11. Todd
TODD
Saturday mornings were usually my favorite part of the week.
No meetings.
No shareholders.
No one demanding a decision before I'd had coffee.
Just a few quiet hours before the world remembered I existed.
Unfortunately, this Saturday wasn't quiet. I couldn't stop thinking about Cici. I'd spent most of the morning pretending to work.
A financial report sat open on my laptop. I'd read the same paragraph three times and couldn't have told anyone what it said.
Instead, my mind kept drifting to a blonde pilot with freckles.
A pilot I absolutely should not be thinking about.
I stared at my phone.
Then picked it up.
Then put it back down.
Then picked it up again.
This was ridiculous.
I wasn't a teenager.
I was a thirty-nine-year-old CEO.
If I wanted to call someone, I could call them.
So I did.
The phone rang twice.
"Hello?"
Her voice immediately made me smile.
That probably wasn't a good sign.
"Good morning."
A pause.
"Todd."
I could practically hear her trying not to sound pleased. That made me smile even more.
"You're supposed to answer with good morning."
"I already know it's morning."
"I was trying to be polite."
"You?"
"See? That was rude."
She laughed.
The sound sent a warmth through me.
I leaned back in my chair.
"I was reviewing next week's flight schedule."
"Liar."
I blinked.
"What?"
"You don't review flight schedules."
"I absolutely review flight schedules."
"No, you don't."
I rubbed a hand across my jaw.
"Okay. Maybe I don't."
"Maybe?"
"Fine. I don't."
"That's what I thought."
I laughed.
"Would you like to have lunch?"
Silence.
Not a long silence.
Just enough hesitation for me to notice it.
"To discuss the flight schedule?" she asked.
"Naturally."
Another laugh.
Then a sigh.
"I suppose somebody should discuss the flight schedule."
"Exactly."
"You're impossible."
"I've heard that before."
Another pause.
Then finally?—
"Okay."
The grin that spread across my face was entirely too satisfying.
"Text me your address. I'll pick you up at noon."
"Todd—"
"No backing out."
"I wasn't going to."
"Good."
I hung up before she could change her mind.
Then spent the next thirty minutes wondering why I felt like I'd just won something.
Lake Norman was beautiful.
I knew that.
Most people in Charlotte knew that.
What I hadn't expected was Cici's house.
It sat on a quiet stretch of Lake Norman shoreline, tucked beneath a canopy of mature oak trees.
The two-story craftsman-style home featured soft blue-gray siding, white trim, and a wide front porch anchored by weathered flagstone.
A pair of red rocking chairs sat beside the front door, along with several overflowing flower pots that added splashes of color.
It felt like the kind of place that had been built for family dinners, holiday gatherings, and slow Sunday mornings with a cup of coffee overlooking the water.
It felt peaceful.
Comfortable.
Like her.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the Rover’s engine.
My gaze landed on the car parked beside the garage, I stopped for a second.
A Saab 9-3 Aero.
Not restored or modified, it was well preserved.
The dark blue paint gleamed in the afternoon sun, looking far newer than a car its age had any right to. There wasn’t a scratch on it. The wheels were spotless. Even from twenty feet away, I could tell it had been cared for obsessively.
I found myself smiling. Cici drove a Saab.
It suited her perfectly.
I took a few steps toward the house just as the front door opened. Every coherent thought immediately left my head because Cici stepped outside.
She wore a flowy white skirt and a pale blue sleeveless top.
The sunlight caught in her blonde hair as she walked toward me. Her hair was down and flowed well past her shoulders, settling just past her breasts. Her soft curls bounced with the movement.
A small smile appeared.
"Hi."
"Hi."
For a second we both froze.
Then she laughed softly.
"Nice ride." I nodded toward her car.
She glanced toward the Saab and smiled.
“You like it?”
“You drive a discontinued Swedish car built by a company that used to make fighter jets.”
She grinned, “and?”
"And somehow that’s the least surprising thing I’ve learned about you."
She shook her head as we walked to my Rover.
I opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in. I walked around to the driver's side. Still smiling like an idiot.
I pulled into the parking lot of The Dock House, one of Cici's favorite restaurants on the lake. The restaurant sat directly on the shoreline, with a wraparound deck overlooking the water and white string lights woven through the railing.
Several of the staff greeted her by name as we made our way to one of the outdoor tables on the deck.
I had a clear view of the docks below. Boats filled nearly every slip, and every few minutes another one eased in from the lake as if arriving by water was as normal as pulling into the parking lot.
The afternoon breeze rolled across the lake, and somewhere between the view, the company, and a glass of sweet tea, I forgot every reason I’d told myself not to get attached.
By the time our meals arrived we'd already spent twenty minutes arguing over whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
She was wrong.
Spectacularly wrong.
And refused to admit it.
"You're judging people for enjoying fruit."
"I'm judging people for putting fruit on pizza."
"Tomatoes are fruit."
I pointed at her.
"That's different."
"It isn't."
"It absolutely is."
She laughed.
The sound was becoming one of my favorite things.
