Chapter 14
Grace
“So, that’s a chipotle chicken Panini, a fruit cup, and a grande nonfat latte.”
“And a cookie,” I said, my stomach rumbling as I peered into the bakery case. “Chocolate chip.”
“And a cookie.” The girl in the green apron tapped another number into the register. “That’ll be sixteen dollars and ten cents.”
“Sixteen dollars?”
The girl bobbed her head, looking apologetic. “At least there’s no sales tax in Oregon.”
True. But sixteen dollars? I thought about canceling my order and going over to Alder Street to see if I could find something cheaper at one of the food carts, but Gavin was on even more of a tear than usual. I had to be back in twenty minutes. What to do?
Once again, my growling stomach made up my mind for me. I dug out my debit card, stuck it in the reader, and keyed in my code. The transaction was rejected—lack of funds.
“No worries,” the girl said after I mumbled an apology, explaining that I got paid tomorrow. “It’s tight at the end of the month. Do you have cash? A credit card?”
I pulled out my wallet and handed over eleven dollars in bills, then started digging around the bottom of my purse, searching for change, but was only able to come up with an additional $1.87.
“Cancel the coffee—no, wait! The cookie. I need caffeine more than sugar.”
She tapped more numbers into the register. The line of customers behind me was growing longer and more impatient. When she announced the new total, still a dollar and a half more than what I had, someone behind me groaned. Someone else said, “Hang on. I got this.”
A man stepped out of line and handed the girl thirty dollars. By this time, my face was bright red. I felt so conspicuous and humiliated that I couldn’t bring myself to look up. So it wasn’t until he said, “Add another coffee onto that order, please. Tall drip,” that I realized the voice belonged to Luke Pascal.
Mortified, I looked up at him and said, “I can’t let you pay for my food.”
“Well, somebody better do it,” said a man wearing red too-short shorts and a pair of Birkenstock sandals paired with white athletic socks, the same man who had groaned before. “Could you move it along? I’m growing old here.”
Luke gave him a genuinely withering glance. The man, suddenly quiet, stared at his sandals. Luke turned back toward the girl.
“And if it’s not too much trouble,” he said in that polite but commanding teacher voice, “I’d like my coffee extra hot. Thank you.”
After she handed him back the change and the cookie, Luke shoved two dollars into the tip jar. Two minutes later, we were sitting at a table in a corner, Luke sipping his coffee while I wolfed down my Panini.
“I’m paying you back,” I said between bites. “I get paid tomorrow.”
“Not necessary. But you can if it’ll make you feel better.”
He was silent, watching me eat, making me feel even more conspicuous than I had been with the eyes of all those people on me, watching while I grubbed around in my purse for change I didn’t have.
“Would you please quit staring at me?”
“Sorry.” He ducked his head and took a drink from his cup. “It’s just . . . you must be really hungry. Did you eat today?”
I shook my head and swallowed quickly, to avoid talking with my mouth full. “I accidentally left my lunch on the kitchen counter. And my boss just got asked to give a big presentation at a corporate sales conference the week after next. Somebody else dropped out at the last minute. The good news, at least for me, is that he’ll be in Chicago and out of my hair for four whole days. The bad news is, I’ve got to create thirty-three super-slick slides for his presentation, with all kinds of charts and graphs, and I’ve never used the design software before.”
Luke’s eyebrows arched. “Does your boss know that?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, maybe you should tell him. I’m sure he could find somebody else to do it.”
“I don’t want him to find somebody else to do it. I’m trying to be indispensable.”
His brows arched even higher. “Well, that sounds exhausting.”
“It is. Hey, do you know what time it is?” I asked, thinking about Gavin.
“Sorry, but I don’t wear a watch. Something wrong with yours?” he asked, pointing at my wrist.
“Oh. It’s . . . dead battery. Never mind.”
I shoved the uneaten half of my sandwich back into the serving bag before ripping the plastic top off the fruit cup and digging in.
“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he asked, indicating the leftover sandwich. “You look like you’re starving.”
