Page 10 of Garnish with a Candy Cane
“I work every day.”
A disapproving growl vibrates in his throat. “That’s too much.”
My shoulders shrug from the reality of my situation. While I appreciate his concern, I have no choice. “That’s how I pay the bills.”
Muttering something I can’t make out, he steps back and smiles down at me. His expression is full of anticipation that contradicts with the irritation sounding in his earlier comment. “Come on, I’ll walk you there.”
Without waiting for me to answer or agree, he clutches my hand and leads me out of Nana’s room, down the hall, and back to the parking lot. I force myself to be mature and not gloat at the women watching us leave, especially the rude lady who seems jealous of my guy. I shake my head. Notmyguy. Justaguy.
I’m almost as bad as he is with his mood swings giving me whiplash because now he seems jovial, almost smug, and I can’t figure out why or over what. Although I’m already addicted to his smile. Especially when I’m the one who seems to generate the sentiment in him.
In the two-block trek to the bakery, he peppers me with questions about my grandmother’s care – the cost, her official diagnosis, who her doctors and therapists are, etc. Some I can answer and some I can’t. He doesn’t seem to mind. Simply nods and captures everything I say in his shrewd mind without writing anything down. Obviously, he’s a brilliant businessman with all of his wealth and power, making me curious as to why he cares so much about us.
Once we arrive atBatter’s Up, I try to say good-bye at the door, but like last time he follows me inside for his inspection. Barging into my job just as colossally as my life, although I’m not angry the way I know I should be. Instead, I actually feel flattered that he cares this much. “I really am fine. This place is as safe as Nana’s.”
He ignores my attempt to assure him while his gaze deliberately sweeps around the bustling room. Slowly perusing each person sitting on red stools at the long bar eating their sugary treats and drinking gourmet coffee, as well as carefully inspecting the two women in line at the pick-up counter who shouldn’t garner any suspicion with their hands full of oversize cupcakes, decorated in orange, gold, and black.
“What time do you get off?”
The answer to that question isn’t as simple as he probably expects. “Never.”
Her expression and laugh seem genuine, no bitterness rings in either one. Yet I’m not sure how she can be so cheerful. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, the bakery closes at six, and then after dinner with Nana, I head to my next job.”
What the fuck? She shouldn’t even have one job let alone two. “Which is?”
“Well it depends on the day. On weekends, I waitress. Through the week, I clean office buildings.”
Three fucking jobs. Hell no. “You’re quitting.
She laughs again, clearly amused. “You’re crazy.”
Now I’m pissed and serious as hell. Unused to someone talking back to me, I clutch her arm and pivot her back to face me when she attempts to walk behind the cash register. “I’m not kidding.”
Shock from my intensity explodes in her expression, and she stares up at me in astonishment. While she’s rattled, I march her little feet outside and around the side of the building, ignoring the stares from the customers watching our discussion. I don’t give a fuck what they think but I don’t want anyone interfering while my sole focus remains on her. Her huffs of irritation are adorable although I refuse to allow how bad I want to fuck her distract me. “How much sleep do you get at night?”
My question must catch her off guard and she jerks backward, almost hitting her delicate head against the red brick. Fuck. I need to be more careful with her.
“What difference does that make? I have to–”
“How many?”
Some of the fight raging in her fizzles away, and she slumps against the wall. “Three or four hours usually.”
Damn it. “When do you eat? Because I know you don’t get anything when you visited with your grandmother.”
“I grab stuff here and there when I have time.”
“Not good enough.”
Perplexity from my inquisition morphs into shame, and her gaze falls to the concrete. “Well it’s the best I can do, okay?”
The humiliation in her voice steals all my frustration from her previously impertinent tone. I didn’t mean to make her cry. I just want to make her understand I care about her health.
“Please just let me go. I don’t want to be late. Sylvia needs to leave right at nine so she can take her son to his tutor.”
Not my problem but I can tell she’s made it hers. She’s a genuinely good person, and I’m not used to someone so self-sacrificing in a world of bastards only looking out for themselves. Now, because of her, I’m looking out for my own too. “Okay, for now. But I’ll be back at closing time to pick you up and we can discuss it some more.”
