by Layla Hagen
“Perfect, that’s a yes. Let’s go.”
“You’d twist anything I say into a yes.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Summer is going to ask for a report on tonight, and there’s a real risk I’ll stop being her favorite brother if I don’t even convince you to go to dinner with me.”
I put both my hands over my chest theatrically. “I don’t know what shocks me more: that you still live under the impression you’re her favorite brother or that you fear her questionings so much.”
“Well, if you’ve learned to shut my sister down, by all means, tell me how.”
I drop my hands. “I just have evasive maneuvers, but those don’t always work. Okay, lead the way.”
After grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, he leads me out of the room and the building.
“It’s just around the corner.”
Daniel’s office building is on Hyde Street, and we pass the famously crooked section of Lombard Street with its hairpin turns, red brick paving, and bright green hedges. I love this city to no end. When I was in Europe for my year abroad, I traveled as much as I could afford. I went to London, Paris, Prague. Each city had a charm of its own, but I couldn’t wait to return to San Francisco. Between the cable cars and the crooked Lombard Street, my hometown always seemed magical to me.
Not five minutes later, we arrive at the restaurant. There’s a long line to the entrance, but Daniel walks with me right past it to the front.
“Mr. Bennett,” the waiter greets him as if they are old friends. “Your table is ready.”
“You made reservations?” I whisper. “What if I said no?”
He brings a hand at the small of my back, guiding me inside. “I was optimistic.”
The waiter leads us to a table smack dab in the center of the room. Normally, I wouldn’t mind it, but the tables are so close to each other, it feels claustrophobic.
Daniel doesn’t miss a beat. “We want a more secluded table.”
“Certainly!” the waiter says, leading us to a table in the back. As soon as we sit, I immerse myself in the menu, and my mouth waters just reading the offerings. Their make-your-own-enchilada option is particularly appealing. You can pimp it to your stomach’s desire. The problem is that when I’m left to my own devices, and I have an empty stomach, I tend to take the pimping to a ridiculous level. Which is why I end up ordering an enchilada with twice as many ingredients as needed. A pang of guilt rears its head, but I push it away quickly. I was supposed to be on a diet, but between my dad’s dinner and this... I’ll start again next Monday.
“You come here often?” I ask.
“Often enough. It’s a hit with many clients. Even the high-profile ones, and they’re picky.”
“You don’t like working with them?”
He shrugs. “They’re high maintenance. But they bring in a lot of business. It wasn’t my focus when I first set up the business, but I did have a lot of contacts in the scene from my....”
“Wild years?” I supply because he seems to struggle with finding the right words.
“Yes.”
“Well, smart of you to use those contacts.”
His eldest siblings—Sebastian, Logan, and Pippa—founded Bennett Enterprises when Daniel and Blake were kids. By the time they were in college, the tremendous success of the company made the family a tabloids target. Daniel and Blake relished the attention in the first few years after college.
It wasn’t uncommon for gossip sites to post pictures of them at high-profile parties, mingling with models and actors. I remember during my second year of the master’s program perusing one such website—accidentally, of course, because I was absolutely not stalking Daniel—and marveling at how different our lives were becoming. We seemed to be like two perpendicular lines: coming from different directions, going in different directions, crossing paths once and then never again.
When the waiter arrives with our enchiladas, we dig in right away. I am even hungrier than I thought. I only stop for a breather after I devoured half of the portion.
“Oh, this is divine,” I inform him.
“Glad you approve. I’ve thought about bringing you here since I came the first time.”
I lower my eyes to the plate, focusing on my food. Don’t read into this, Caroline. Don’t read into this.
Crap. I always read too much into everything when it comes to Daniel, which is ridiculous. We’ve been over for a long time, and we’ve both had relationships over the years. They didn’t amount to anything, which is why we’re both still single, but it’s not like we’ve been pining over each other.
Ah, who am I kidding? I warm up all over every time he touches or compliments me, and my first instinct when he seems out of his depths is to soothe him. Those are signs of pining. But I like to lie to myself from time to time, pretend I’m immune to him. Everyone does this, right? Every woman has that ex she never quite got over, right? Here’s to wishful thinking that I’m not a disgrace to the female population.
The most ridiculous of it all? I’m not actually hoping we’ll make up. I have one cardinal rule: once I get my heart broken, I don’t go back for more. Plus, I’ve gathered a lot of baggage over the years—the one weighing the most being my inability to have kids. But no point dwelling on that now, spoiling this beautiful evening.
“By the way, Dad said you’ve helped him with the business plan for the bookstore. Thank you.”
He waves his hand as if it’s nothing. “My pleasure. I’m glad he’s finally giving that place a makeover. And adding the coffee shop is a great idea. Any additional revenue stream helps. Helped him bring down the price they were asking him to pay for the furniture. Your dad is a great man, but....”
“Not a great businessman? Mom used to say the same thing. I miss her so much.”
“I bet.”
She never wanted me to become a teacher. She was hoping I’d follow in my brother’s footsteps, become a doctor. When she wasn’t trying to beat some sense into me, she’d give me a loving look while shaking her head in disapproval—yes, she could do both things at the same time—and say, “You’re just like your father.”
