4. Riley
I getoff work at eight on Thursdays, which is much better than the days when I’m expected to stay and close. Since I’ve got plans tonight, I do my best to get out of the restaurant as quickly as possible.
“You need anything else from me?” I ask my manager, who’s calculating the tips in the point-of-sale system.
She barely looks up at me. “No, you’re good. Thanks for all your hard work.”
I’m out of there in the blink of an eye, before she—or anyone else—can change their mind. Sometimes, the guys on the line will stop me before I can get to the back door, asking me to help with their cleanup. Even though it’s not my responsibility, I usually try to help them, but tonight, someone’s waiting on me.
I untie the little black apron from my waist as I walk down the street, wadding it into a ball and tucking it into my purse. Everything in there will probably smell like grilled food later tonight, but I tell myself I’ll clean it out later. Smelling like food after a long shift is one of the many unavoidable downsides to this job, anyway, and most people are pretty understanding about that.
I pull out my phone as I walk down the sidewalk. I have a couple of messages from Noah that came in during my shift. My manager has been getting stricter about phones recently, so I had to wait until I was clocked out to check them.
NOAH: You down for sometime next week?
I grin, typing out my response.
ME: If your pride can handle another devastating loss, then sure.
There’s a pause, in which his typing bubble appears and disappears several times. Eventually I get his response.
NOAH: We’ll see.
The text is followed by a grimacing emoji, which makes me laugh. I type out another message, changing the subject.
ME: I met your neighbor the other day btw. I helped him calm his kid down on my way past his house.
NOAH: Who? Cole?
That’s right—the imposing, ridiculously attractive man introduced himself as Cole.
ME: Yeah, that was him. His kid was adorable.
I don’t mention my thoughts about Cole himself.
NOAH: He’s a nice guy.I think the kid is his nephew, though. His mom passed away, so Cole stepped up and adopted him.
“Oh,” I say aloud, a little taken aback by that revelation. It intrigues me a little. I think back to the desperate, serious look in Cole’s striking blue eyes as he tried to calm down the child.
ME: He’s kinda dour, huh? Not much of a smiler?
NOAH: He’s really not a bad guy. Seems like he’s just been through a lot. You know how it is.
I do. During our time in the foster care system, Noah and I encountered plenty of people who had been through a lot. Life often throws curve balls at people, and those people sometimes struggle to pick themselves back up and move on.
It’s not always easy to put the past behind you. Sometimes, it’s downright impossible. I know that as well as anyone.
I should’ve recognized the look on Cole’s face when I saw it. Even after the initial signs of grief have faded, there’s still a residual pain underneath the surface—something that won’t necessarily go away.
I start to type out a longer message to Noah, then erase it and just text back a simple reply.
ME: That makes sense.
I stow my phone in my pocket, but my mind is still on Cole as I reach the end of the block.
I stand outside of the dive bar for a moment—this hole in the wall is one of the places that’s most convenient to meet Olivia for drinks after work, but it’s a little shady, even at this time of night. I tend to wait for her to show up before going inside. If we each have a friend with us, weird guys are less likely to make their moves.
It doesn’t take Olivia long to arrive. She runs up to greet me, a wide grin on her face, her four-inch heels doing nothing to stall her movement.
I’ve always been impressed by the way Olivia can run in heels, but I guess it’s a survival skill for her—she’s only five feet, two inches tall. She tends to wear heels most of the time, if only to make sure that people don’t tower over her.
“Hey, girl,” Olivia says enthusiastically, throwing her arms around me as if it’s been years since we last saw each other. She steps back, brushing a wave of dark, auburn-tinged hair behind her ear. “How was work?”
I exhale, smiling. “I’m just glad to be out of there.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not terrible. Definitely could have been worse. I’m just having trouble with this job lately—it’s starting to grate at me, you know?”
She makes a face. Her mother used to work as a maid, and the family has never had a lot of money, so Olivia is used to the endless grind of soul-sucking jobs. “I hear you,” she says. “One of these days, we’re gonna figure it out.”
