Page 113 of Done with You

Aiden was quiet for a long, awkward moment. He held her gaze, as well, which just made things even more agonizing and uncomfortable. But eventually, he broke focus, nodded, and smiled. “Pancakes are ready,” he said softly, opening the door. “Whipped cream turned out really good, I think.” Then he walked back out into the house, leaving her standing there stunned, confused, and just a little bit excited.

Even though the snow never stopped falling, there were still a few businesses that decided to open anyway. And thankfully, some of those businesses were grocery stores. The plows came through on the main roads, and luckily, Jordan and Rayma lived on a main road, so their street was clear-ish.

Though, Aiden still needed to dig his way out of the parking spot on the road, in order to get out Jordan’s truck. Jordan stayed with Rayma to comfort her, while Oona was on phone duty, getting in touch with the florist and calling some of the guest list, as well.

So Aiden decided to go shopping to get ingredients for what he would make for the wedding.

The back cab of Jordan’s truck was heaped with grocery bags and even though he knew he should head back to the apartment and start prepping, since the snow was still falling and being on the road unnecessarily was dangerous, he found himself driving in the opposite direction and suddenly in Joy and Grant’s driveway.

Oona’s reaction to his outpouring of his feelings wasn’t what he expected. It was a bit like a kick in the nads, and he was struggling to make sense of it.

After last night and their time together, both in her bed and the shower, he thought they’d turned a corner. And then this morning, they were joining forces, working together to help their siblings. They were getting along. And he wanted to see where it could go—just like she did back in Montreal. Only now, she was throwing on the brakes.

It didn’t make any sense.

Which was why he found himself on Joy and Grant’s front stoop, with snow in his hair and on his jacket, knocking at the door.

Joy answered, her smile warm and welcoming. She immediately stepped to the side. “Come in, sweetheart. What brings you by?”

Aiden cleared his throat. “I, uh, I was hoping you had a couple of minutes to talk.”

“Of course, of course. Grant is out in the garage gathering up all the things we need to bring over to Heath and Pasha’s. And he’s got an extra spring in his step now that he’s the officiant for the wedding.” She rolled her eyes and smiled playfully. “Would you like some coffee?”

“When you make it as strong as you do, it’s impossible for me to refuse.”

She beamed at him and he followed her into the kitchen where she turned on the electric kettle and went about dumping heaps of coffee grounds into the French press.

Just like last time, he took it black while Joy added a splash of almond milk to hers. Then they went into the living room and took the same seats they were in last time. “What’s on your mind, honey?” she asked.

“Last night I followed a man who I thought was drunk driving. He was speeding, went through a red light, nearly caused a pile-up, then drove into the ditch.”

Joy’s blue eyes went wide. “Oh my. Was he all right?”

“I don’t know. I performed CPR and stayed with him until the paramedics came, and I haven’t heard anything since. There is nothing reported in the news, either. Jordan is looking into it, though. Putting out feelers to see if he can get some news on the condition of the man.”

Joy nodded. “Well, I hope he’s all right.”

“Me, too.” He exhaled loudly through his nose. “And … I don’t think he was drunk.”

Understanding flashed in Joy’s gaze. “No?”

“I didn’t smell alcohol on him. Not on his breath, not in the vehicle. I think he had a stroke while driving.”

“That is a very scary notion. And I’m sure probably caused him to go into panic, and become unable to control parts of his body necessary for driving safely.”

Aiden nodded. “Yeah. And it just … it just got me thinking, you know?”

“How so?”

“That I need to be smarter.”

“Mhmm.”

“Smarter about how I approach things. How I approach people. That I’m so quick to judge. To paint every person that I pull over with the same brush. Label them an alcoholic because of my own personal triggers. Because of my father. When yeah, some—probably most—are. But not all of them. I hated that guy last night. A part of me actually thought he deserved to get hurt when I first saw him roll into the ditch. That at least he was just hurting himself, but not others. But when I realized he probably wasn’t drunk, I was so worried about him. I didn’t want him to die, I didn’t even want him to be hurt.”

He glanced down at his lap.

“I’m ashamed that I even thought for a second that he deserved death if he was a drunk driver. But I did. His death would mean one less drunk driver on the road to hurt others. But I shouldn’t think like that. We don’t know what people are dealing with. What their background is.”

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