Colin
I don't want to worry about driving, so I have a car come pick me up in the morning. We stop by a Starbucks so I can get my PSL fix – and I grab one for Bailey as well – and we head over to her place. On the ride over, I lean back in the seat, and let my mind wander, turning everything over in my head.
At the diner yesterday, she seemed so cold and distant. I'm not sure why. I mean, I would have thought she'd be excited. Not only is she going to get some financial stability, but more importantly, I'm going to make sure she gets her own show at one of the large, prestigious galleries in town. She's going to get her art seen by many, many people, and that kind of exposure could catapult her to heights she never dreamed of.
I'm excited for her, because I think her work is important. I think it should be seen by as wide of an audience as it can. While I haven't come around entirely to her way of thinking, I will admit, that she’s given me a lot of food for thought lately. Surprisingly enough, I'm starting to see things a bit differently.
At the end of the day, though, I have a job to do, and I would be letting all of my employees down if I didn't take my responsibilities seriously, or put my best foot forward on any given project. My clients come first, and I have to do my job.
But, Bailey has opened my eyes to the realization that there are people being impacted by each and every job I'm trying to do, as well as the possibility, that in some cases, there may be a better, more humane way to do the job.
I don't think that's what was on her mind yesterday, though. She seemed bothered by something else. I mean, I know she feels weird about this whole arrangement. And if I had any other options, I would take them. I know it's not ideal, and the last thing I want to do is make Bailey feel like I’ve bought her. Like she’s some call girl. I know she's got morals and values she cherishes. And I'll never put her in a position where she'd have to violate them.
Bailey is special. Unique. One of a kind. I've never met anyone even remotely like her. I wasn't kidding when I told her that she came into my life and turned my world upside down. She has. The girl is a force of nature, and she's pushed me well outside my comfort zone. She's challenged me in a thousand different ways and has opened my eyes to a new way of seeing and doing things.
She's opened my eyes to a new way of being.
I don't know that I'll ever be the free, unfettered spirit she is – in fact, I can almost guarantee I won't be – but, she's made me loosen my need for control and relax in so many different ways. And if I'm being honest, I like it. I can't recall the last time I've felt this free and loose. The last time I felt this genuinely happy.
I'm well aware that people around the office call me “Stone Face,” behind my back. It's childish, and not very creative – I’d like to think I hire people who can do better than that, honestly. But, the point is very much taken, all the same. I'm about as emotional and expressive as a rock. I get it. Message received.
But Bailey has made me smile, and actually feel something for the first time in a very, very long time. And it feels really good.
I'm hoping that once we get past Christmas with my family that Bailey and I can pick up where we left off and explore the growing thing between us. I want more of her. I want to get to know her better. I want to know everything about her, actually. And I'm looking forward to doing just that.
Once Christmas is done and over with.
The car pulls to a stop in front of an apartment building that looks like it's been around a while. It's worn, but it's clean, at least. Bailey is standing at the curb, and when the driver runs around and opens the door for her, she slides into the backseat beside me. She gives me a smile as I hand her the cup of coffee.
“Pumpkin spice?” she asks.
“What else?”
“You're such a basic bitch,” she says and flashes me a small grin.
The car drives away from the curb, merges out into traffic, and we're on our way.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“You'll see when we get there.”
She smiles, but I can see that it doesn't quite reach her eyes. I so badly want to reach out and touch her. Pull her to me and hold her. But, I get the sense that it wouldn't be welcome right now. There's definitely a barrier up between us after meeting at the diner. A wall of ice. I can tell Bailey is treating this as business, and I know that's how I need to think of it too.
If I let my emotions get involved, things will get messy and complicated. And God forbid, I act on the carnal impulses that are firing through my mind and body from just sitting next to her. Talk about making her feel like a prostitute.
No, the best course of action I can take right now, is to regard this as a business relationship. Once Christmas is over, we can go back to trying to figure out our decidedly non-business relationship. We can go back to exploring each other and the chemistry building between us.
Yeah. We can. And I'm very excited for that. Excited to explore everything with her.
She may not be what I expected, or even wanted – hell, I know she's not what I wanted, because I wasn't even looking – but maybe, just maybe, she's just what I need.
* * *
“You realize, if this was some stupid rom-com movie, and not real life, this would be the part where they have a music montage,” she says.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I reply with a laugh.