“Later.” I shoved two big chunks of apple into my mouth and started chewing rapidly. “Thanks for picking up my tab. I’m going to pay you back tomorrow—I insist. It’s hard to convince a boss you’re indispensable if you pass out from low blood sugar in the middle of the project, so it’s lucky for me that we happened to run into each other.” I broke the cookie in half, wrapped the first piece up in a napkin, and took a bite of the second. “What are you doing downtown anyway?”
Luke took a long drink of his coffee before answering.
“Yeah, well . . . I didn’t quite happen to run into you. Not exactly.”
I put the cookie down on the table.
“Monica.”
Luke stared into his cup, saying nothing.
“I can’t believe it! She told you to come down here and wait for me at three o’clock? And you did it? What are you? Some kind of stalker?”
“Hey!” he said, head snapping up, looking offended. “This wasn’t my idea, it was Monica’s. I just wanted to phone you, but she said you can’t take calls at work because your boss is some kind of ogre and that by the time you get home it would be too late, so I should come down and wait for you in the coffee shop. She said you show up here for coffee every day at three and that this would be the best way to get in touch with you.”
“And that didn’t seem weird to you?”
“Well . . . yes,” he said, ducking his head. “But everything about women seems weird to me. I’ve learned not to question it.”
He looked genuinely sorry and more than a little embarrassed. I couldn’t stay mad at him, not once I realized how Monica had played him. However, the length of time I was going to stay mad at Monica for trying to entangle Luke and me in one of her little webs was, quite possibly, an infinite number. How many times did I have to tell her?
“It’s okay,” I said. “You didn’t know. Monica ropes me into a lot of stupid stuff too. And, in a way, I’m glad to see you. I felt bad about running out on you without explaining.”
“You don’t need to explain. Monica told me all about your husband. And, I . . . well . . . I’m so sorry,” he said, stumbling over his words the way people tend to when they hear about Jamie, as if they’re not sure whether to offer sympathy, support, condolences, or all three. “I shouldn’t have—”
I put up my hand to stop him. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed at the restaurant. As soon as I got Monica’s text, I should have told you I was married, said good night, and gone home.”
“Why?” he asked, tipping his head to the side. “We didn’t do anything wrong. And it was fun, wasn’t it? I haven’t danced like that in years. You were having a good time, too, weren’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. He cleared his throat, as if working up to something.
“So listen, I know you have to get back to work, so I’ll cut to the chase. There are some dance classes starting up at the Crystal Ballroom. I’d like to sign up, but I need a partner. So I was hoping that you’d—”
The second he uttered the words dance class I knew what he was going to ask, but it took a second for me to process the information.
“No, absolutely not,” I said, cutting the air between us with the flat of my hand. “Luke, I’m married.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” he said, sounding impatient. “You’ve mentioned it more than once. Look, I’m just back in the States, haven’t even unpacked all the boxes in my new house, and I’m trying to get a new business off the ground. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have time for a relationship right now. And why would you think I’d get involved with a married woman? What kind of guy do you think I am, anyway?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said.
“I’m inviting you to a dance class, Grace. Not a motel room. It’s no big deal. All I want to do is dance. There’s nothing more to it.”
“And you should. But not with me. It’s not a good idea, Luke.”
I stopped myself. Maybe it hadn’t been a big deal to him, but it was different for me. Dancing with Luke had stirred thoughts and feelings that I had no right to.
“I’ll give Monica the money to pay you back when I see her,” I said, then put my leftovers into my purse, got to my feet, and, once again, walked away from Luke Pascal without really explaining why. This time he didn’t attempt to follow me, not even a step.
When I turned the corner, heading back to the office, I caught sight of him through the coffee shop window. Luke was an attractive man, a nice man, but seeing his expression in that unguarded moment made me know I’d been right to turn him down. The sadness of his eyes reminded me of a stray who had seen too much to be surprised by rejection but can’t help but search the face of every person passing, looking for the love he’s never known.
Luke was as lonely as everybody else. But I couldn’t help him.