Chapter 6
Six
NARDI
I stand in front of the copy machine, mindlessly staring at the wall while the rustle of paper being sucked into a printer putters behind me.
This morning, I dropped Josiah off at school. He sat in the backseat, not saying a word as he tapped away on his phone doing who knows what.
I’m always on edge when I see him on that stupid device now. He’s smart enough to hack a billion-dollar project, so who knows what he’s doing on that phone? What if he hacks into the CIA or the FBI? What if the next time I go home, the black SUVs parked outside aren’t Ronan Cullen’s?
I’ve gone back and forth about whether I should take his phone away or not. The device is practically an extra limb at this point. I’m afraid he’ll bleed out and need emergency care if he doesn’t have it.
But what other alternative do I have? Josiah doesn’t have any friends and he’s always at home, so grounding him would be pointless.
My phone buzzes at that moment.
I fish it out of my pocket and see a text from mom.
Mom: Hey, haven’t gotten a call from you in a while. Is everything okay?
I drop my head against the copy machine, groaning softly. How do I update mom on everything that’s been happening without totally overwhelming her?
Hey, mom. Why haven’t I called lately? Well, I was a little busy with work and my Saturday food stall. Oh, and Josiah hacked into a billion-dollar simulation and the creator is a millionaire who’s dying and now he wants to marry me and make Josiah his legacy. How’s the weather in Belize?
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
Mom was nervous enough letting Josiah come live with me. If I tell her the truth, she’ll just worry needlessly from miles away, feeling helpless and constantly thinking the worst.
My phone lights up with a call.
It’s mom.
My stomach twists into knots.
The more the phone buzzes, the greater the sense of doom becomes.
Panicking, I turn my phone off.
It’s the worst move, but it’s the only solution I can think of. If I answer mom’s calls, I’ll feel pressured to lie and I don’t want to do that.
Mom trusts me to be honest with her. That’s why she sent her only son all the way from Belize to stay with me. I treasure that trust and I don’t want to break it, so it’s better if I settle things over here before having a conversation. At least then, mom won’t worry.
The printer beeps, indicating that it’s finished with all the copies. I make a mental note to send mom a generic ‘everything’s fine’ response later.
As I’m stapling the documents together at my cubicle, I overhear my colleagues talking.
“I know right! Her husband was so awful to do that to her but, to be honest, she kind of deserved it because she should have totally seen that coming.”
My attention captured, I wiggle my chair closer to the wall.
“What happened? Who are you talking about?” I ask, glancing between them.
“Carla from Accounting.” My co-worker purses her bright red lips, eyes sparkling from the joy of dishing gossip.
“Carla?”
I hadn’t interacted much with her before she quit, but I do remember the stir that flooded the office when Carla got married. Apparently, it was to a wealthy guy who lived on the other side of the country.
My desk mate skates her chair closer to the wall, peering above it to speak to me. “No one knew what was going on at the time, but the truth’s coming out in all the divorce documents. Apparently, Carla’s husband said that the marriage was just an arrangement for him to have a baby so he could get his inheritance.”
An invisible hand crashes into my stomach and pinches a nerve.
“R-really?”
“Yup,” my co-worker says.
“But everyone saw the flowers he sent her on her last day of work. Why was he so sweet if it was just an arrangement?”
My colleague makes a dismissive hand gesture. “Well, duh. She wouldn’t marry him if he was mean to her.”
I’m struck by how much that simple response makes sense.
My co-worker continues, “Carla was always bragging about how much her husband loved her, but he was just putting on a show so he could get what he wanted.”
A vision of Ronan Cullen in my small kitchen blows through my mind.
“She actually fell for him.” My co-worker snorts. “The guy isn’t even that attractive, but she acted like he was a supermodel or something.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. Cullen had looked sexy last night with his sleeves rolled up as he expertly created that pesto dish. And when he’d scrubbed the stubborn stains on my pans, his biceps flexed and contracted in a way that made the entire room an inferno.
“Carla got suckered.” My co-worker tuts. “Now that she’s given him a son, he doesn’t want anything to do with her.”
A dark memory that I’ve kicked to the back of my mind rises like a ghost. For a second, pain slices through my heart.
“W-what about Carla?” I ask with a tremble in my voice.
“She’s got money. Who cares about the rest?” My neighbor snickers.
