by Sydney Logan
I’m suddenly very uncomfortable and wish I was wiping windows.
“I just had to meet you. Plus, I love Tony’s burgers, but I only allow myself to have them once a month because I don’t want to drop dead of a heart attack by the time I’m forty.”
So this is Josh’s sister, the food critic. No wonder Tony made her his special burger.
“Anyway, I hope it’s okay that I’m here. Josh will be pissed when he finds out. He told me to stay away.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Because I don’t take orders very well. It’s a problem, really.”
Despite my embarrassment, I laugh.
“Honestly . . . I just wanted to thank you,” Sonia says, her voice somber and soft. “My brother would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you. Our family is so grateful, Carrie. We’d all love to meet you, but Josh says we have to wait. Something about the two of you doing everything backward so far and he’s trying to make it right?”
I nod. I’m not about to fill in those blanks. Desperate to change the subject, I motion toward her laptop.
“Josh says you’re a blogger?”
“Yep. I blog about the best and worst food in Nashville,” she says with a grin. “It’s really a dream job. And I have my mom’s marathon metabolism, so I can eat whatever I want and never gain a pound.”
Just then, a customer walks in and sits down at a booth. Daphne finally appears from the back and waves in my direction—our little code for I’ll take this one.
“You make him smile, you know,” Sonia says quietly. “He hasn’t smiled in so long. It was hard seeing my brother unhappy. His only real passion was work until Audrey arrived. After that, he became a man. A real man and an amazing father. Audrey was the only sunshine in his life, and I mean the only sunshine. That wife of his . . .”
Wow. The entire Bennett clan really hates Josh’s ex-wife.
Sonia smiles. “But enough about her. I’m sure you have work to do, and I don’t want you to get in trouble with the boss. I just wanted to meet you. And thank you. And give you my number in hopes that maybe you’ll let me take you out to dinner sometime.”
She seems sweet, so I give her my number and tell her to call me anytime.
“I should probably get busy. I have to finish up here and head to class.”
“Oh, of course!”
We both stand, and just as I’m about to offer my hand, she grabs me and hugs me hard.
“Sorry, our family’s a bunch of huggers. You’ll see.”
I laugh and hug her back.
“Thank you, Carrie. And tell Tony he gets a rave review, like always.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Sonia promises to call soon, and then she’s gone.
“I hope you like chicken salad,” Josh says, handing me a wrapped sandwich.
“Love it.”
I actually don’t, but the man brought a picnic basket to a college campus, for crying out loud. If it was covered in dirt I’d still eat it, because this is quite possibly the sweetest thing ever.
He waves toward the feast of sandwiches, chips, and homemade cookies. “I have a confession to make. My mom did all this. I was just going to get take-out, but she reminded me that you work in a restaurant. She wanted you to have something home-cooked, even if it’s just a sandwich.”
I haven’t met the dad yet, but I’m pretty sure the Bennetts are the nicest people in the world.
“Please tell her I said thanks. How was your day?” I ask.
Josh sighs. “My day wasn’t great, to be honest. It’s better now.”
“Mine, too.”
We smile at each other.
“I’m going to have a lot of bad days, I think,” he says softly. “I try to work, but I’m so impatient and unfocused that Dad’s all but banned me from the building. My folks want me to stay with them, and I have been, but the hovering is getting to me, and I snap at them. I just need . . . I don’t know what I need.”
“You need time. My dad’s been gone for a while and I still have bad days.”
“Does it get easier?”
“Missing them?”
He nods.
“No, not really. I know it’s not the same. I didn’t lose a child, but I think grief is universal. Hurt is hurt. And I’m not gonna lie. It hurts so much sometimes that you can’t breathe. But you do. You keep breathing. You keep waking up each day. Eventually, you teach yourself to ignore how much your heart hurts so that you can make yourself get out of bed every morning and live your life without them in it.”
I see tears in his eyes. Can he see mine? He must, because he reaches for my hand.
“Carrie, did you talk to someone? Like a therapist? My parents think I should. I have my first appointment tomorrow.”
“I hope it helps. It didn’t help me. I spent more time bitching about my mom than talking about my dad, so I stopped going.”
Josh smiles sadly and squeezes my hand. It’s so strange—bonding over heartbreak and loss. Since moving to the city, I haven’t talked much about my dad, not even with Amy. It’s kind of nice talking to someone who can relate.
“I have a confession, too.”
“Oh?”
“I met your sister.”
He stops chewing. “You met Sonia?”
“She came to the diner.”
“I’m sorry, Carrie. I told her not to do that.”
“It’s okay. She’s really sweet. She wants to take me to dinner.”
“I’m going to be really pissed if my sister takes you out on a date before I do.”
I laugh. “I thought this was our first date?”
“No. This is a chicken salad sandwich.”
I shrug. “It’s a beautiful day, and a very sweet man brought me a picnic lunch that his mother packed for us. Sounds like a perfect first date to me.”
“Really?”
“Really. When you get to know me, you’ll find that I’m pretty low maintenance.”
“I want to get to know you, Carrie.”
