Chapter Ten
The diner wasn’t usually busy on Sundays, but ever since the town had heard about the Frost family drama, and especially since they’d heard that scenes from it were being acted out right there at the counter for the customers’ viewing pleasure, business had picked up. Luckily Em had come in to help with Sunday brunch, and she’d brought one of her friends, a tall, lanky boy named Seth who was looking for a part-time job.
And without the hospital payments emptying the bank account every other Wednesday, there was actually money to pay him for his time. Cassidy tossed him an apron, and they all got to work. He was too young to be left in charge of the place on his own, so Cassidy would still need to be there from open until close, but maybe she’d at least be able to sit down and take a few breaks now and then.
She was experimenting with that concept midafternoon, just after the brunch rush, sitting in the family booth doing some paperwork while the kids prepped for dinner, when Will’s lawyer walked into the diner. What was his name? Will called him Trevor, but Cassidy really wasn’t ready for that level of familiarity.
“Ms. Frost,” he said as he approached. “Trevor McCain, Will Connelly’s lawyer—good to see you again. Is it all right if I sit down?”
“If I say yes, are you going to steal my straw?” she asked, looking pointedly at her juice bottle. “Because I’m still using it.”
“I promise to behave myself,” he said solemnly, and for the first time she felt like she saw something more to him than a suit and a piercing gaze. For one thing, when his eyes danced like that, he actually looked Will’s age.
“Okay, then,” she said, and straightened the pile of bills in front of her so there’d be room for him to at least rest his hands on the table. “What’s up?”
“Will said he told you I’d be coming by to review the financial plans he’s made. Is this a good time?”
It was as good as any, she supposed, although just the phrase “trust fund” made her skin crawl as she thought of empty-headed reality-show bimbos. Why the hell did Emily need a trust fund? Well, maybe that was one of the things she could find out in this conversation. “Sure, now’s good.”
He slid into the booth opposite her, opened his briefcase on the far corner of the table, the only spot not covered in paper, and then didn’t take anything out of it. Instead, he took his glasses off and held them in his hands. He was quiet for a moment, looking down at them, then he nodded his head once as if coming to some internal agreement. When he looked back up at Cassidy, he seemed young again.
“These glasses cost almost nine hundred dollars,” he said conversationally. “Eight hundred and seventy-six, to be precise.” He held them up to the light, then shook his head. “I could have seen just as well through a pair that cost me fifty bucks, shipping included. But I bought these instead.”
How was she supposed to respond to that? “You must really like the frames.”
“Not especially, no. I mean…they’re kind of boring, aren’t they? There’s not much to like or dislike.”
“Is this related to Em’s trust fund somehow?”
He smiled. “Not directly, no. I just—I don’t know. Do you mind if I take an extra five minutes of your time? I promise, I’ll get to the financials. It’s pretty straightforward, and I won’t leave until you either understand it or are sick to death of talking about it. But just—just to establish an understanding, maybe, between you and me? Can I tell you a bit about myself?”
“I guess,” she said. This had better not be some pervy come-on.
He grinned as if he knew what she was thinking, and the expression made him look positively boyish. What was that book she’d read in school where the person aged backward? She thought maybe she was looking at a real-world example right across the table from her.
“My parents were working-class on a good day,” he said, and the strange choice of topic startled her back to reality. “On a bad day, or a bad year, they were just unemployed. And I have five younger siblings.” He was saying it all in a matter-of-fact way, and she nodded to show she’d received the information he was giving her. “I met Will, and some other friends, when I got a scholarship to the Mayweather School in New York City. I started in ninth grade, but most of the others had been there since kindergarten.” He shrugged. “Will and a few other guys from that school are my best friends. They will always be my best friends, I’m quite sure. But there are some parts of my life that they will never understand.”
“Because they were born with money?” she asked, curious despite herself.
He nodded. “They think they understand. They understand the surface parts, the fact that there just wasn’t enough money to do things. It took them a while to even figure that much out, to realize that I wasn’t turning down invitations because I didn’t want to hang out with them, but rather because I couldn’t afford the ticket prices or the meals or whatever. But they’re smart, and eventually they caught on.”
“But they still don’t understand other things?”