“She doesn’t have her son,” my other co-worker argues. “She lost her husband and her baby. I don’t think money can make up for that.”
“I’d trade my son and my husband for money in a heartbeat.” My neighbor swings around to her computer. “I’d quit this job immediately and book a cruise.”
“A cruise sounds nice,” my other co-worker says.
Everyone starts talking about vacations while I hunch my head on the desk and quietly hyperventilate.
Memories from my past and my present twist into one tangled ball.
I can’t marry you, Nardi. You can’t give me what I want.
The pain worsens and I force myself to drink from the pink water bottle on my desk. After what happened when I first moved to America, I swore I’d never care about a man again.
And yet…
When I saw Cullen this morning, my first instinct was to fix my hair and clothes. I’d been shy in front of him. So shy that it was hard to actually look him in the eye. I felt that if I did, he could see through my blank expression to the thoughts zooming underneath.
I should have worn my hair down instead of in a ponytail.
I shouldn’t have worn such a plain blouse.
I should have put more effort in my makeup instead of just throwing on lipstick and calling it a day.
“I must be insane,” I mumble, pushing myself straight up again. Am I that starved for companionship that a man who—very plainly—has no real interest in me could make me self-conscious and bashful? Have I forgotten what a relationship almost cost me when I moved here?
“Davis!” My manager barks from his office.
I swivel around.
My boss approaches my desk. Immediately, all the conversation flying back and forth from one cubicle to the next dies down.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” my boss demands. “I’ve been trying to call you. Have you sent the Goldstein files to the legal team yet?”
“I sent them this morning as soon as I got in. And are you sure you’re calling the right number?” I lift my phone. “I didn’t get any…” It’s then that I realize I turned my phone off to avoid getting calls from mom. “I’m sorry. I had my phone turned off.”
He mumbles some unflattering remarks about me beneath his breath and stomps back to his office.
I grit my teeth. Being yelled at by my boss reminds me once again of my dream to leave this job behind and start cooking full-time. One day…
The co-worker in the cubicle next door gives me a pitying look. “You good?”
I nod and check my phone for missed calls. My manager isn’t the only one who was trying to reach me. There are three more missed calls from an unknown number and a text too.
Unknown: Hi, Nardi’s Belizean Meals On The Go. I’m Sunny Hastings. I’ve heard amazing things about your food and I would love if you’d cater for a small party of friends at the end of the month. Are you available?
My heart picks up speed and thuds against my ribs. Is this for real?
My first catering gig?
I chew on my fingernail, excitement and fear fighting for dominance. I’m aware this could be a prank or a waste of time, but the opportunity is just too good to deny.
I check over my shoulder to make sure my manager isn’t looking and text back.
Me: Hi, Sunny. I’d love to cater for your event. How many people would I be serving? Do you want it plated or buffet style?
Sunny Hastings doesn’t respond right away and I wait on pins and needles for my phone to ring. As I’m about to take my lunch break, it finally does.
“Good afternoon, is this Nardi’s?”
“Yes.” I grip the phone tight, my voice breathless and excited. “Sunny Hastings?”
She laughs and it’s a bright, melodic sound. “I’m glad I finally got in touch with you. I was worried that I had the wrong number.”
“I’m sorry. I was at work and I couldn’t answer the phone.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Sunny chuckles. “I looked for your stall earlier this week, but I couldn’t find you. Cooking isn’t your main job then?”
“I only come out on Saturdays,” I inform her, playing with the strap of my lanyard. Someday though, when Josiah’s all grown up and my bills are paid, I’ll sell everyday.
“Well, I’m glad we could finally connect. My friend, Kenya, saw someone posting about your stall last week. They said your rice and beans were the best they’d ever had and I just had to know for myself, but you weren’t anywhere to be found.”
“Thank you. I don’t know if my rice and beans are the best, but they’re definitely authentic.”
“No need to be humble. People are harsh when it comes to authentic Caribbean cooking, and you’ve built quite the reputation. You must have a Belizean parent or grandparents.”
“I’m actually Belizean myself. My mother’s still over there.”
Sunny gushes, “So am I! I was born there, but I moved to America when I was a kid.”
“I moved when I was eighteen,” I tell her. It’s strange, but I feel comfortable sharing information I normally wouldn’t with a total stranger.