“I want to get to know you, too. That’s something else we need to talk about. We need to figure out . . . whatever this is between us.”
“This? You mean the amazing chemistry? The incredible sex? The—”
“Yes. All of that.”
“Okay, let’s talk about it.”
For the next five minutes, we sit in complete silence. Josh’s leg bounces as I gaze at the pretty fountain.
“Why is this so awkward?” he finally asks.
“Because we’re strangers.”
“I don’t want to be strangers.”
“But we are right now. Everything just happened so fast, Josh. We need to . . . I don’t know. Date? Have dinner? Go to a movie? Something that resembles a normal relationship to give us the chance to get to know each other.”
He nods thoughtfully. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But I can’t lie. It’s going to be torture trying to take things slow. I’m crazy attracted to you. And I want to touch you all the time.”
Josh slides closer and wraps his arm around me. A soft sigh escapes my lips when he presses a gentle kiss to my temple.
“Was that a happy sigh?”
I smile. “Yes, but it’s going to take some getting used to. I’m just not used to so much . . . affection.”
“You deserve it, Carrie.”
I wouldn’t know. My ex rarely showed affection outside of the bedroom. We didn’t hold hands. Never cuddled. Not once did he walk up behind me while I was cooking and brush my hair aside before kissing me right below my ear.
And he never, ever packed a picnic for me.
“I’ll try to tone it down,” Josh says. “It’s just been so long since I’ve felt anything for anybody.”
“You must have loved your wife at some point, didn’t you?”
He chuckles sadly and shakes his head. “Not really. Sloane and I . . . we just satisfied certain needs. She wanted to be a trophy wife. I wanted to be a dad. We had a mutual understanding. It
worked for a while.”
“When did it stop working?”
“When she admitted that she was having an affair. I wasn’t jealous. She’d met someone she truly cared about. We were so young when we got married, and I didn’t want our sham of a marriage to stand in the way of her being with someone she truly loved. I offered to let her go, and she didn’t hesitate. So we contacted a divorce attorney. But then he started talking about custody agreements and weekends here and holidays there, and we both panicked. That’s when we came up with the crazy plan to stay together and . . . pretend. And it worked. Audrey is . . . was . . . happy all the time. That’s all that mattered to us.”
He smiles wistfully as he continues.
“We spoiled her rotten, but she was the most unspoiled child in the world, if that makes sense. Any gift she was given—whether it was a piece of candy or a gigantic swing set—was met with the same enthusiasm. She’d clap her hands and smile and say it was the best ever. That was her favorite phrase. Everything was the best ever, no matter the gift and regardless of the cost.”
Josh holds my hand and gazes at the fountain, but I know he’s not really looking at it. He’s lost in the memories of his daughter—happy memories that will help him get through the inevitable bad days that he’ll have for the rest of his life. Most days, those memories will be enough. Some days, they won’t. I know from experience. But right now, in this moment, those memories are bringing him comfort, and I’m so lucky to be here to see it.
“Thank you for the picnic, Carrie,” he says softly.
“Thank you.”
He glances down at our joined hands.
“I like holding your hand. I like you.”
“I like you, too, Josh.”
“I want to kiss you.”
I bow my head and try to hide my grin. Very gently, he places his finger beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. Instinctively, my tongue moistens my lips, and that’s apparently all the incentive he needs. His mouth finds mine, and the kiss is soft and sweet. When we finally come up for air, he places one last kiss on my forehead before asking if he can walk me to class.
All I can do is nod.
We gather the leftovers and toss it all into the picnic basket. As we walk away from the fountain, Josh takes my hand again, and he doesn’t let it go until I’m safely inside the building. He gives me one last kiss and promises to call me tonight.
Compared to my amazing picnic lunch, my lit class is fairly boring. I try to concentrate on my professor, but it’s pretty pointless. It doesn’t help that ten minutes into class, I get a text from Josh.
On my cloudiest of days, you are my sun.
“Zombieland?” Josh asks with a wide grin.
I grab the remote from his hand and turn up the volume. “I usually hate movies like this, but I have a serious crush on Jesse Eisenberg. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“It’s perfect, actually,” he says, nodding toward the screen. “Because Emma Stone is the girl of my dreams.”
“Is that right?”
“Well, until recently, anyway.”
Rolling my eyes, I nudge him with my shoulder and snuggle into his arms as the movie starts to play. This hadn’t been my plan for tonight. I have tons of homework waiting for me. But I’d been completely overwhelmed by Josh’s sappy text and our picnic lunch. So overwhelmed that I messaged him right after class and invited him over for pizza.
“You know, it’s a good thing you’re sweet. Otherwise, I’d think you were full of shit.”
He grins and holds me closer. Sighing softly, I try to concentrate on the movie while trying to ignore how perfectly normal this feels. Even Oreo’s content, nestled on the floor, right next to Josh’s feet.
“You seem so much older than twenty-one,” he says softly.
I have no idea what that means, so I pretend to pout. “You know what? I take it back. You’re not sweet at all.”
“I meant it as a compliment, Carrie. You’re wise. Very mature for your age.”
