Page 96 of Everything We Give

He shakes his head. “He wants the raw images. His team narrows the selection to support the article and edits them. But that’s not how I roll.” They’re his photos, his work and reputation on the line. I don’t blame him for putting in the extra effort, but after sailing in a similar boat, I worry he’s taking on too much. Squinting at the computer, he opens his apps and gets to work. He barely registers when I kiss his cheek and tell him I’ll pick up dinner.

I walk across the street to Applebee’s and order dinner to go. The hostess hands me a pager and I slip outside to make a few phone calls. I explain to my banker that I’m certain I want to cancel the loan application and I tell the property owners of the two sites I’d been considering that I’m no longer interested. When I finish, gone is the desire to conquer the coffee world, as Ian once described to me. In its place blossoms the same excitement and nerves I felt when I first opened Aimee’s Café. It makes me eager to get back to milk-and-butter basics. Baking cakes and breads and delicacies. Crafting new specialty drinks to add to my ever-growing menu. Taking down James’s paintings.

Yeah ... that.

I should have removed them years ago. Good thing James is expecting to receive them.

I’ll take care of it this week, I decide, adding a note on my calendar to pick up packing material, and the Applebee’s pager vibrates.

After I get our food and start back toward the hotel, Nadia calls me. I stop at the sidewalk and stare at the image on my screen, the two of us at the Garners’ ugly sweater party last Christmas. Time to change that photo, but I’m not sure I’m ready to talk with Nadia. Still, I answer the phone.

“Hey, are you OK?” she asks after I greet her.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you. Did you really go to Spain?”

“I did, but we’re in Idaho now.”

“Idaho? What in the world are you doing there?”

“Visiting Ian’s dad. Hey, can we talk later? I just picked up dinner and Ian’s waiting.”

“Yeah, whenever you what. But, Aimee, about Thomas. I’m sorry.”

At the sound of Thomas’s name, I slow down and turn around, spotting a bench off to the side of the hotel entrance. I sit down. The stale odor of nicotine clings to the air. Cigarette butts litter the receptacle beside me, ends sticking out of the sand like rotted dock pilings on a beach.

“I went to see him.”

“Thomas? You went to his office? About me?”

“Another matter, but yes, your name did come up. I’m still having a hard time understanding why you took the job.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line before she comes on to say, “Do you remember Thomas in high school? He used to be funny and real.”

“And then he changed.”

“Yes, he changed,” she agrees, her voice quiet, reflective.

“Now he’s cold, calculating, and manipulative,” I point out. “You can’t forget that.”

“I know, you’re right.”

“So, you didn’t go to dinner with him the other night?” I ask, recalling their text message exchange.

“I did, and ...” Her voice trails with remorse.

“Please don’t tell me you slept with him.”

“Jesus, no. We didn’t even kiss.”

“What did you do, then?”

“We ate, Aimee. And we talked. He’s lonely. He has a lot of regrets.”

“Nadia.” I drag out her name. “Do you have feelings for him?”

“I don’t know if I’m attracted to him, or just got caught up with the man he used to be. The guy sure can turn on the charm.”

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