There’s something charismatic and light about Sunny’s voice. Although I’ve never seen her, I know instinctually that she’s probably pretty and popular wherever she goes.
Sunny laughs again. “How do you not have an accent?”
“I worked to get rid of it. People seemed to respect me more when I sounded American, so I tried my best to speak perfect English.”
“I get that,” Sunny says in a commiserating fashion. “I did the same thing when I was a child.”
“That must have been worse. Adults at least try to hide their prejudice, but kids can be cruel.”
“Very true. But it all worked out. I learned and grew from it.” Sunny pauses. “It’s so weird, but I feel like I know you already, Nardi. By the way, is Nardi your real name?”
I chuckle. “It is. My mother chose it the moment she saw me. Or so the story goes.”
“Nardi.” My co-worker taps my shoulder.
I spin around.
“Are you coming to the cafeteria with us?”
I shake my head, gesturing for my co-worker to go ahead.
“Oh my.” Sunny stammers. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m on my lunch break.”
“Perfect! Have you eaten yet? If you’re comfortable, I can meet you somewhere near your workplace and we can discuss the details of the dinner over lunch.”
“I can meet you if it’s too much trouble,” I offer.
“I’m the one taking up your time, so I’ll come to you.”
“Sure.” I rattle off the name of a cafe nearby.
“That’s weird,” Sunny muses.
“What?”
“Nardi, you’re not going to believe this but, my husband, Darrel, is heading there to meet someone too. It must be fate.”
“I guess so.”
We make arrangements to meet shortly and I catch up on some work until it’s time to walk over to the café.
The bells on the door jangle over my head as I step inside. The restaurant is filled with office workers shoveling food into their faces before they’re dragged back to their desks. I realize there aren’t any free tables and I figure I’ll have to text Sunny to meet somewhere else.
At that moment, my eyes sweep over a familiar face.
Cullen?
He’s sitting at a table alone, his head bent down as he focuses on his phone. That ever-present beanie rests on his head and he’s wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans. For someone who can so easily buy an apartment building, he dresses in a very humble, unassuming fashion.
Cullen looks up at that moment and my heart jumps to my throat. I swing around, intending to crash through the doors and make a break for it.
A tall woman blocks me.
“Nardi!” Sunny Hastings’ bright, cheerful voice is ten times louder in person than over the phone.
She sashays inside, wearing a pressed white pantsuit, pearl earrings, and a wedding ring the size of a continent. Her long, straight black hair is glossy and tucked behind her ears.
Looking at Sunny, there’s no mistaking her Belizean heritage. She could be any of the Creole, black women I went to school with.
“I recognize you from your pictures online. I’m Sunny.” Sunny places a manicured finger against her chest.
“Yeah,” I answer hesitantly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Nardi.”
“Whoa, this place is packed.”
“They’re in the middle of a lunch rush. There’s another café down the street.” I try to urge her out the door.
Sunny stops me. “My husband’s friend saved a table. We can squeeze in with them while we have lunch.”
For the first time, I notice an imposing, broad-shouldered man behind Sunny. She’s so effervescent and bright that I hadn’t even noticed him until now. Which is a feat given how massively tall he is.
“Sunny,” the man says in a quiet voice, “this conversation might be… private.”
Sunny pushes out her bottom lip.
The man’s eyes soften. He shakes his head at his wife with a sigh of exasperation, but his lips tug up at the corners. He gestures to me. “This way.”
“We really don’t have to—” I begin.
Sunny smiles prettily. “Come on. You said your lunch is only one hour, right? I’ll feel awful if we waste your lunch time looking for another café and you don’t get to eat because of me.”
Sunny skips behind her husband while I trudge along.
Okay. This isn’t so bad. It’s not like we’re going to Cullen’s table. We’ll probably be on the opposite end of the room, far away from him.
Except, we’re walking right toward Cullen’s table.
And now we’re standing in front of his table.
And Cullen’s looking at me with the same perplexity that I feel.
“Mr. Cullen, this is my wife, Sunny.” Sunny’s husband clears his throat. He speaks slowly as if choosing each word carefully, “She and our caterer need to have a discussion. It’s a bit time sensitive. Do you mind if we move and let them have the table?”
Sunny offers graciously. “You can also eat with us, if you don’t mind the company.”