Bailey is holding a nice, vintage-style dress up to herself, and spins around in the mirror, giggling the whole time. She stops and looks at it critically for a moment before disappearing into a dressing room.
When she found out I was taking her shopping, she was hesitant at first. She obviously inherited her grandmother's sense about charity and taking handouts. At first, she refused to come into the shops with me, and I had to tell her that I'm considering it a business expense – that this is part of the gig she signed on for. I told her that it was now her job to come in and pick out some clothes for the weekend that will make her presentable.
It took a lot of badgering and cajoling – and I received more than a few empty threats from her that she'd rather quit this job than take a handout – but I was finally able to persuade her, and she relented.
I'm seated in a chair in the dressing room area, waiting for Bailey to come out and show me what she's picked out for herself. Truthfully, it doesn't matter to me. She can wear a burlap sack for all I care. I think she's perfect the way she is. But, I know wearing nicer clothes will make her feel better and less out of place, so it seems like the least I can do.
“What song?” I call through the dressing room door.
“What's that?” she yells back.
“What song would be playing in your music montage?”
She's silent for a moment, and I can just picture her as she concentrates. She usually cocks her head to the side, and kind of screws up her face as she thinks. I think it’s adorable.
“Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, I think,” she answers with a giggle.
“Cyndi Lauper?” I ask. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think it's kind of fitting.”
I can’t help but laugh to myself. Bailey is always surprising me.
“What do you think it would be?” she asks.
“Oh, I don't know,” I say. “I was never big on movie montages.”
“But you know music,” she says. “Everybody knows music.”
“Maybe something by Vivaldi?” I call. “Chopin?”
“Classical? Really, Colin?” she asks, her voice deadpan. “Come on. You can do better than that.”
I laugh. “How about something by Taylor Swift?”
“Wow, you really suck at this game.”
She pulls the curtain back and as she steps out into the viewing area, I feel my breath catch in my throat as I look at her. She's in a deep, rich blue vintage-style dress that seems to perfectly accent her cool, pale skin, and darker than night hair. It falls to just above the knee and has a sweetheart neckline. And she looks absolutely stunning in it. Beyond stunning. She looks almost ethereal.
“Well? What do you think?” she asks, as she turns in a circle to show me.
I can't really say what I think, because it would be highly inappropriate on several levels. When I open my mouth to say something, however, I find that my throat is dry, and I can't seem to form the right words. I just nod and give her a smile.
She laughs. “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”
I quickly work up enough saliva that allows me to function like a normal human being and open my mouth again.
“Stunning,” I say. “You look absolutely stunning, Bailey.”
She flushes and waves me off, but I can tell she appreciates the compliment. She might even like it deep down somewhere.
“I don't know about that,” she says.
“I do,” I say.
Her smile is small, and she looks away to keep me from seeing the embarrassed look on her face. I’ve noticed that she's not great with compliments. She always finds a way to discount, if not outright reject, them. She can’t seem to just accept a compliment at face value.
“So, this one's a yes?” she asks.
“I'd say so,” I reply. “You look breathtaking in it.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs softly before turning around and scampering back into the dressing room.
She comes out a few minutes later, back in her regular clothes – a green floral dress with white leggings on underneath, and a baggy cardigan. She's holding the dress up, admiring it, and it makes me smile.
“It really is a beautiful dress,” she says.
“And it looks great on you,” I say. “Let’s get it.”
She fumbles around with it for a minute, and finally sees the price tag. Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she shakes her head.
“I can't –”
“You're not,” I say.
I stand and walk over, plucking the dress from her hands. One of the shop attendants stops by to check on us, and I hand it to her.
“We'll take this one,” I say, and look around the shop. “And do you have anything else with a similar style?”
The attendant smiles. “We do,” she says. “We have a lot of great pieces similar to this.”
“Great,” I say. “Have them brought over so Bailey can try them on.”
Bailey looks at me and shakes her head. “Colin, I –”
I turn to the attendant. “Any color you think would look good on her.”
She looks between Bailey and me, and then gives me a nod and a smile. “Right away.”
As the attendant steps away, Bailey turns to me, her face a mask of concern. “I can't ask you to pay for this, Colin,” she says. “Business expense or not, it's too much. Did you see how much that dress cost?”