“I think they have trouble understanding the mindset. Little details, mostly, but they add up to something larger.”
“What mindset are you talking about?”
He looked back down at his glasses. “These frames? The eight hundred and seventy-six dollars I spent on them? I make good money, now. I’m a partner in a New York law firm. The connections I made at Mayweather mean that my roster of clients is full to overflowing, especially since Will seems determined to turn me into his thousand-dollar-an-hour errand boy. These glasses are nothing compared to my net worth. But still, I know exactly how much they cost, and still I—obsess may be the wrong word, but it’s close, I think. I’m fascinated, maybe, but not in a totally healthy way. Sometimes I’m stupidly proud, like I want to tell everyone I meet. And sometimes I’m kind of ashamed, because it’s such a stupid waste of money.”
It was interesting. It made her like him a little, but at the same time, she wondered just what he was building up to. And a tiny, cynical part of her wondered if his story was even true, or whether it was all part of some carefully designed plan to—to what? “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said, and there was that boyish grin again. How could Cassidy not trust someone who smiled like that? “I suppose I’m trying to establish a bond between us, an understanding of our shared experiences of poverty in relation to wealth.” He shrugged. “And I suppose I’m doing that because I’m hoping you’ll give some thought to what I’m about to say, since you know that I’m speaking from experience, not theory.”
“What are you about to say?”
He set his glasses down on the table, looked at his briefcase, then looked back at her. “I’m going to say that it’s easy for people like you and me to say no to things. I expect it’s especially easy for you, since my impression is that your sister said yes a lot—damn it, I didn’t mean that to sound sexual. I just mean she seemed like the sort of person who was open to new experiences, and to taking chances. If someone asked her if she wanted to do something, anything, she’d be likely to say yes. Does that sound accurate?”
Cassidy wanted to know where he was going to go with all this before she gave her answer, but it didn’t seem like he was going to go on until she said something. “It sounds like her, yeah. I guess.”
“And that’s how my friends are, too. It’s like your sister somehow wasn’t working class, wasn’t poor, at least in her mind. She just sort of ignored reality and did what she wanted. Travel, adventures, all of that. Life is a playground, an amusement park designed for her enjoyment. Am I on the right track?”
Cassidy had never thought of it that way before, but she found herself nodding. “Yeah. I think maybe you are.”
“But the bills still had to be paid, of course, and Emily had to be taken care of. So somebody had to be more in touch with reality; somebody had to say no sometimes. Or maybe all of the time. And that somebody was you, like the two of you balanced each other out.”
It wasn’t really how Cassidy wanted to think of herself. Who would want to be seen as a permanent negation? But she nodded anyway. “Maybe, yeah.”
He nodded, too. “And it’s scary to start saying yes to things,” he said. Cassidy wasn’t a big fan of strangers telling her what she was afraid of, but somehow, he made it sound like he was talking about himself as well as her. He held up his glasses. “I think that’s why these are important to me. They remind me that I can say yes, even to things that are sort of stupid. I have the freedom, the luxury, of being a bit stupid now and then. Back when I was struggling for money, I always had to do the smart thing, and it was exhausting.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Well, I wanted to congratulate you on saying yes to the roofing, and to staying with Will. That must have been hard for you, but you did it. Good job.”
She had no idea how to react, so she just waited for him to continue.
“And I wanted to let you know that Will got a lot of shit from his friends for not giving you the chance to say yes or no to the situation with the hospital bills. I think he listened to us, and I think he listened to you, too. I think his phrase was something along the lines of the idea being good, but the execution being crappy. And Will doesn’t generally make the same mistake more than once.”
“Good to know.”
He nodded and smiled gently. “Mostly I wanted to have that mindset out in the open between us. Because Will is in your life now. He’s not going to leave Emily, and neither are you, so you and he are now connected. And being connected to Will is going to mean you have a lot more opportunities to say yes to things. If you want to. Of course, some of it—the trust fund, the will—is just going to happen. And the trust fund is set up to ensure there will always be money for Emily. Even if he starts making terrible decisions and gives all his money to a chinchilla refuge or something, he can’t touch the trust fund. There are conditions for when and why Emily will be able to withdraw funds from it, but he’s essentially given up control over that money. It’s Emily’s now. I’ll go over those conditions with you, and with Emily, to be sure you both understand it all, and of course I’ll leave copies of the paperwork with you. But it’s not something you really need to give your consent to.”
