“Yep. May be one of the last nice weekends we have,” I said. “What did you do this weekend?”
We chatted on the way to my stop while I finished my makeup. Bob had been driving the same bus route for nearly five years and he always had a story or two come Monday morning. I’d given him homemade fudge last year for Christmas and he’d loved it so much, I’d made a mental note to give him a double batch this year.
My cell buzzed on my way into the Starbucks a couple of doors down from the office building. Pulling the phone out of my purse, I groaned when I saw the caller ID.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, glancing at my watch.
“Good morning, sweetheart! You didn’t call me back yesterday.”
I held back a sigh. She’d left a voice mail Sunday evening, but I’d gone out to dinner with my friend Lilly, who lived in the apartment directly below me, conveniently not returning home until late.
“Sorry, Mom. I meant to call today.” I winced at the white lie. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy talking to my mom, she just … asked a lot of questions.
“How’s Dean?” She always asked this, ever since I’d broken the news to her a couple of months ago that I had a boyfriend. Usually, I didn’t bother telling my parents until after the relationship lasted beyond the standard eight-week trial period.
“He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine,” I replied, heading off what I knew the next two questions would be.
“Wonderful! That’s perfect because your father and I are going to be in the city tomorrow and want to take you and Dean to dinner.”
I stopped in my tracks, then nearly got knocked to the ground by the flow of pedestrians behind me. I scurried on, weaving my way to the Starbucks door.
“What? Um, dinner? Well, I don’t know if Ryker can make it. He has to work a lot—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer, young lady, and neither is your father. You’ve been seeing this man for several months and your father wants to know what kind of man is dating our daughter. If he’s worth his salt, he’ll want to meet us, too.”
I winced. My mother was a cupcake, but my father was an entirely different matter. He hadn’t built up an entire distribution company by being stupid. Smart and confident, he intimidated most people. Good thing Ryker wasn’t like most people.
“Okay,” I gave in. “I’ll check and see if he’s available.”
“Good,” she said, pleased satisfaction in her voice. “We’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. Love you, darling.”
“Love you, too.”
I absently ordered the usual grande coffee for Parker, ordering the grande pumpkin spice latte (extra whip) for me, as well as choosing an egg white panini with spinach and ham for his breakfast.
What would Ryker say when I told him my parents wanted to meet him? That was kind of a big step. Would it send him running for the hills? All his friends were married and having babies. Was that what he was looking for in this relationship? Was I?
I went through the motions of setting Parker’s breakfast on his desk, putting away my purse, and checking voice mail and e-mail without really focusing on what I was doing. I didn’t know if I was ready to be in a serious relationship. All of Ryker’s friends had seemed so close-knit yesterday, whereas I’d been the outsider, no matter how friendly they were (or weren’t, as the case with Anisha had been).
At exactly straight-up eight o’clock, Parker Anderson stepped off the elevator and came striding toward me.
It was secretly my favorite part of the day, a guilty pleasure where I could watch him without seeming creepy about it. He was in a good mood. I could tell because he’d worn a light blue shirt rather than white—but not a great mood because he’d chosen a dark tie. If he’d been in a great mood, the tie would have been a light shade like a yellow.
“Good morning, Sage,” he said, tucking his folded newspaper underneath his arm. He carried his briefcase in one hand and reached for the stack of messages I’d set on the chest-high counter that served as the “wall” for my cubicle.
“Morning,” I replied, wondering if he’d say anything about seeing each other Saturday. His hair had the usual wave that made a lock of it fall over his forehead, which always made my fingers itch to push it back.
“Did you have fun this weekend?” he asked, still flipping through the messages.
A generic kind of question. I decided to push a little. “Yes. A friend of Ryker’s has a boat he invited us on.”
“Thought that was you,” he said.