Friends & Fortune Cookies: A Sudden Falls Romance (8 page)

“I wasn’t trying to.” She sounded as hurt as I’d ever heard her.

I knew immediately that I’d overreacted but didn’t know how to say that.

She wriggled back into her clothes, keeping her back to me the whole time, and then asked me to take her home.

She didn’t speak to me for about six months… until I came home from basic.

Now, as Gracie turned to the next page in the photo album, I found my heart pounding and the same disappointment I’d felt seven years ago flowed like acid through my veins.

That was the first of many major fuckups with Gracie, but it set the tone for all the future ones. I needed to find a way to get back in her good graces because realizing what we could have had made me want it so much more.

Chapter 13 — Grace

“Never plan on a first date lasting more than an hour.”
~ Luddite in Love: A Cautionary Tale of Dating in the Modern Age,
Grace Mendoza

Exactly one week and five online dates into my grand dating experiment, my nerves had settled down about the whole thing. In fact, it was starting to get... a little repetitive. Joe would pick me up. I’d meet someone with whom I had very little in common. An hour would pass. We would escape. On to the next fellow.

But the exercise had given me a lot of fodder for my articles. And more than that, I’d been able to start my book. I was calling it
Luddite in Love: A Cautionary Tale of Dating in the Modern Age

That Thursday, when Joe rolled up to the curb in front of my apartment complex, he seemed nervous. Kept checking the face of his phone even though it wasn’t ringing or buzzing. Left knee bouncing when he wasn’t shifting gears. His hands all over the dashboard of his truck: alternately tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel and the gearshift, changing the channel on the radio, adjusting the volume up, and adjusting it back down again. His fingers went back to the radio channel again, and I grabbed his hand before he could monkey with it anymore. He was starting to make me nervous.

“What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re about to vibrate right out of the truck.” I let go of his hand. “And you’re expecting a call. Got a hot date?” That possibility didn’t sit very well with me, but I didn’t want to focus on that for more than about a half of a second.

“No. I think you’re dating enough for the both of us.”

I didn’t want to analyze the slight bite in his tone anymore than I wanted to analyze why his “no” answer pleased me more than it should.

“So, what’s got you in a tizzy?” Knowing someone for as long as I’ve known Joe means knowing precisely the right way to push their buttons to speed a conversation along. I would never suggest to a man who was a perfect stranger that he was even capable of a “tizzy”. And yet, I suspected it would offend Joe
just enough
that he’d drop whatever load he was carrying.

And I was right.

“Just problems at the job site.” He went for the radio again, checked himself, and clenched his grip around the steering wheel. “We’re behind on about everything. Today it was delayed roofing tiles. They were supposed to arrive by seven this morning, and instead, they showed up at four-thirty this afternoon. The guys are working until sunset tonight to try to get as much done as possible since it’s supposed to rain overnight.”

“Can’t you tarp it?”

“Yes. But it will mean delays on other stuff.”

“So why aren’t you at the job site?”

“Because I’m here with you.” His tone suggested it should be obvious, and that
possibly
I was a little bit dim for not figuring it out.

Guilt and pleasure broke over me in equal and conflicting waves. And then I had an unwelcome thought. “You’re not here because you think I can’t handle this situation on my own, are you?” Guilt and pleasure got out of the way to make room for mortification.

“God, no, Gracie. With the exception of your appalling lack of technical knowledge—” he waited for me to give him my standard withering look and he was not disappointed. “You are the most capable woman I know. I knew you wanted a little moral support.”

“Which I appreciate immensely, but not at the expense of your work. Why don’t you drop me off and head back to work? I can grab a cab home. Or call someone for a ride.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go to work.”

I could tell he was still reluctant, but he dutifully dropped me off in front of Café Diem.

“Let me know when you get home,” he said through the open window.

“I will.”

“And shoot me a message if you go anywhere before you go home.”

I dropped my chin and gave him a look over the rim of my sunglasses.

“Yes, Joe.”

“All right. All right. Be safe.”