“Okay,” she said. It sounded so much better the way he described it. The ditzy trust-fund kids on TV were ditzy because that was who they were, not because of the trust fund itself. At least, she hoped that was true.
“There are other things, though,” he said, “for which your consent, your ‘yes,’ is pretty important. Like the question of what school Emily will attend next year.”
She could feel her shoulders tightening, could feel the trap closing in around her, and she saw his sympathetic smile as if he understood completely. “If it comes down to it,” he said quietly, “I think Will would try to find a way to make things work here. Emily could go to the local high school, and he’d hire tutors and enroll her in camps and make sure she goes on educational trips and whatever else he could think of to make up for the gaps in her education.” He looked down at his glasses, then back up at her. “And if you say no to the private schools, we’ll have to start looking at that sort of option. But I’m hoping you’ll at least consider saying yes. We can arrange for tours of some of the schools, chances for you to see the opportunities that would be open to Emily, and maybe to calm some of the fears you may have. That’s what I’m hoping.”
It was almost a dare. He was wording it softly, sure, but what it came down to was she was a chicken if she said no without even learning more about it. A chicken, and selfish, too, because this wasn’t her education they were talking about, it was Emily’s. But damn it, he was right. It was so much easier to just shut it all down.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, the words forced out through a tightening throat.
“Great,” he said. “Would you like me to run over the terms of the trust for you now, or would you like to take a break?”
She blinked hard, trying to get herself back under control. “He pays you a thousand dollars an hour? For this?”
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Another grin. “But don’t tell him I said so.”
A thousand dollars an hour probably bought a lot of charm. A lot of seemingly genuine stories about impoverished childhoods and expensive glasses. This guy was a professional manipulator, paid a lot of money to get people to do what Will Connelly wanted them to do.
She should resist his arguments, except—except they’d felt true. Not the parts about him, maybe, but the parts about her. Saying yes was terrifying, and that was partly because she’d always had to be so careful with money, partly because she’d been trying to balance out her sister.
She didn’t want Emily to grow up that way. Emily should be able to say yes whenever she wanted, and say no whenever that made more sense to her. She should be free. And maybe Will was a good way to make sure she was.
“Tell me about the trust,” Cassidy said, squaring her shoulders. “And then you can tell me more about the schools. Yes.”
She still didn’t trust this guy, but when he smiled at her as if they shared an in-joke, shared a common challenge and were both overcoming it? It felt good.
Maybe the world wasn’t falling apart. Maybe it was finally falling together.
…
Monday morning, Will dropped Emily off at school and made it to the diner in time for the last half of the breakfast rush. Cassidy let him actually deliver a few orders to the tables, which made him prouder than common sense suggested it should, and when it was time to tidy up and restock, he headed for the bag of napkins like it was his true calling.
Still, he wasn’t sorry to give up on the menial tasks and take a break when Cassidy suggested it. She brought two mugs of coffee from behind the counter, and he realized she’d already put the fixings in his, lots of milk and just a little sugar, just as he liked it. It was strangely intimate, her knowing that about him, and her being brave enough to admit that she knew.
“Trevor said he went over the financial stuff with you,” he said as they sat across from each other in the family booth.
“He did. It all made sense. The trust fund makes me a bit nervous, but he explained how you could throw all your money away on small-rodent rescue at any moment, so I guess it makes sense to have some set aside for Emily. Thank you.”
“I’m going to pretend I know what you’re talking about with the small rodents, since it seems like they’re working in my favor.”
“I’m honestly not even sure if chinchillas are rodents. Ferrets aren’t, I know that.”
“Oh yeah. Chinchillas. Right, it makes perfect sense that we’re talking about chinchillas. I understand completely.”
Her smile was easy and relaxed, and he began to think he was seeing the real Cassidy, the one who wasn’t stressed and exhausted and afraid. “You can be confused about chinchillas, and I’ll be confused about why you pay some guy a thousand dollars an hour to talk to me about chinchillas. Deal?”
