fact that he is here, on my property, with two adorable dogs… about to help me put in kitchen floors.
I thought that handing a person a cup of coffee spoke of love.
Turns out, that’s nothing but a peep. A whisper.
This—Brock, showing up with exactly the tool I need and offering to get down on his hands and knees to help me…? This feels like he’s shouting his feelings for me from the rooftops.
“So, you want to show me around the place? Give me the tour?” he asks.
I nod, mute. This means so much to me. More than he knows. And yet, I don’t want to tell him that because it might freak him out.
“Yeah, for sure,” I say. “Come on in.”