Page 106 of Branded
Okay, well it was work, but it wasn’t and…
Right.
Now I actually needed to go into the restaurant where I was meeting Leo.
Pushing through the door, I spotted him at a booth in the back and felt the nerves kick up.
Words were hard, but by the time I sat down and pulled out my computer, Leo was already peppering me with questions. Which meant that I was talking about stuff in my wheelhouse, and that meant the words didn’t stopper up. They came and came freely, even through the ordering and when things drifted to small talk. Did they still come easier when I was talking about the project? Definitely.
But were they getting easier because I’d found a group of people that weren’t like my family, weren’t like the people I’d grown up with?
Fuck yes.
And even better? Leo loved the project.
He had no major complaints, just a few minor tweaks (none of which would require major workarounds) and wanted to sit with what I’d come up with for a few days. To play with it and have Cathy, his wife, who was not a tech hound, do the same.
All of that worked for me.
But truthfully, I was having a hard time focusing on work—shocking, I knew. However, there was a TV on behind Leo, and it was showing the Breakers game and?—
My eyes kept flicking to the screen.
Not that Leo wasn’t watching, too.
His son was playing, but I was having a hard time focusing on anything else.
Because Smitty was on TV, and Raph was struggling—in the box (look at me go with the hockey terms! Some of the lessons Smitty had given me had actually stuck) more than out of it before the coach seemed to have decided to keep him on the bench more and on the ice less.
But even more than Raph—and my worry for his mental state—I couldn’t take my eyes off Smitty.
He was big and strong and fast.
So damned impressive, when I was like Bambi on the ice, legs going in each direction. Smitty made it seem natural and smooth and?—
Impressive.
“Marcel mentioned that you were seeing Conner.”
My eyes flicked back to Leo, guilt weaving through me. “Sorry,” I said. “That was unprofessional. I just…”
“…Am in love?” he asked easily, turning his chair so that it was directed toward the TV.
I blushed.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s written all over your face.” He grinned. “That’s okay. I’m totally in love with my Cathy. We flew out for her work conference in town, and I’ve spent two days twiddling my thumbs, moaning about being apart”—he’d mentioned earlier that his wife was busy networking—“and I miss her.” His mouth quirked. “Pathetic, huh?”
“How long have you been married?”
A fond expression. “Thirty-seven years,” he said. “And I still love her more today than yesterday. Conner is a good man. I’m glad he found a nice girl.”
An easy compliment.
Given without strings, without an underlying barb.
So different than my father, who never gave a compliment that wasn’t underhanded.
“Thanks,” I whispered. Then offered, for a reason I didn’t quite process, except that, perhaps, I’d been thinking so much about him since he’d left that it was impossible to not offer it. “He actually asked if I’d go on the trip since it’s short and falls mostly over the weekend.”