“Doesn't matter,” I say. “I don't care. I thought it looked great on you, so we're getting it.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. I see her grandmother’s influence – so strong and proud – starting to slip through the cracks, and know I need to snuff that out before it takes over.
“This is how it's going to be, Bailey,” I say. “It's not up for debate.”
She bites her bottom lip with a sheepish, goofy smile on her face. “It is a very pretty dress, I guess.”
“It's gorgeous,” I say. “And it looks even better on you.”
The attendant returns with a pile of dresses, all in a vintage-style that seems to flatter Bailey's figure, in a wide variety of colors. She gasps in wonder at all of the dresses, and we spend the next couple of hours in the shop as she tries them all on, squealing with delight every time she puts a new one on.
There wasn't a single one that looked bad on her, and by the time we left the shop, we ended up purchasing a dozen different dresses. We find a valet stand just outside the shop and load the bags onto one of the carts. I contact my driver and tell him to expect some packages to be delivered, and to pull the car around. The valet runs the cart out while we continue to shop.
By the time we're finished, we've gone through at least ten different shops, and it feels like we’ve picked up enough clothes that she can wear something different every day for a year. At least. Though Bailey was mortified the entire time, and worried about how much money we were spending, I brushed off her concerns. I told her over and over again that it simply wasn't up for discussion.
Yeah, we might have overdid it for the one weekend my family is going to be here. We probably could have stopped a long time before we did. Truth be told, it warmed my heart to see Bailey getting so excited about the clothes. She was literally like a kid in a candy store, and I wanted nothing more than to encourage that. I love seeing her smile and hearing her laugh.
More than anything, I love being around her.
With all of our packages being hustled out to the car, Bailey and I sit at a small cafe in the mall and snack on some coffee and a pastry. I think we earned the treat after a long day. Usually, I hate shopping, and avoid it like the plague. I've got a personal shopper who normally handles all of this for me. But, I wanted to be here with, and for, Bailey.
Mostly, I just wanted to be with her. There's something about being with Bailey that makes me feel good. Makes me happy to be alive. She gives off an energy that's intoxicating and infectious. She just makes me – happy.
I guess I never really give a lot of thought to whether I'm happy or not. I've always assumed that I'm as happy as the next guy. It wasn't until Maureen mentioned it to me, and I really took stock of how I feel when I'm with Bailey, that I realized there's a void in my heart and my life without her. A void I never even realized existed. And now that I know it's there, it becomes even more obvious when she's not around.
“Thank you, Colin,” she says.
“No need to thank me.”
She shakes her head. “No, there is,” she says. “I never dreamed I'd have a closet full of clothing this nice before. Growing up, I was grateful to find a nice pair of jeans on sale down at the thrift store without too many stains or holes in them. Honestly, I still shop at the same thrift store. One thing my life has taught me is how to be frugal.”
“But, aren't you the one who's always telling me to enjoy life? And to enjoy everything about it?”
She nods. “Easier to say when you're sitting on more money than Scrooge McDuck,” she laughs.
I shrug. “Maybe,” I say. “But, what's giving me a lot of enjoyment in life right now, is seeing you smile. Seeing you happy.”
Her expression softens, and I can see her eyes shimmering with tears. I can't honestly say I know or understand what she's feeling in the moment. I never grew up wanting for anything. Yeah, my father wasn't the kind of man who indulged our lavish, impractical desires. But, I never went without. And I never had to wear hand-me-down rags.
I know Bailey had it a lot rougher, and that she often had to go without. Often had to make do with what was on hand. And it breaks my heart. So, no, I can't understand or relate to what she's feeling right now. Not really. All I know is that shopping today made her feel good for a little while. It made her happy. And that's worth every last dime I spent. I know I'm not going to be able to take it with me, so why not spend some of it now, to do some good, and spread some happiness to somebody I like?
Damn – Bailey is having more of an impact on me than I originally thought.
Her phone rings, so she slips it out of her bag and connects the call. She presses the phone to her ear and gives me a little smile.
“Hello?”
All at once, her face falls, and I can see grief become etched upon her features as she listens to whoever’s on the other end of the line.
“Oh my God,” she says softly. “Yeah, I'll be right there. Okay. Thanks.”
She looks up at me, and I can see the pain radiating in her eyes. “I need to go,” she says.