I knew exactly what she meant. Dad and I both like taking care of the people we love, making them happy. Unfortunately, those aren’t marketable skills. Mom ran the bookstore with an iron fist because Dad’s soft and trusting nature led to many mishaps with suppliers who overcharged him, and employees who stole from him.
“Thanks for helping him out, Daniel. I appreciate it.”
“I’ve always liked your parents. Even though something must be done about your dad’s cooking.”
I burst out laughing. “Don’t tell me he tried to poison you with his stew.”
“Oh, he did, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. One time he made roast beef. Thing was so hard, I thought I’d break a tooth chewing on it.”
“How often do you see my dad?”
“Now and again,” he says vaguely.
I waggle a finger at him. “Not an answer. I know at least a dozen ways to lure information out of you. Just being fair and giving you a heads-up.”
He leans over the table, a playful glint in his eyes. “I remember. Half of those ways involve no clothes. I much prefer those.”
I open my mouth, then close it again, heat rushing to my cheeks. Yep, I dug my own hole here. No one to blame but myself. Daniel watches me intently, and I squirm in my seat, suddenly feeling warm. Moving on.
“I’d really like to know,” I say eventually.
“After your mom passed away, I started stopping by a few times a month, whenever there was a soccer game on TV. He seemed lonely.”
“Oh.” His words reach someplace deep inside me. I shove the last bite of enchilada in my mouth, processing this. Dad is lonely, which is why I never miss our weekly dinner, and call him as often as I can. But he’s my dad. Daniel is not related to him, and yet he’s making more of an effort than my own brother. Visiting is hard, but Niall could c
all Dad more often.
“That’s kind of you. He is lonely.”
“And now you’re getting sad. Let’s change the subject. How is work at the new school?”
“How’d you know I changed workplaces?”
“I’ve always kept tabs on you.”
His answer catches me off guard, filling me with all kinds of warmth. I laugh nervously, trying again not to read too much into this... and failing spectacularly.
“It’s great. I love it. Much smaller groups, so we can focus on each kid. We’re doing a lot of extracurricular activities with them too. I’ve only been there for a month, so I’m still on probation, but I’m doing a great job. No reason for them not to keep me. Next Monday we were supposed to take them to the Maritime Historical Park, but they called today to tell us they closed off a section, and I don’t think it makes much sense to go. We’ll have to find another idea for an outing because the kids are so psyched about going on a trip. Any ideas? You’re the master of adventures.”
“How old are they?”
“Nine.”
“Whale-watching would be a hit. You can see humpback and blue whales around this time. They’re still migrating.”
“Great idea.”
“I can set it up. Next Monday I’m taking a group out from Moss Landing. We’re only going out in the afternoon, but I had to rent the boat for the entire day anyway. We could take the kids out in the morning.”
“How are your prices?” I ask skeptically. “This is a private school, but... not your usual target market.”
“I don’t work just with celebrities. I’ll send you an offer. I can give you a friend’s discount.” He flashes me a smile. Oh hell no. Not his wicked smile!
“That’s not necessary. Send me the offer, and I’ll pass it on to the principal and my colleagues.”
I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with it. I am too. For the kids’ benefit, of course, not because I want to spend more time with Daniel.
For the remainder of our dinner, we chitchat about his family and their shenanigans, betting on how long it’ll take for Summer to ask him how tonight went. We have our answer by the end of our evening when we’re walking back to his office, since we both parked close to his building.
Daniel’s phone chimes, and he chuckles as he glances at the screen, then turns it to me.
Summer: Got my shoes? How’s Caroline?
“You’re right, we should give her a taste of her own medicine, make up a wild story. I’m tempted to tell her we ended up having wild sex, just to see her reaction,” he says.
Well, I don’t know about Summer’s reaction, but mine is boom.
My breath catches as my nipples turn to pebbles. The skin on my cheeks and neck feels on fire. So does my center. I try to laugh, but it comes out throaty and uneven. Damn. How can I react like this to a joke? Daniel watches me silently, and I hold his gaze, right up until the air between us becomes so charged I can’t stand it. I need to break this tension, stat.
“Careful, say the wrong thing and she’ll go into full matchmaker mode,” I warn.
We come to a halt as we reach my car, and Daniel brings his hand to my face. For a brief second I think he’ll pull me into a kiss, but then I realize he’s just brushing off a leaf from my hair. His thumb touches my cheek in the process, and he lingers a little in his touch. Danger alert! Clearing my throat, I step back.
“Okay. Well, it was great catching up. I’ll send you details about the trip. Have a nice evening.”
“You too.”
I climb into my car and rev the engine, which always needs a few minutes to warm up. Once I hit the road, I glance at the digital clock on my dashboard. It’s nine o’clock. Plenty of time to sink in my tub. Hot water and my favorite caramel bath bomb are just what I need to relax... and figure out why I can’t forget Daniel. On second thought, I’ll also stop at Target. Hot water and a bath bomb are okay for relaxing, but they won’t cut it for my late-night soul-searching.
This is a job for wine.