Cullen pauses in a way that tells me he’s contemplating the offer. I shake my head and make a slicing motion over my neck.
The silence stretches.
Sunny’s smile starts to crack around the edges.
The awkwardness is about to smother me.
“Honey,” Sunny’s husband speaks up, setting a calming touch on the small of his wife’s back, “I’m sure Mr. Cullen would prefer not to interrupt your?—”
“You can sit,” Cullen says, shocking us all. “Nardi and I are acquaintances, so I don’t mind sharing a table.”
My eyes bug and I almost fall on my face. He did NOT just do that.
Sunny’s husband can’t hide his astonishment. His stare bounces assentingly between me and Cullen.
“Yay! Thanks so much!” Sunny scoots into the booth.
Her husband hesitates at the head of the table, contemplating which side he should sit on.
“Baby, over here,” Sunny says, waving him in. Without hesitation, he lumbers over to that side of the table.
“Nardi, why are you still standing?” Sunny looks at me with frank, black eyes.
I force myself to slip into the booth beside Cullen, but I remain on the very outskirts, half of my butt hanging off the bench to put as much distance between us as possible.
A frantic waitress comes over to hand out the menus and take our drink orders. Cullen shakes his head when she tries to hand him the menu, staring at the laminated book as if it carries an airborne disease.
I take it for him and roll my eyes.
“Thanks,” he says quietly to me.
Sunny’s husband takes note of that, missing nothing.
As Sunny peruses the menu, she asks politely, “So how do you two know each other?”
“We don’t,” I say sharply.
Cullen frowns.
Sunny’s eyes flick up from the menu. “But didn’t he just say…”
“I mean, we don’t know each other that well.” I take out my bottle of hand sanitizer and squeeze a dollop in my palm. “My apartment and his office are in the same building.”
“Oh.” Sunny bobs her head and then she leans over to her husband. “Babe, do you want to share a cheeseburger? I want that and a milkshake, but I can’t justify all those carbs.”
I finish sanitizing my hands and I’m shocked when Cullen extends his arm, palm upturned.
With a questioning look, I mumble, “What do you want?”
“Some sanitizer.”
“I’m one hundred percent sure you have your own.”
He probably has backups strapped to his ankles like the germaphobic version of a classic James Bond.
Despite my reluctance to share, Cullen doesn’t pull his hand back. I scoff and pour out a dollop of sanitizer. He rubs his hands together. His bicep is flexing way closer to me now than they were last night.
“Ooh, but the chilly cheese bowl sounds good too,” Sunny exclaims to her husband.
Cullen slides down the bench. He looks annoyed. “Are you angry with me?”
I inch away from him, but if I wiggle out any further, I’ll hit the floor. “Why do you care?”
“Babe, I really can’t decide,” Sunny whines. “Chilly bowl or cheeseburger?”
“If I offended you, I want to know so I can apologize.”
“We can order both and take the leftovers,” Sunny’s husband says patiently.
I frown at Cullen, lowering my voice to a hush. “There’s nothing to apologize for because I’m not angry.”
“That’s a great idea!” Sunny exclaims. “Nardi, do you know what you want yet?”
I’m too busy scowling at Cullen and trying not to be swept up in his moonlight eyes, so I don’t hear her the first time.
“Nardi?”
I jump like I’ve been caught robbing a bank. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t secure on the bench and I feel myself tilting toward the ground. In a frantic dash to regain balance, I reach for the table and pull myself up just as Cullen wraps an arm around my waist.
His grip is strong and secure. He pulls me into him and I slide across the bench with the ease of butter skidding across a hot skillet. Cullen doesn’t stop until I’m plastered against his side.
“You okay?” he asks softly, his eyes intent on me.
My heart kicks into overdrive. Forget the butter and skillet. The heat rushing over my skin feels like I’m being held right over an open fire.
Self-conscious, I push at Cullen’s chest.
He removes his hand when he realizes he’s still holding me and looks out the window. I glance across the table and catch Sunny’s husband studying us.
“I’ll just have the club sandwich,” I mutter, trying desperately to not appear as flustered as I feel.
“And you, Cullen?” Sunny asks.
“I’m not that hungry.”
Sunny seems like she’ll argue with him about that but, thankfully, Cullen gets a call. I scoot out of the bench so he can leave to answer it. Must be important because his eyebrows are knitting and he sounds a bit gruff when he puts the phone to his ear and speaks to whoever’s on the other side.