“He’s really a very good chinchilla-talker.”
“He’d better be.” Her snort wasn’t exactly lady-like, but he found it strangely charming. Then she took a long swallow of coffee and said, “But you probably didn’t come here to talk about that, right? So, what’s up?”
And he had nothing to say. What was up? What was he doing there, helping out in a backwoods diner and drinking mediocre coffee with…with Cassidy. He searched for an explanation that didn’t involve the words I find you intriguing. “I just thought we could spend a bit of time together. You know, non-arguing, stress-free time.” Yeah, that sounded good. “Also, I’m kind of compulsive about some things, and I don’t think I’ve quite perfected my napkin-stuffing technique yet. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep practicing.”
“You can keep practicing that, and if you’re really good, I’ll let you practice mopping the floors and doing the cooking and dealing with the customers, too. There’s a lot of room for perfection around here.”
He was almost afraid to move the conversation in a more serious direction, but he took the chance. “So this isn’t a labor of love for you? You don’t savor every aspect of running a diner?”
Another snort, this one not quite as pleasant as the last. “No. Even if I loved cooking, which I don’t, I probably wouldn’t love making people grilled cheese and soup all day long. There’s not a lot of room for creativity. Not that I want to be especially creative, of course, because I don’t really like cooking. So, no, not a labor of love.”
“How’d it happen? Why are you running the place?”
“Penny wanted to start her own business—you can imagine, she wasn’t great with having a boss. So, she needed a business, the town needed a restaurant—it all just fell together, I guess.”
“But it doesn’t have to stay together, does it? If you don’t want to do this, you don’t really have to. Right?”
She stood up too quickly, jamming her thigh on the immovable edge of the table. “Of course not,” she said and headed for the back room.
He glanced at the two tables that still had customers, then slid out of the booth and followed her. “Wait,” he said as he entered the back room, which was stupid, because she was just standing there, clearly not going anywhere. “What just happened? What nerve did I hit? You could close the diner down, right? If you wanted to. Or is there something I’m missing?”
She sighed as if she was about to give up on the conversation, then clearly changed her mind and fixed him with a fierce gaze. “Aren’t you afraid of anything?” she demanded.
He frowned at her. “Afraid? Sure, I guess.” But she was still staring, waiting for more. “You want details? I don’t know—lions? Large carnivores in general, probably. And—I don’t know, disease? I mean, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but diseases are bad, right?”
She shook her head. “Lions and diseases? Seriously? You’re terrible at this.” She turned away, but he reached out and caught her shoulder. He didn’t want this to be over, not when it just felt like maybe they were getting somewhere. He didn’t hold her tight, didn’t even close his fingers over her navy T-shirt, but she stopped moving anyway.
“Give me a second,” he said. “Now that I know this is something I could be good or bad at, I need to be good at it, obviously. So—we’re looking for things that I’m afraid of that aren’t scary to most people. Things that aren’t physically dangerous, but that scare me anyway.”
She looked like just this conversation was scaring her a little bit, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah. That’s the idea.”
And he began to understand why she was uneasy, because this wasn’t the sort of thing he usually talked about with people he didn’t know too well. Really, it wasn’t the sort of thing he talked about with anyone. But he made himself keep going. “I’m scared of messing things up with Emily,” he said quietly. “Because you were right, the other day. It’s not that impressive that I’ve been able to make a lot of money, not when you consider how many advantages I had. I’ve never really done anything too worthwhile, and I’m not sure I’m qualified to be a dad all of a sudden. It’s easy to throw money around and pay for things, but in terms of actually being a parent? I have no idea what I’m doing, and I feel like I don’t have all that many chances, and I’m afraid I’ll screw things up.”
If she’d made a joke, or even tried to make him feel better by dismissing his fears, he would have clammed up. But instead, she nodded solemnly. She’d heard him, and she understood, and it gave him the courage to say a little more. “And I’m afraid of messing things up with you. Because of who you are to Emily, sure. I need you if I’m going to have a chance of doing things right as a dad. But also—” He shook his head. He was an idiot for saying any of this. It was way too much, way too fast. But she was watching him, waiting, so he made himself say, “Also because I like you. I respect you. There aren’t that many people who say no to me, and those who do? I value them. You.” His voice was quieter now, and she was leaning in to hear him. Or was he leaning toward her?