Chapter Five
Caroline
The next morning, I almost climb the flight of stairs to Linda’s apartment before I remember she’s back and I’m no longer on Bing duty. Dang, I’m going to miss that furball, chewed shoes and all.
I tell my colleagues and the principal about Daniel’s offer as soon as I arrive at school. I don’t even have to sell the idea to them; they fall for it hook, line, and sinker. We won’t have disappointed kids and parents on our hands, and Moss Landing is just an hour and a half from San Francisco. Win-win for everyone.
After we leave the principal’s office, Karla pulls me aside. “Girl, you know Daniel Bennett and didn’t say anything? I need to become your best friend right now.”
“He’s an old friend.”
“Friend? I’ve only seen him in photos, but friendship would be so wasted on that man. You’ve seen him in the flesh and didn’t jump his bones?”
Something in my expression must betray me because Karla widens her eyes and adds, “Oh, but you have. He’s the friend you wore the knockout dress for yesterday.”
I need to work on my poker face. I don’t want my colleagues to poke their nose in my private business, so I just say, “College sweetheart”.
I work out the details of the trip with Daniel and one of his employees throughout the week, trying to ignore the flip in my stomach every time I talk to Daniel.
The following Monday, Karla and I are on a bus with twelve kids under ten years old, and they accost us with every version of “Are we there yet?” the entire journey.
“Wish Helen was here too,” Karla says, referring to another colleague.
“We’ll be fine,” I assure her as the bus pulls into the parking lot of a hotel near the Marina Dunes Preserve. The boat will leave from here, heading out in the general direction of Moss Landing. As we descend from the bus, two of Daniel’s coworkers, a man and a woman, approach us.
Shivering a little, I zip up my coat. Brr. It’s the end of September, and I can already feel the temperature changing.
“Hi, I’m Marcel. We emailed,” the man says as we shake hands. He’s about my age, well-built, and tan. “This is Honor. We’re both going to go out with you today.”
I feel a pang of disappointment that Daniel won’t head out with us too, even though I knew it already. He told me he has too much work to go through before he heads out with the group tonight. I was still hoping, I suppose.
“The kids have to use the restrooms first,” Karla says.
Honor motions to the hotel behind her. “You can use those at the hotel. The lunch boxes for the kids are at reception anyway. We have to pick them up too.”
We head inside, the kids jumping up and down, talking incessantly. I love working with children. Their joy and excitement for every little thing is contagious. Sure, they turn into little devils when things don’t go their way, but that comes with the territory.
The view here is breathtaking. The hotel lobby walls boast floor-to-ceiling windows, offering an almost unencumbered view of the ocean. There is nature as far as the eye can see. While Karla takes the kids to the bathroom, I take inventory of the lunch boxes.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Looking up, I find Daniel right next to me. “Hey! I thought you’d only come in the evening with your group.”
“Nah, I’ve been here since this morning. I’ve booked a room because I’m staying until tomorrow. I’m working from there. Do you need anything?”
“Is there anywhere I can buy a sandwich? I didn’t have breakfast, and I don’t want to eat my boxed lunch right now.”
“The hotel has a breakfast buffet. Closes in twenty minutes. You still have time. Marcel wanted to grab a bite before you head out too.”
Five minutes later, Marcel and I are loading our plates at top speed. I’m not even paying attention to the food; I just want to fill my stomach as quickly as possible. We sit at an empty table, and I wolf down my breakfast.
“Re
lax! Honor and Karla can handle the group. Daniel’s with them too. Don’t choke on something.”
I smile sheepishly, swallowing. “You’re right.”
“Looking forward to the outing?”
“Yeah. I’ve been whale-watching once before, eons ago.”
“It’ll be a lot of fun, you’ll see.”
We chitchat about which type of whales we’re most likely to see, and I’m impressed by his knowledge on the topic and his willingness to explain every detail.
“Say, Caroline, could I take you out to dinner sometime this week?”
I nearly choke on my bite. Wow, way to be direct. And here I thought he was just being polite, doing his job. My throat is itching as I swallow and consider the softest way to turn him down. He didn’t do anything wrong, but well... he is Daniel’s employee, and for some reason, this feels like I’d betray him. Silly, I know. I doubt Daniel would care.
Anyway, I’m not into dating right now. I haven’t been into dating for the past three years. Still have to pluck up the courage to jump into it again, but I keep postponing it, even though I’m lonely as hell. But every time I remember my last two breakups, I conclude that maybe loneliness isn’t so bad. Definitely not bad enough for me to risk another man making me feel small when I tell him I can’t have children. Ever since the diagnosis five years ago, my romantic life turned into a game of chicken.
“I can’t, Marcel. Sorry.” My throat closes up, itching even worse than before. What the hell?
He nods curtly, smiling. “No problem. I had to try.”
“Well, this is—” Talking past the itching in my throat is becoming more difficult. Grabbing the glass of water on the table, I take a sip, but don’t manage to swallow. A hysterical fit of coughing overtakes me.
“Are you allergic to something?” Marcel asks.
Horrified, I lower my eyes to my plate, which I have cleaned. Did anything contain peanut sauce? Why the hell didn’t I pay any attention?
Nodding, I manage to rasp out, “Peanut. EpiPen. Backpack.”