“I'll take you wherever you need to be.”
Her lips compress into a tight line as we get to our feet and head to the car. I don't know what's going on, but I can see that it's breaking her heart – which, in turn, breaks mine. Yeah, Bailey has gotten under my skin. I can't deny it anymore.
Not even to myself.
* * *
“How is he?” she asks.
“He's okay,” replies an older Hispanic woman. “The EMT's are back there with him now. They're taking him to the hospital soon.”
We're standing in the industrial-sized prep area behind the cafeteria of the soup kitchen at St. Bartholomew's. Bailey spends a lot of time volunteering here, and we got here right before the evening dinner rush, apparently. The place is crowded, but there's a subdued buzz of conversation, and all of the people stopping by for a hot meal are speaking in hushed, reverent tones. No doubt, they saw the ambulance out front, which is making them all curious.
“What happened?” Bailey asks.
The older woman, her face etched with as much sadness as Bailey's, shrugs. “We were just starting to set up for the night shift, when he just collapsed,” she says. “Heart attack, I think.”
I look around the cafeteria, and see the crowd milling about. Everybody is craning their neck, trying to get a look at what's going on. As we headed over here, Bailey explained to me that Father Gus is the parish priest, and the one who does most of the cooking for the soup kitchen. Not only that, he’s the closest thing to a father figure to her. I gather that they're incredibly close – which is why they called Bailey to let her know.
“Is he going to be okay?” Bailey asks.
The older woman, whose nametag reads Olivia, shakes her head. “I don't know anything much right now, hon,” she says. “They've been back there with him a long time, though.”
Tears roll down Bailey’s cheeks, and she angrily scrubs them away. A moment later, the doors to the rear offices crash open, and two EMT's push a gurney out. On top of the gurney is an older black man with a thick head of white hair. An oxygen mask covers most of his face, and he's unconscious. Bailey runs over and falls into step beside the gurney. She takes the old man's hand in hers and murmurs a few words I can't make out over the rest of the background noise.
“Ma'am, we're going to need you to clear the way,” one of the EMT's tells her gruffly.
The other one, seeing her tears, gives her a compassionate smile. “He survived the initial heart attack. Now, we just need to get him into the hospital for some more tests and treatment,” she says. “We're taking him to Three Angels. Do you know where that is?”
Bailey nods, and steps away from the gurney. She stands there, silently watching them take the old man out the front doors to the waiting ambulance. The crowd falls silent as the gurney passes, each of the people seeming to bow their heads respectfully, and some say a little prayer for the man. It's a heartbreaking yet touching scene.
I step up next to Bailey and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”
She shakes her head. “Not really,” she says. “Gus is basically the father I never had. He’s been so good to me.”
“Three Angels is a good hospital. They've got one of the best cardiac care units in the country,” I say, hoping it's reassuring. “He's going to receive top of the line care.”
“I don't think he has insurance,” she says.
“Don't worry about it,” I reply. “I'll handle it.”
“I can't ask –”
“You're not asking me,” I say. “I'm telling you.”
She takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. Olivia steps up next to her and takes her other hand. Together, they watch the doors. The sound of the siren fades in the distance as they take the priest to the hospital. Olivia turns to Bailey.
“We still have a shift to do,” she says gently. “People are hungry, and Father Gus wouldn't want us to let them go without, no matter what.”
“No, he wouldn't,” Bailey says, her voice sounding completely disconnected from the reality of the situation.
She scans the crowd and seems to be trying to gather herself. She’s collecting her wits, and mentally and emotionally readying herself to do what needs to be done. What Father Gus would want her to do.
She turns to me and gives me a small smile that doesn't even come close to reaching her eyes. “I can't ask you to stay,” she says. “I'll be fine here, if you want to go ahead and take off. Olivia can give me a ride home later.”
I shake my head. “I've got nowhere better to be,” I say. “And I'd like to help you in any way I can.”
Her smile becomes softer, more genuine, and grateful. “Thank you, Colin.”
“Anytime,” I reply.
We walk back to the kitchen to get ready. I take off my coat and hang it up while Bailey hands me a full-length apron. A couple of men are standing at the stoves, cooking away, trying to make up for lost time.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Nothing just yet,” she says. “We can't get started until the food's finished cooking. After that, I'll have you on the line, dishing out some of the food, if you don't mind.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” I say.