“He says while we watch Zombieland.”
Josh chuckles. “I wasn’t even paying attention to the movie. I was thinking about you. You’ve been through a lot for someone so young.”
“So have you.”
He kisses my temple. Closing my eyes, I melt into his arms. When I look up again, our faces are unbelievably close, making it hard to breathe. Reaching for my hand, Josh pulls it close to his lips and gently places a kiss against my wrist. His mouth lingers there, causing me to tremble.
“Your pulse is racing,” he whispers.
“I wonder why.” Sliding my free hand along his chest, I place my palm against his thundering heart. “So is yours.”
In an instant, his mouth is on mine. Gone are the gentle, sweet kisses from this afternoon. Our lips are hungry and frantic, and when his groan echoes through me, and I climb into his lap, I don’t care about the consequences of my actions. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be taking it slow. I don’t care that the timing is wrong and that we’re moving too fast. I can’t even think straight. All I can do is feel.
And it feels amazing.
“Touch me—” My voice is a breathless plea, and in an instant, my blouse is gone. Tossed over my head and thrown to the floor. His shirt’s next, and we both shudder with pleasure as his body molds to mine.
Skin on skin.
Heart to heart.
I gasp when his hands frame my face, gently forcing me to look into his eyes—deep, soulful, and unbelievably blue.
Slowly, I let my hands trail across his bare chest, letting them rest on his arms. Josh isn’t overly muscular, but he’s toned, and my fingers trace along the curve of his bicep. I find a scar on the top of his shoulder, and I lean forward, kissing it softly.
“Chicken pox. Twelve years old,” he says.
I brush my hair aside and show him the two-inch mark on the side of my neck.
“Curling iron. Eighth grade.”
Josh places a soft kiss there before pressing his forehead against mine.
“Are we crazy?” he asks, his voice just a whisper.
I don’t reply. I don’t have to. Because we both know the answer.
Yes, we’re crazy.
We’re crazy about each other.
“Earth to Carrie! Your customers are starving.”
It’s not the first time today that Tony’s caught me daydreaming. I give him a sheepish, apologetic grin and grab the plates, rushing them over to my tables.
My head’s been in the clouds since last night. Despite my picnic-lunch sermon about taking things slow, our Zombieland make-out session clouded my sanity. At the time, it seemed like a compromise—kissing and touching and exploring without actually having sex. But all it really did was leave us frustrated and confused, because at midnight, Josh asked if he could spend the night, and I said no. Even though he said he understood, I could tell by the look on his face that he really didn’t, and that’s my fault.
I made the rules. And then I broke them.
Right there on my couch.
Right there in his lap.
Before I can totally get lost in that daydream, my cell vibrates in my apron pocket, bringing me back to reality. I grab the phone and glance down at my screen.
Josh.
I quickly check my tables. My customers seem okay, so I duck outside to take the call.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. I thought I’d give you a call on my way to my appointment. Why does this feel like a bad idea?”
The therapist.
“Because it’s new. Unknown. And he or she—”
“It’s a he.”
“He will expect you to talk about your feelings.”
Josh sighs tiredly. “I’ve never really been good at that.”
“You’re good at it with me.”
“You’re different.”
I smile. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too. So why am I doing this again?”
“Because your f
amily’s worried about you. And maybe it’ll be productive to talk to a professional. Someone neutral. It may actually be a really positive thing.”
“And it could be torture.”
“Could be. If it is, you don’t have to go back.”
“But you think I should try.”
“I think you should try anything that might bring you some peace.”
“You bring me peace.”
Do I? After last night I really have to wonder.
“Anyway, I’m here. Time to meet the shrink.”
“Good luck. Let me know how it goes.”
Josh promises to call later, and I head back inside with renewed confidence. Maybe I didn’t ruin everything last night, after all. Still, the fact remains that he’s grieving, and we have to be careful . . . for his sake and for mine.
From this day forward, I have to keep my hands—and my lap—to myself.
When my shift ends, I head home and have leftover pizza for dinner. I spend a few hours catching up on homework before settling on the couch to finish the movie we ignored the night before. The blanket still smells of him, so I wrap it around me and pull Oreo into my lap, trying desperately not to glance at my phone every five minutes. After the movie ends, and the night creeps on, a familiar sadness washes over me. A distinct loneliness that I can’t shake no matter how hard I try.
Why hasn’t he called?
Taking a deep breath, I send him a quick text.
Just wanted to say hi. Hope today went well.
I know from experience that therapy sessions—especially the first meeting—can be hell on your emotions. Maybe Josh needed time to himself after meeting with the doctor. Perhaps he needed to be with his family. I try not to take it personally, but it’s hard.
The next day, it’s even harder.
After three days of no contact, I ask Amy if she knows anything, but she just shakes her head and then avoids me for the rest of our shift.
Some best friend.
When I get home, I finally give him a call. It goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message, asking him to just send me a text and let me know he’s okay.
He doesn’t.
After four days of no contact, I start to get a little obsessive. I think about calling his sister, but that seems . . . stalkerish. Instead, I google his name and pray I don’t see an obituary.
