Page 13 of Free to Breathe
Fuck. Rolling over in bed, I wish I could remember the last time Corinna smiled and laughed with me the way she did with Brendan Blake.
Because I miss it. I miss her. I miss what we had.
7
Corinna
It’s the middle of the week and I’m still flying high from the concert when I get a text from Dr. Bryan Moser. I’d call him a friend, but that’s a loose classification at best. Bryan’s a tough person to categorize in my life. He’s sinfully handsome with a runner’s build that would attract most women. Too bad that he’s often ordering torturous tests on me for me to like him as anything more than a friend.
How does lunch tomorrow sound?
I respond back.That’s tight for me to get to Baltimore. Phil scheduled me for cakes all week. Can we talk on the phone?
He types back.I’m in your neck of the woods. Where do you suggest?
How much time do you have?I rapidly reply. Rarely is Bryan in my neck of the woods unless he’s speaking at a hospital.
Little bubbles float as he types his next message.If you can meet after 1, I’ll have the entire afternoon.
Then why don’t you come to Collyer? Anything you’re in the mood for?I wait for his response.
A hug. After that, I couldn’t care less. We need to talk.
That doesn’t sound good.Okay. How about we meet at my house? Then we’re assured of the privacy we need.
Sounds perfect. Text me the address. See you after 1 tomorrow.
Quickly pulling up my calendar, I add in a reminder that I need to leave the office at 12:45 p.m. so I’m not late. Ugh. With the extra cakes Phil scheduled, I’m going to have to be in super early and stay majorly late to fit this in.
I let out a sigh. Not the first time I’ve pulled a late night.
I also send a quick note to everyone that I’ll be taking an extended lunch to meet with an old friend. Looking at the cake I’m decorating in front of me, I wonder how late Genoa is open in Ridgefield. Seriously, we’re addicted to that little Italian deli. As much as my siblings wish it were closer, I am glad Genoa is a hike from our office. I know if it was any closer, I’d be a little fluffier, like when I graduated college, instead of the curvy figure I’ve fought for and have now.
I have specific rules about working out. The main one is that I refuse to run unless things are chasing me. And hell, I might club my sisters before I caved to that level. Fortunately, Ali, who plans all of our workouts, knows better than to suggest running as a part of mine. I might have to put in more workouts each week, but at least I enjoy them. I can stop and talk to people and not drip in sweat.
While shaking my hips to Sam Hunt as I decorate a tray of cupcakes, I snicker in remembrance of the time Ali was avoiding Keene and couldn’t go shopping because she had sweat through her clothes. I would never be caught in such a compromising position. Glistening, yes—I’m a baker. I work in a kitchen all day, so of course I sweat. But all-out dripping with perspiration? No. I refuse. It’s why I demanded we put in a ton of money when we renovated the mansion to have true restaurant-grade AC in the kitchen. After forcing my siblings to work with me for a day—a single day with the AC turned off—they relented. Wimps.
My mind drifts, wondering what Bryan has to tell me. It’s not unusual for him to be in the area, but it is odd he’s taking the time to come see me. I know he’s asked to consult on cases at Yale-New Haven and Sloane Kettering.
I’m lost in thought when Caleb pokes his head through the kitchen door. Looking longingly at the cupcakes on the stainless-steel worktable, he asks, “Are those for lunch or for a client?”
I grin. “What answer are you looking for?”
“I’m not entirely certain,” he says ruefully, walking into the kitchen. “Those, like everything else you bake, look delicious.”
“Then I’m sorry to tell you, they’re for Ali’s birthday dinner tonight. I had leftover batter from a cake I made yesterday, so instead of a full cake, y’all are getting cupcakes. I pulled some of the rejects aside for the crew lunch though. I just need to frost them.” I wave my hand to the less than perfect cupcakes behind me.
Caleb groans. I can’t help but smile at his roundabout flattery.
“Keene is coming home early so he can spend time with Ali. I forgot it was her birthday.” Caleb looks sheepish, and I flat out laugh. “Thank God, Cass handles gift buying. The look she gave me when I had to admit I hadn’t checked the family calendar was embarrassing to say the least, Cori. I mean, we’ve been married for a little over two years. You’d think I’d know better.”
I reach over to the reject cupcake pile. Quickly frosting one, I hand it to him. “Here, you need this. You never,neveradmit to Cass that you didn’t check the family calendar, Caleb. Didn’t Phil teach you that in family orientation?” I snicker.
“I offered to pick up the kids from day care today to make up for it. That, and get everyone Genoa for lunch,” he volunteers as he munches through what is easily 600 calories of processed sugar. “Actually, that’s what I came down for. What do you want to eat?” he mumbles around another bite.
“I brought a salad,” I tell him dismissively. “But could I ask you to pick up a few things for me? I have a friend coming up from Baltimore for lunch tomorrow. I was trying to figure out how I could get down there to get us some stuff.” I wave my arm to indicate the cupcakes I still have to decorate for our family dinner.
“Not a problem. Just write it down so I can call it all in.”