Which was a problem.
A very big problem.
Then her phone rang.
The smile disappeared from her face.
Instantly.
My stomach tightened.
She looked at the screen.
"Excuse me."
She stood and walked several feet away.
I watched her listen.
Watched concern replace surprise.
Watched her nod.
By the time she ended the call, something had changed.
She returned to the table.
"I'm sorry."
"What happened?"
She slipped her phone into her purse.
"I have to go."
"What, I… what happened?" Clearly whatever it was, was the reason our time was about to be cut short.
"That was my Grammy's nursing home."
The concern in her voice made my chest ache.
"Is she okay?"
"She's having a really rough day."
Her gaze dropped briefly.
"They said she keeps asking for me."
"I'm so sorry, but I have to go. Would you mind dropping me off back to my house?"
"I can just drive you there."
Her eyes lifted.
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to. Let me drive you."
Her shoulders slumped.
"Please."
"Todd—"
"Cici."
She studied me.
Clearly debating something.
Then finally she said, "Okay."
The drive was quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Just thoughtful.
After several minutes I glanced toward her.
"Are you close with your grandmother?"
A small smile appeared.
"She's actually my great grandmother."
"Great grandmother? Wow."
She nodded.
"Yes, we're very close."
Something flickered across her face.
A memory.
A hundred memories.
"Grammy was always there for me."
I understood that.
More than she probably realized.
Family wasn't always blood.
Sometimes it was simply the people who showed up.
The people who stayed.
The nursing home wasn't far away.
The moment we entered, the receptionist smiled.
"Cici."
The warmth in her voice told me everything.
They knew her here.
Not as a visitor.
As family.
As someone who came often.
"She's been asking for you all morning."
Cici nodded.
Then headed down the hallway.
I followed.
When we reached the room, she gently pushed open the door.
An elderly woman sat near the window.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Thick silver hair cut to shoulder length.
The second she saw Cici, her entire face lit up.
"There she is."
My chest squeezed. I'd never seen anyone look happier.
"Hi, Grammy."
Cici crossed the room and hugged her.
Carefully.
Gently.
Like she was handling something precious.
Grammy held onto her hand afterward.
Refusing to let go.
"And who is this handsome man?"
I nearly laughed.
Cici rolled her eyes.
"Grammy."
"What? I'm old, not blind."
I barked out a laugh.
Grammy pointed at me.
"See? I like him."
"That's good to know. His name is Todd."
She nodded.
"Todd, nice to meet you."
Then she turned toward Cici.
"Did you tell him about skydiving?"
Cici froze.
"Oh no."
I leaned forward.
"The what?"
Grammy's eyes widened.
"She didn't tell you?"
"Apparently not."
Grammy looked personally offended.
"Well, somebody has to."
"Grammy."
But it was already too late.
The story had begun.
According to Grammy, Cici had taken her skydiving five years ago.
She'd somehow convinced Grammy to jump from an airplane despite several staff members trying to stop them.
The story was very detailed with Grammy pointing to where the harness was strapped across her chest and passed through her legs. She commented on how heavy the parachute was and how she felt like she was going to fall backwards.
Cici went first and yelled out, "Geronimo!" as she jumped out of the plane.
I glanced at Cici. Her smile was huge as her eyes sparkled watching Grammy recount the story.
Grammy's facial expressions became more exaggerated with every passing minute.
And somehow more entertaining.
I found myself laughing. Often.
Especially when Grammy described a terrified instructor screaming all the way down.
By the time the story ended, tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes.
"That's incredible."
"I know."
Cici buried her face in one hand.
"I'm never living this down."
"Definitely not."
Grammy smiled proudly.
"I raised her to be adventurous."
I laughed.
"I believe it."
For the next hour we sat together.
Talked.
Listened.
Laughed.
And somewhere during that hour, I stopped paying attention to Grammy.
Not because she wasn't wonderful.
Because I couldn't stop watching Cici.
The way she adjusted Grammy's blanket without thinking.
The way she held her hand.
The way she patiently answered the same question twice.
Then three times.
Never sounding frustrated.
Never rushing her.
Never making her feel embarrassed.
Every gesture seemed automatic and natural.
Like caring for Grammy wasn't an obligation.
It was a privilege.
Something she genuinely treasured.
And maybe that was the moment everything shifted.
Because up until then, I'd been focused on attraction.
Chemistry.
The memory of our incredible nights together.
But sitting there watching her with Grammy...
I saw something else.
Something deeper.
Something that had absolutely nothing to do with physical attraction.
I saw the kind of woman she was.
And the realization hit me. Hard.
Because women like Cici didn't come along often.
The world was full of people who talked about loyalty.
Talked about compassion.
Talked about showing up.
Cici actually did it.
The way she'd worried the second the nursing home called.
The way she'd dropped everything and came running.
I couldn't stop watching her.
And that realization should have concerned me.
A lot.
Instead, sitting there beside her, all I could think about was how much I wanted another day like this.
And then another.
And another after that.
Which was probably the biggest problem of all.