“So Nardi,” Sunny makes conversation, “where exactly in Belize are you from?”
“I’m from Cayo,” I answer by rote, but my eyes are on Cullen. Is it because I’m sitting or has he always been that ridiculously tall?
“I’m from the south,” Sunny says proudly. “My mother’s Mayan and my dad is black. It’s actually a really sweet love story. The elders didn’t want my dad to marry my mom, but he moved to the village and even promised to take on mom’s last name so the line of Quetzals would continue.”
“That’s really cool,” I say blankly.
A girl two tables down stops in the middle of her conversation and is watching Cullen too. She’s even swinging her head around to continue ogling while he makes his way to the door.
What’s she looking at? His weird beanie? His shapeless T-shirt and jeans? Ronan Cullen doesn’t deserve the kind of neck-twisting gymnastics that girl is performing.
Sunny continues, “ I didn’t keep that tradition going. But maybe I should have.” She laughs and leans into her husband’s shoulder.
A gentle, besotted smile crosses Darrel Hastings’ lips. “If you really want it, I’ll change my name to Quetzal tomorrow.”
Sunny snorts. “Micheal and Bailey Quetzal does have a nice ring to it. Oh, those are our boys,” she tells me, her expression softening. “We have two sons, one’s in middle school and the other’s in junior high.”
“My little brother’s around your youngest’s age,” I say, trying to focus on the conversation.
“Really? What school does he go to?”
“Galilei Newton.”
Sunny’s jaw drops. “Isn’t that the school for the kids with insanely high IQs? That’s amazing. He must be a genius.”
The waitress arrives with our food and I grab a French fry. “He’s a little too much of a genius.”
“What do you mean?” Sunny asks.
“He recently hacked into somewhere he shouldn’t have.” I squirm in discomfort. “I don’t understand what he did or how he did it, but that’s kind of been our relationship since he came to live with me. We exist in two completely different worlds.”
“Totally get that. I can’t tear Micheal away from his video games.”
Sunny’s husband leans forward. “Your brother is interested in programming?”
“Yes.” I pour ketchup on the side of my plate.
“By chance,” his green eyes stray to Cullen, who’s standing outside on his phone, “did he hack into Cullen’s company?”
Feeling exposed, I cough.
Sunny yanks a string of napkins from the dispenser and offers it to me. “Nardi, are you alright?”
“Yeah.” I choke out.
“Darrel, you made her nervous. This is why I told you to stop analysing everyone we meet.” Sunny frowns apologetically. “My husband is a neuropsychiatrist. It’s an occupational hazard.”
“A neuropsychiatrist? Like a therapist?” I say hoarsely, still recovering from my earlier coughing spell.
Darrel Hastings dips his chin.
“Are you…” I pat around my mouth, “Are you Cullen’s…”
“No, but even if I were, I’m not legally allowed to share that,” Darrel Hastings says firmly. It’s not like he’s being mean, but I do feel corrected.
Sunny laughs to cover the awkwardness. “Hey, no work talk. Nardi and I are here to discuss mom’s birthday dinner.” She takes a sip of her milkshake. “Like I said over the phone Nardi, we invited a few close friends and their families. A little less than thirty people. I do prefer a ‘serve yourself’ style because that’s how we do it in Belize.”
Although it’s difficult to change gears, I tap out Sunny’s instructions on my phone. We negotiate whether she wants chicken or beef (her husband once again encourages her to get both). We debate between coleslaw and potato salad and then there’s another discussion over onion sauce or Marie Sharp pepper.
We’ve moved on to talking about fried plantain versus baked plantain when Cullen returns. He’s gripping his cell phone tightly and seems bothered by something.
“Is everything okay? You were on the phone for a while,” Sunny says. “I ordered a salad for you just in case.”
“I was programming something for my team,” he says, not quite looking at her.
“You did that on your phone ?” Sunny whistles. “That’s really cool.”
He doesn’t smile at the compliment. In fact, it seems to make him even more uncomfortable. “I’ve paid for the meal already.” His eyes slide to me for a quick second but he doesn’t address me at all. “Mr. Hastings, we’ll need to reschedule.”
“Anytime.”