“Thank you, Colin,” she says. “I appreciate this more than you know.”
“No need to thank me,” I reply. “I'm just glad I can be here for you.”
Two hours later, after dishing out the last of the rice pilaf I was in charge of, I take the pot back to the kitchen, and set it down in the sink to let the washers have at it. Bailey is still busy, running around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to do everything I assume Father Gus usually tends to.
I watch her with the people and see the way they react to her and can't help but smile. It's easy to see that she cares for them all – and they care for her as well. As she tends to their needs, you can see the warm, genuine gratitude and appreciation for her in their faces. Seeing the way they interact tells me a lot about the woman – though, nothing I didn't know already. But, it only reinforces the fact that she's a genuinely good person with a large, generous heart.
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I wander around the cafeteria, picking up plates, throwing them away, and wiping down the tables with a wet rag.
“Haven't seen you around here before.”
I turn to find a middle-aged man looking at me. He's white with dark hair, shot through with gray, green eyes, and a neatly-trimmed goatee. Dressed in black jeans, and a blue button-down shirt, he's a bit cleaner than some of the other folks who've come through here tonight. He's got a plate of food in front of him but he just seems to be picking at it.
“I'm here to help Bailey out tonight,” I say.
He nods. “She's a good girl,” he says. “One of the kindest, most compassionate people I've ever met. She really cares.”
“I'm getting a sense of that,” I say.
I sit down at the table with the man and can see the pain in his eyes – pain he's trying to hide, but failing at. There's an air of sadness about him that's as deep as it is dark.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just hate this time of year,” he says. “But, I'll be fine. I'm always fine.”
I've heard about the Christmas Blues, and that it's the toughest time of year for a lot of people. I've never met one of them, though. Not until now, at any rate. I can see the shadow cross his face and know that he's not actually fine. Nor is he ever, more than likely. He just puts on a good show.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He nods. “Sure.”
“I don't want to sound rude –”
“Which is how people preface a comment that's going to be rude,” he chuckles.
“I don't intend to be rude, but I'm curious. How'd you end up here?” I ask. “I mean, you seem –”
He cuts me off with a derisive snort. “Smart? Articulate?”
“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but – yeah,” I say. “I guess.”
“Well, let's see,” he says. “It all started with some really shitty luck, actually. First, my wife of twenty years was diagnosed with Stage IV, terminal cancer. It was aggressive as hell, and her treatments sucked our savings dry. When she passed, we were broke. But, I would pay twice that to have more time with her.”
His cheeks flush, and his eyes well with unshed tears. I feel like I should do something to comfort the man, but I have no idea what to do. Instead, I sit there in silence, feeling like a heartless idiot.
“Anyway,” he says, sniffing back tears. “Shortly after she passed, I lost my job. Downsizing. They were offshoring my department, apparently. With no job – and likely, because of my age, I got no bites when my resume made the rounds – no income, and no money left in savings, I ended up losing my home. And here I am.”
I sit back on the stool, feeling completely stunned. His story has left me speechless. I don't know what to say or what to do. It's obvious the man is in emotional distress, and has been for a long time, I'd guess. But, he seems like the type to just bury it, put his head down, and keep trudging forward.
“Is that common?” I ask. “That you end up on the streets because of something like that?”
He shrugs. “It's a lot more common than you’d think,” he says, pointing to a man in a blue baseball cap. “Rick over there was an airline mechanic for twenty-two years. They cut him loose to bring in some younger, cheaper mechanics.”
I look over at the older Hispanic man sitting at the table next to us, eating his meal in silence.
“That's Darryl,” he says, pointing to a man in a red coat. “He was a contractor. Fell off a roof one day, ended up in the hospital for a long while. Can't do the same work anymore, and ended up out of a job,” he says. “He lost everything after that. Wife, kids, his dog – everything. So yeah, it's probably a lot more common than you think. It's why we're all grateful to have a place where we can come and get a warm, hot meal.”
I look around the cafeteria, looking at the sea of faces out there and wonder what everyone’s story is. Wonder how many of them are there because of circumstances beyond their control. Wonder how many ended up on the street through a series of unfortunate events, or a turn of bad luck. I turn back to the man, my mind swirling with a thousand different unasked questions.
