I smile. “I’ll keep on the lookout.”
“Cath? Can you come in here for a sec?” Lou calls from her office.
I cringe, checking the clock. Brett will be here any second and I haven’t changed out of my uniform yet. But what am I going to say? “Sure. What’s up?”
She nods toward the door.
I push it shut. “Thanks for letting me take off early.”
“No problem.” She frowns at her computer screen before leaning back, sliding her reading glasses off her nose. “Is Brenna at your parents’ place?”
“No. Our place, with them. And Stella.”
She chuckles. “Hildy get over the fiasco in the backyard yet?”
“Not exactly . . .” Call it a severe lapse in good judgment, but my dad decided to leave four-month-old Stella uncrated and in their backyard while he made a quick run to the store with Brenna a few weekends ago.
They came home to uprooted gardens and a mud-covered puppy.
Brenna said she’s never seen Grandma’s face so scary before.
“Oh, well. Some chaos will do that woman good. How are the renovation plans coming along?”
“They’re starting soon.” I can’t hide the excitement from my voice. “Niya came over yesterday to go over all the final designs with us.” With me, really. The thirty-two-year-old designer from New York and I have been trading emails and ideas back and forth, to bring my sketchbook to life. And then she goes to Brett to discuss the costs, because they both know I’ll say no to everything if I see the price tag. But I’m done arguing with him about spending money because I know he’s going to spend it either way. “The permits should be approved next week.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“They said four months so I’m guessing eight? Double whatever they say, right?” We’re lucky that we can close ourselves off completely in our apartment, but we won’t be able to avoid the dust and noise completely.
“And that other little side project that she asked you to do?”
“I should be done it next week.” Niya’s been hired to remodel a house in the Hamptons. She said she’s swamped and asked if I’d like to throw together a preliminary design idea for the master bedroom. She’s paying me, but I can’t help but feel like it’s also a test.
“That’s something you think you could do? You know, aside from the whole inn thing.”
“Yeah. I think so. I mean, I don’t know what kind of schooling I’d need but . . . yeah, I could make it work.” Funny, I never thought that a loose-leaf real estate flyer on my doorstep would eventually lead me here.
“You should look into that, then.”
My phone chirps with a text from Brett.
Lou’s eyes dart to my pocket. “You have to go?”
“He’s probably outside, waiting. And I still have to change.” I’m not about to show up at the ice rink in my diner’s dress. I watch her expectantly, wondering why she called me in, besides just catching up.
“I heard there’s a warrant out for Scott Philips’s arrest in Memphis.”
“Oh?” That catches me off guard. I’ve managed not to run into him again, though we’ve seen his face on real estate signs plenty. And every time we do, Brenna points out “my art teacher.”
“Seems a sixteen-year-old student has come forward with a damning statement.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Well, this time they have several witnesses, too. And it doesn’t sound like the girl or her family wants to back down. This one might stick.”
I shake my head at his brazenness. “Let’s hope so.” Aside from a single conversation the week after Brenna’s birthday, the topic of Scott Philips being Brenna’s father has not come up, oddly enough. Even my mother has stayed quiet. Possibly for fear of this exact situation. She doesn’t want her granddaughter associated with a man who chases teenage girls.
“Okay, I should get—”
“Wait.” Lou purses her lips.
She’s been beating around the bush, I realize. That’s really not like Lou. Unease stirs inside me.
“So, here’s the thing. You’ve got all this stuff goin’ on in your life now—renos and this designer stuff, maybe school on the horizon; you’ve got Brenna to care for and that wild dog of hers. And don’t forget that man, who’s going to have to be in Philadelphia a lot more going forward, especially if today works out for him . . .”
My stomach tightens at the idea that my days of curling up next to Brett every night are over. It’s been almost five months since the accident. His walking cast is finally off, he’s been working with a physical therapist to strengthen his leg, which, though healed, is not the same.
But the doctors have given him the green light to put on skates again. Sid Durrand, Coach Roth, and everyone else on the Flyers team are frothing at the mouth to see what will come of it.
“So, I’m gonna give you two options, Cath: Either you quit or I fire you.”
I simply stare at her, looking for her stern face to crack into a smile. It doesn’t.
She eases out of her chair to round the desk, smoothing out the front of her uniform. “Listen here, I love you like I love my own child. More, actually, than my own child, though that’s not too hard.” Her eyes flare with meaning. “And I know that this is not the life I want for you, sluggin’ plates of food and pourin’ coffees for strangers. You have all these wonderful things happenin’ for you now and you don’t need this place anymore.”
“But I need a job for—”
“Don’t you dare bring up money to me, Catherine. You will be just fine. Let him take care of you while you focus on you.”
As if Brett has given me any choice, as much as I fight it. He won’t let me pay a single bill, including the rent on my little clapboard cottage, though I’ve finally agreed to give my notice to vacate. And last month, I found a bank and credit card tied to his accounts in my wallet. I haven’t used them, much to his frustration.
“I’ll give you three days to decide how you want it to go, but either way”—Lou blinks away the sudden glossiness from her eyes—“Leroy and me don’t wanna see you in here with this uniform on after that, and that’s final.”
My phone chirps again.
“Get goin’. He’s waiting for you.” Lou practically pushes me out of her office. I’m in a daze as I change out of my uniform, spending a few minutes freshening my makeup. By the time my phone chirps a third time, I’m rushing to the front.
Brett’s standing by the counter in track pants and one of those clingy long-sleeve shirts that show off an upper body he’s been training heavily over the last month. He’s chuckling with a couple of the regulars who are talking his ear off, wishing him luck with his first skate today. Even though people have started getting used to having him in here by now, I can still see the excitement in their eyes.
Much like the excitement in mine, I guess, because Brett still steals my breath at first sight.
“I’m sorry. I got caught up.” I’ll have to tell him about that bombshell later. If he doesn’t already know, that is.