He’s leaving? Already? Disappointment courses through me and it’s so strong that I have no hope of hiding it.
Cullen turns briskly.
“Wait,” a voice says.
And it’s not until everyone stares at me that I realize the voice is mine.
“Uh,” I clear my throat. “You should at least take this.” I hand him the fries that were served in a white paper bag. “You might get vertigo again if you don’t eat.”
Cullen stares at the fries in his hands.
The oily fries.
In an oily bag.
From a probably oily, unclean kitchen.
I gasp when I remember his words last night. He made his distaste for outside food super clear and here I am, shoving a greasy bag into his palm.
“Or, you don’t have to?—”
As I’m pulling the bag back, Cullen grips it. He gives me a small, lopsided smile. “Thank you.”
“Sure,” I say casually. And then I nibble on my club sandwich.
Cullen darts off, and I make a concentrated effort not to look up from my food. However, I can hear Sunny slurping the last of her milkshake and I can feel Darrel Hastings staring at me.
Now that I know Hastings is a therapist, his thoughtful looks and deep observations during the entire lunch feels very on brand. I have no idea what conclusions he’s jumped to, but I hope with all my heart they’re not the wrong ones.
“Cullen seems like such a sweetheart,” Sunny says, polishing off the rest of her fries. “Doesn’t he?”
Her husband nods indulgently.
“Dare made it sound like he was this robot, but he’s so thoughtful. Look at how he paid for dinner and kept Nardi from falling earlier.”
“Yes, you two seemed quite close, Nardi,” Darrel notes.
I stiffen.
“I agree with you, babe,” Sunny says, wagging a finger. “Dare called Cullen a germaphobe who can barely stand a handshake. But he didn’t seem that way at all with you, Nardi. He even took the fries you gave him.”
Don’t engage, Nardi. I pretend that my mouth is too full to answer and give them a sloppy smile.
For a while, the table goes silent.
“Ms. Davis,” Darrel Hastings says, watching me carefully, “are you aware of Cullen’s… health issues?”
I swallow hard. “Y-yes.”
“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you, but I’m not sure if I should.”
“What do you mean?” I stammer. Darrel Hastings looks so serious that I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office.
Darrel exchanges a look with Sunny. The two seem to have a silent conversation and Sunny dips her chin imperceptibly.
He takes that as permission to continue. “The hospital has been trying to reach Cullen for a while, but he’s not answering their calls or going in to hear his latest results.”
My eyes bug. “Really?”
“I’m hoping you can change his mind and convince him to at least speak to his doctor.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Darrel folds his hands together on the table. “Cullen is extremely introverted.”
That much I could tell and I’m no psychiatrist.
“He finds being around people quite draining. Yet, he engages you in conversation, is relaxed and seems to gain energy from being in your company. It’s a sign that he has a high level of trust in you.”
“But we barely know each other.”
Sunny jumps in, “Honey, there are some people you just click with despite not knowing them for long. Like you and I for instance. It happens.”
I pin my lips together. Sunny is amazing, but I have a feeling she’s so friendly and charming that she clicks with everyone. She and Ronan Cullen are two very different people.
“Besides, don’t you like him a little too?” Sunny points out. “You can’t take your eyes off him.”
“You’re mistaken. I’ve never… that’s not…”
Darrel places a hand over his wife’s and says, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or pressure you. If that’s what you’re feeling in this moment, please forget I asked.”
Sunny mumbles under her breath.
Her husband gives her hand a little squeeze and she flops back with a sigh.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Like I mentioned earlier, Cullen and I aren’t that close, so I don’t know if a conversation with me will do any good.”
Darrel Hastings remains quiet, those somber green eyes searching me to my soul.
“I should get back to work.” I scoot out of the booth and awkwardly tug my purse over my head. “Sunny, I’ll send you an estimate based on everything we discussed today.”
Sunny smiles. “I appreciate that, Nardi. And I hope you’re not offended by what I said about you and Cullen.”
“Not at all.” With another tight lipped smile, I leave the couple behind and walk back to work, deep in thought.
Marry me.
I want a legacy.
Since I’ve known him, Cullen has made it clear that he’s dying. I thought it was a foregone conclusion, that perhaps he had a diagnosis of a terminal illness.
But if Cullen is avoiding the hospital…
That means he doesn’t know for sure.
And that means, maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to die.