“What did you do?” I ask for lack of anything intelligent or actually compassionate to say.
“I was an accountant,” he says. “Headed the company's accounting department until they figured they could find cheaper labor overseas.”
Sitting here with this man is something of a humbling experience for me. He's not a drunk. Not an addict. Not a criminal. He's none of the preconceived notions of the homeless I've held all my life. I don't like to admit it, but yeah, I guess the fact that I looked down on the poor and the homeless as lazy, or as somehow being in their situation because of something they did wrong, is a form of bigotry I never thought much about.
I feel like the air is being sucked right out of my lungs as I hear that phrase ringing through my mind on an endless loop – I’m a bigot. I've never been so ashamed in my life. And I know, if I gave voice to this epiphany, my father would be ashamed of me too.
Where did I develop this prejudiced, cavalier attitude toward others? Do my brothers have the same thoughts and beliefs? I think back and try to piece it all together, try to figure out where my prejudice against the poor first started, where it came from – and I really don’t know. I have no idea whatsoever.
It's a revelation about myself that leaves me sickened. Stunned. I never actively treated the poor like they were trash – at least, I don't think I did – but, I realize now that I regarded them with a certain degree of callousness and coldness. To me, they just didn't exist.
“What's your name?” I ask.
“Matthew,” he says and extends his hand. “Matthew Rehnquist.”
I shake his hand and nod. “How long were you an accountant?”
He snorts. “Probably longer than you've been alive,” he chuckles.
I fish a card out of my coat pocket and hand it to him. “My name is Colin Anderson,” I say. “We're about to shut down for the holidays, but once they're over, I want you to call me at my office. I'm going to bring you in and we'll get you a job in our accounting department.”
He takes the card and looks at it, then looks up at me. I can see the skepticism in his eyes.
“Aren't you a little young –”
“Family company,” I say, cutting him off.
He looks at me a moment longer. “What's the catch?”
I shake my head. “No catch.”
He chuckles. “I've been around long enough to know there's always a catch,” he says. “Like they say, there's no such thing as a free lunch.”
“Well, the catch then, is that you show up on time, and do a good job for me,” I say.
Matthew looks at me for a long moment. The skepticism is still in his eyes, but now, I see the faint flickering of some other emotion – hope, maybe.
“Is this for real?” he asks.
I nod. “One hundred percent.”
A wide smile crosses his face, and I watch as his nose and cheeks grow red. His eyes are wet with tears I can see he's doing his best to keep from falling. He rubs his hand across his face, doing his best to keep his composure in front of me.
“And what are you boys talking about over here?” Bailey asks as she steps over to the table.
She's looking at me with a look of pure adoration in her eyes, and it melts my heart. It's a face I could stare at every day and never grow tired of. Bailey turns and looks at Matthew, and when she sees he's struggling to contain his emotion, her face falls, and she rushes to his side. She casts a wary, slightly accusatory look at me – like she thinks I did something to upset the man.
“Matthew, are you okay?” she asks. “What's wrong?”
He shakes his head, but he can't hold the tears back any longer. He covers his face with his hand as the tears start to roll down his cheeks. Bailey looks over at me with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.
“What did you do?” she hisses.
Matthew puts his hand on Bailey's shoulder and looks up at her. He shakes his head and gives her a trembling smile.
“I never believed in Christmas miracles, Bailey. Always thought they were Hollywood movie garbage,” he says and looks over at me. “Until right now.”
Confusion sweeps across her face as her gaze shifts between Matthew and me. She wants to be mad, assuming I did something horrible, but something in Matthew's face seems to be keeping her anger in check.
“How many years have I been trying to get a job?” he asks Bailey.
“A lot of years, I know,” she says.
“I guess I have one now,” he says. “After all this time, I finally found a job, Bailey.”
She looks at me, her confusion only deepening. I just shrug and give her a small, enigmatic smile. She immediately thought the worst, so I'm enjoying seeing her squirm a bit.
“What are you talking about, Matthew?” she finally asks.
He looks over at me and brandishes my card. “Mr. Anderson here,” he says. “He's giving me an accounting job at his company.”
Her eyes widen, and I can tell she's not sure what to think. I nod, confirming what he's saying – though, it does nothing to lessen her expression of confusion. She stands up and motions me to join her.