They were leaning together. Her eyes were wide, almost afraid again, but she wasn’t running away. And he couldn’t have stepped backward if he’d been ordered to. He could only stand there and stare at her, the delicate line of her jaw, the warm glow of her skin, and the full, voluptuous curve of her lips.
He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek, and she took a quick, deep breath as they touched, as if the moment were as electric for her as for him. For a moment he was sure she was about to turn away, but she stayed still, and he turned his hand to let his fingertips trail down to the soft skin under her jaw, then to her neck.
Another frozen moment, and then her head tilted back, just a little. His question had been subtle, and so had her answer. Maybe her mind wasn’t even aware of it, but her body was, and he lowered his head until their lips joined at the perfect angle.
Not a deep kiss, but it sent energy racing through Will’s body. Their lips parted enough for him to feel her warm breath, and he shifted slightly, bringing his free hand around to her waist. He wanted to hold her, claim her, pull her closer and not let go. But as he moved there was a sound from the front room. Nothing major, just the clatter of a mug being set down a little too close to a plate, but enough to make Cassidy’s whole body jerk backward, away from him.
Her eyes were even wider now as she stood, frozen except for fast breaths that he probably couldn’t attribute to arousal. “What the hell was that?” she whispered.
“A dish?”
“No, not out there. I meant—” She stopped and shook her head like she was trying to clear it. “Okay, that was not a good thing. Not a good idea.”
“Why not?” He had his own list of possible answers but wanted to hear hers.
“You really think we need to make this more complicated?” she said. “We don’t have enough to worry about?”
He wasn’t sure what to say. A complication? Yeah, it probably would be. But something to worry about? “You’re talking like it would be a bad thing. If we—I don’t know, if we got closer. That’s something to worry about?”
Another snort, this one full of frustration. “You have a thirteen-year-old daughter. She needs to be your priority right now, remember?”
“She is!”
“Okay, so this would just be something casual.” He tried to read her face as she said that, but couldn’t. But he saw her expression become more fixed, more distant as she continued. “You need to start thinking about how she’ll see things. Because kids don’t necessarily understand adult relationships, you know? She might not understand that it’s casual, might think it’s something more, and be upset about it, or maybe excited about it and then disappointed when it doesn’t last, or whatever. Seriously, you should probably be keeping your—your—whatever you would call this as far away from Emily as you can. If you want to introduce her to someone you’re serious about, fine, but if you’re just messing around? She doesn’t need to know about that.”
Just messing around. That kiss—it hadn’t felt like messing around, not to him. “But what if this isn’t something casual?”
Another damn snort. Had it just been a few minutes ago he’d been finding them charming? “What are you talking about? You and me? You think we’re a couple that makes any kind of sense?” She hurried on as if not wanting to hear his answer. “Focus on Emily. She’s the important person right now.”
“I can focus on more than one person at a time,” he said softly.
And for a moment he wished she were better at hiding her feelings, because the vulnerability that flashed across her face was painful to see. And then, as it so often did, her fear turned to anger. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Just charging into things, not worrying about the fallout because you know you’ve got money and friends and a family that will cushion any blows. But it’s not so easy for me. I need to be safe. For Emily’s sake, and for my own.”
“I can make it easy for you if you give me a chance. I can make sure you’re safe.”
No snort this time, only a piercing look and then a dismissive headshake. “I don’t know if you’re a liar or just clueless. Either way, though, I can’t afford to get involved.” She ran her hands down her unmussed apron, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m at work. I need to get back out there. We’ll just forget about this, okay? It was a strange little blip, but nothing we need to worry about. Right?”
He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he agreed, and that was enough to bring her shoulders down and make her look less like she was about to shatter. “Nothing to worry about.”
And with that, she headed for the front room, leaving him alone with the aprons and the boxes and the clunky old refrigerator. The kiss was nothing to worry about. He’d go along that far. But forgetting about it? He didn’t think that was possible, and even if it were, he didn’t want to.