I waggled my fingers at him in parting and watched his truck disappear around the corner before turning to step into the café. Joe really was a good guy, even if we really weren’t right for each other. When he got all white-knight-y, I had to keep reminding myself of that fact.

Café Diem was pretty packed for a late Thursday afternoon, but there was only one guy in the place who sat alone, and he more or less matched his photo.

Shane Downey was considerably better looking than the small grainy picture he had emailed me the previous night but was obviously the same guy. He had dark curly hair and warm brown eyes, and when he stood as he noticed me in the doorway, I could tell he was a little over six-feet tall.

“Grace?”

I nodded, and he held out a hand. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

“You as well.”

We shared some general chitchat. Enough to know he was smart and funny and had the cutest dimples when he smiled, which he did pretty regularly.

For the first time since I’d been on one of these dates, I wasn’t dying to race out within the first fifteen minutes. He started a story about the first day at the job he’d started recently.

“I mean, I didn’t want her to think I was a pain in the...” he cleared his throat. “...
ankle
the day after she hired me, but jeez.”

Shane struck me as the kind of guy who would normally blurt out, “pain in the
ass”,
and whatever expletive he’d meant to mask with the word “jeez” was probably a more common part of his vocab. However, I found it sweet he was making the effort to give a good impression.

I looked at my watch and realized it was nearing seven. I wondered for a moment how Joe’s roofing was going but pushed the thought away as my stomach rumbled.

I winced at the audible sound.

“Would you like to grab dinner?” Shane asked with a grin, letting the follow-on
“Since, you know, clearly you’re hungry,”
go unsaid.

“Sure.” I was having a good time. Since I suspected Joe would skin me alive if I got into a car with Shane, I recommended we hit one of the restaurants right down the street.

“Let’s go to
Chez Jean-Claude
. It’s become one of my favorite places,” Shane said.

“Sure. I just need to make a quick call.” I stepped to the side and dialed Joe. It went straight to voice mail, and I let him know where I was and who I was going with since I’d promised. He didn’t call back immediately, but I wasn’t that worried. He was probably up to his eyeballs in shingles.

Chez Jean-Claude
was new to Sudden Falls, so I’d never been there before. I knew immediately as we stepped in that it was more highbrow than I’d have suggested for a first date. Dark wood, lush red carpet, and snowy white linens all contrasted with flickering candles sparkling through the crystal drink ware. A tuxedoed maître d’ showed us to a table. A busboy, also in a tuxedo, rushed to fill our water glasses as the maître d’ unfolded our napkins in our laps and handed us leather-bound menus subtly embossed in gold with the restaurant’s logo.

Just as the busboy and maître d’ stepped away, a sommelier appeared with the wine menu. He had all of the pomp and circumstance of a proper British butler, and I had to admit I was somewhere between impressed and intimidated. Not that I couldn’t handle myself in a fine-dining restaurant, but I was feeling little casually dressed and this
was
a first date.

Shane perused the wine list. Then, without consulting me, said, “Yes, I think we’d like to have the 2007
Les Vieux Clos Chenin Blanc
.”

I knew enough about wines to know my preference was Merlot or Pinot Noir and in my grocer’s wine selection. I knew of a couple of each that I routinely liked and could afford. Shane, on the other hand, was obviously an avid wine aficionado. Or, he was showing off.

“The
Vieux Clos Chenin Blanc
is this amazing white, with almost jammy fruits mingled with acidity and tight tannins. It offers spice, superrich fruit, and a really intense flavor.”

That answered that. Did he make a habit of memorizing the reviews from
Wine Enthusiast Magazine?

The wine steward returned a few moments later. He offered the cork for Shane to sniff then poured a small amount into a glass and waited.

I watched Shane smell the wine. He swirled it in his glass and watched it slide down the inside. Then he took a small sip and swished it around in his mouth. He took another sip. Finally, he exclaimed in a slightly dramatic voice, “My, this wine is delightfully...
fruity
.”

It was all I could do to not laugh aloud. The wine steward briefly met my gaze. Then he darted his eyes away as if he, too, was about to burst into spontaneous giggles. For all his decorous stiff-upper-lip veneer, I felt a certain sense of camaraderie with the sommelier.