“We'll be right back,” she says to Matthew, giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.
He nods, then looks up at me, his face filled with nothing but gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Thank you for this opportunity,” he says. “I won't let you down. I swear.”
“I know you won't, Matthew,” I say.
Bailey drags me out of the dining room and into the now-deserted kitchen. She rounds on me with anger and distrust in her eyes. She steps forward and thrusts a finger into my face. To anybody seeing this from the outside, it has to look funny, I'm sure – this delicate, diminutive woman, standing with her finger in the face of a man two, maybe three times larger than her. But, seeing the fury in her eyes, I wisely bite back the laughter and any snarky reply.
“You had better not be screwing with him,” she says. “That man has been looking for work for a long time. He's absolutely demoralized about having to come here to begin with. The last thing he needs is for you to come in here and mess with him.”
She's red in the face, huffing and puffing, and I find it utterly adorable. Not that I'm going to say that to her. Not if I plan on getting out of this kitchen alive, that is.
“Are you done?”
“For now.”
“Good. I'm not messing with him,” I say. “I spent some time talking to him, and his story genuinely moved me. I think I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I can see that he's a good, decent, hardworking man. He needs to catch a break for a change, and I want to help him. Really.”
She eyes me for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not I'm being sincere. “So, this isn't just some random, Christmas-fueled offer that you’re going to change your mind about when the tinsel comes down?” she asks.
“No, it's not. It's a genuine offer. If he doesn't work out in accounting, I'm sure I can find him another position somewhere else,” I say. “But hey, thanks for thinking the worst of me. I appreciate that.”
Her face softens, and she looks down at the ground. Bailey shuffles her feet and pushes some loose tendrils of hair behind her ears. When she looks up at me again, she looks chastised and abashed. I'm not going to lie, the fact that her first instinct is to think the worst of me hurts a bit. But, given her past experiences with me, plus my previous attitudes regarding the poor, I can't blame her too much.
Still, I thought she knew me better than that by now. I mean, I know we still have a lot to learn about each other – and that we've only scratched the surface – but knowing that's her default reaction still stings.
“I'm sorry,” she says softly. “I'm just so protective of the people here, and –”
“I understand,” I say. “I get it.”
She steps forward and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. It's the first real physical contact we've had since she gave me the hand job at the diner, and it feels nice. There's something comforting about having her warm body against mine. Something that soothes and eases my mind, body, and soul. It's a completely unexpected feeling and reaction, but it's nice all the same.
She turns her face up to mine, and I lean down, pressing my lips to hers. Our kiss is slow, and sweet, our tongues dancing around each other in her mouth, and yet it's filled with unspoken emotion. It's filled with passion, desire – and something more. Something I can't put my finger on. But, it brings me no small amount of comfort and joy, all the same.
When I pull back, there's a small smile on her lips that I'm sure matches the one on mine. We stand there in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes, and I have the absurd notion that I never want the moment to end.
The moment ends right when Olivia bursts through the doors, her phone in hand, and a wide smile on her face. Bailey and I step back from each other, both of us clearing our throats at the same time, pretending nothing was going on between us. Which is stupid – two grown adults acting like a couple of teenagers who just got caught making out in the basement.
Olivia, obviously realizing she walked in on something, looks away, an embarrassed expression on her face.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –”
“No, it's fine,” Bailey says. “We were just – talking.”
Talking. Like anybody with half a brain would believe that. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous the lie is, but I manage to hold myself in check.
“What's up?” Bailey asks.
“We just got a call about Father Gus,” she says. “He's going to be okay.”
The relief washing through Bailey is palpable, even from where I'm standing. It's like all of the tension in her body suddenly rushed out at once, leaving her limp and boneless. I'm half-afraid her legs are going to give out and she's going to fall right on her butt. She manages to hold it together though and remains upright. Soft tears roll down her cheeks, and the smile on her face makes my heart melt.
“That's good news,” she says. “Really, really good news.”
Olivia nods. “It's a blessing,” she says. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Bailey says. “Thank you, Olivia.”
“Of course,” she says. “I'll leave you two to finish your – conversation.”
I can hear her laughing through the door as she leaves, and all I can do is shake my head. Bailey turns to me with a look of pure, unadulterated joy on her face. It's a look that makes me smile. And I realize, I always want her to be this happy.
Always.