“I hope so.” I turn toward the door, holding it open for her. The two of us enter the bar, waving to the bartender, and get settled in a booth for drinks.
* * *
Cole
The next morning,I call Kerry first thing to get Archie set up with a babysitter. She sends over one of my personal assistants, who greets me warmly at the door.
“Be good, okay?” I say to Archie, who nods seriously and turns to my assistant. He holds up the dinosaur he got yesterday.
“I need to give him a name,” Archie says. “Can you help me?”
My assistant smiles, turning to give me a thumbs up. “You bet, little guy.”
I head next door to Noah’s place. He answers the door shortly after I knock, looking a little surprised to see me. We’ve had a few short conversations as neighbors, and I invited him over to join the guys for poker once, but neither of us is the chatty type, so our friendship hasn’t gone much further than simple waves and greetings.
“Hey, Cole,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Can I come in?”
He stands back, holding the door open. “Well, sure.”
I’ve never been inside Noah’s house before. It’s beautiful, like all of the houses on this street, but it has a sense of emptiness to it—a lot of houses do when they’ve been moved into recently, but there’s something particular to the way Noah’s place seems larger than it needs to be.
“You want something to drink? I was just about to get some coffee going in the French press.”
“That sounds great,” I say, letting Noah guide me to the living room. He disappears into the kitchen, giving me a minute to gaze around the half-finished space.
There are pictures up on the mantle of Noah and a few different people, none of whom look like him—no obvious family photos. Other than that, the living room is sparsely decorated. I wonder if it’s because Noah just moved in, or because he doesn’t mind the minimalism of the place.
Noah reappears a few minutes later with a French press and two coffee mugs. He pours us each a cup, then settles back into a chair. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to ask you something,” I say. “I ran into your foster sister the other day.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “She told me about that. What’s up?”
“I was just wondering—what’s she up to?”
A guarded, protective look comes into Noah’s eye. He folds his arms slightly, his body language closing off. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been looking for a new nanny for Archie,” I confess. “Yesterday, he was having a little bit of a temper tantrum on the sidewalk, and she managed to calm him down almost instantly. I think she might be a great fit for the job.”
Noah’s caution instantly lifts, and his mood changes to one of obvious delight. He grins, seeming pleased. “Oh, she definitely would be,” he agrees. “Riley’s great with kids. With all people, really.”
“I wanted to ask you a bit about her, if that’s okay?”
“Shoot.”
“You know her pretty well, right?”
He laughs brightly. “Oh, hell yeah. Riley’s my sister—not by blood, but in every way that matters. We’ve been tight for years.”
That explains the flash of defensiveness when I asked about her. Brotherly instincts. I have to push down the little flare of grief in my chest as the thought of Rebecca crosses my mind; we used to be the same way.
“Riley told me she just got out of grad school,” I say.
He nods, reaching to pick up his cup of coffee from the table. “She put herself through school,” he tells me. “Worked a dead-end job the whole time, and wouldn’t take a single dime from me, no matter how much I pestered her about it. She’s not the best at accepting help. Some people just really like to earn what they have.”
That resonates; I know plenty of those people. “And what’s she doing right now?”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Working another shitty job, of course. The market’s tough right now if you’re searching for a career, and Riley’s picky about where she wants to work. So she’s at a restaurant, waiting tables.”
“Really? With a graduate degree?”
“Yep.” He sets the coffee back down with a sigh. “I’d love to see her in a better job, if possible. I keep telling her to quit at the restaurant and let me pay her rent while she’s searching for the right position, but she keeps telling me to shove it.”
I don’t want to admit it out loud, but I’m even more impressed by her now—and more curious about her. I like that she’s a hard worker, not just as a potential employer, but as a person. I run into too many people who are reluctant to put in the work, but expect to reap all of the rewards.
I pick up the coffee, taking a small sip while I think of what to say next. Eventually, I ask, “Do you have a way I could get in touch with her?”
“Sure,” Noah says. “I’ll write down her contact info for you, if you want.”
“That would be great.”