“Very well, sir. Would the lady care for a glass?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He poured the wine for me, and I sipped experimentally. Not bad, even though I’m not a white-wine kind of girl. Unfortunately, the whole episode of ordering and tasting made Shane seem pretentious and kind of obnoxious. Even his dimples stopped being quite so cute.

But I supposed I could make it through dinner.

I picked up my menu to find something to order and nearly choked on my own tongue at the prices. Since Shane and I hadn’t discussed whether this meal was Dutch treat or whether he was picking up the tab, I found the cheapest salad on the menu. My budget wasn’t equipped for thirty-five dollars for grilled chicken and broccoli that I could make competently in my own kitchen for less than two bucks.

Suddenly Alex came flying into the restaurant, jeans and work boots covered in construction dust, and tee-shirt smeared with what looked like blood. He made a beeline straight for me, completely ignoring the maître d’ trying to stop him from entering the dining room.

My stomach dropped. Something terrible had happened.

Chapter 14 — Joe

A cacophony of noises swirled around my head, none of them making sense together or separately. I opened my eyes and saw a lot of white and bright lights. I slammed them closed again to stop the lights from boring their way into my throbbing head.

In fact, my head wasn’t the only thing throbbing. My ankle hurt like a bitch. Trying to flex my foot, I sucked in a breath at the sharp pain. Breath-sucking also hurt, like I’d been punched in the ribs by a champion heavyweight boxer.

I concentrated on not moving
anything
. I must be in the hospital. People rushing about, a PA system requesting Dr. So-and-So to the emergency room, and a code blue. I prayed that wasn’t for me.

I heard a couple people rushed past, and I breathed a
very careful
sigh of relief. Some other poor bastard was about to get his chest compressed. Thank God, because that sounded really painful. I was doing pretty well with the “don’t move” plan until I heard Gracie’s voice.

“Oh, my God. Joe!”

I turned my head in time to see her whip open the striped curtain that created my faux-room.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Alex stepped in behind her, forcing her further into the room. She sat down in a small chair and picked up my hand.

“I think so?”

“What happened?” she asked.

I honestly didn’t know. “The last thing I remember is leaving you at the coffee shop.”

“One of the guys left some loose nails on the roof,” Alex said. “Joe stepped on one. It rolled, and so did he. Right off the roof...”

That explained so much. I actually felt lucky. A fall from a two-story roof could have been so much worse.

Just then, the doctor came in. “I’m Dr. Elyssa Stark. How you feeling there, Mr. Baker?”

“Like I fell off a roof,” I didn’t intend to crack a joke.

She grinned anyway. “You’ve got a broken ankle, bruised ribs, and a pretty serious goose egg on your forehead. Probably a concussion, but you’ll live. Your CT scan was normal, but we want to keep you for observation.”

I tried to protest, but she held up a hand.

“Just for twelve hours.”

I didn’t actually remember the CT scan, but I didn’t mention it in case that caused her to want to keep me longer. I cranked the bed up until I was sitting up, ready to fight this fight.

“It’s policy for head injuries. I’ll recommend that we keep you here in the ER rather than admit you. If everything’s fine, you can go home early in the morning.”

“How long before he’s back on his feet? We’re in construction,” he said, although it was probably obvious to her given our matching “Baker Restoration” tee-shirts, dusty jeans, and steel-toed boots. Although my boots seemed to be missing, and I could now see the leg of my jeans had been cut up the inside.

Dammit! I’d really liked these jeans.

But Alex’s question was a good one. We had less than five weeks until we had to have the house ready, and it was going to require all hands on deck.

“As ankle breaks go, you kind of lucked out. I’m going to recommend you stay completely off of it through the weekend. We’ve set you up to meet with an orthopedist on Monday. That doctor may send you home with a walking cast. Now, your ribs are probably going to slow you down more than the ankle. Be kind to them, and they will be kind to you. Treat with ice for the next seventy-two hours.”