by Grea Warner
“Then, I told you, I started to get recognized, so it had to go.”
“Why now then?” I asked.
“The show wants it. It is my”—he momentarily removed his hands from the wheel and put up hand air quotes—“trademark. So ... honestly, no, huh? You don’t like it.”
“It’s not physical. It’s mental.” He gave me a queried look, so I went on to explain. “Physically, it makes you look in charge and highlights those magnificent looking eyes.” On his partially bashful smile, I said, “Truth.” But then I said the next part. “Mentally, though, it reminds me of the guy who rejected me.”
“Bethany ...” His shoulders sagged on my name. “Oh, geez.”
I tried to lighten the instant downer and poked him teasingly in the arm. “But you certainly didn’t reject me earlier.”
He ignored my tease by remaining his caring self. “I have to keep it, though. You understand, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I did, and I wouldn’t hold it against him.
“Dang it, we’re here and there are people.” He noted the coffee shop parking lot that I hadn’t even realized we were at already. “I can’t even—"
I went straight for the car door handle. I knew the reality of the situation. I knew his sentence was going to end with “kiss you” or “touch you.” And I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to end on a good, positive note. So, it had to happen quickly.
“Have fun tonight,” I offered my encouragement and made my way to the shop.
***
Even though it had been my choice to depart as I did, I didn’t want that to be our official good-bye until I talked with him after the show. So, I waited until I knew he should be at his destination. I did not want him distracted while driving.
I can still smell you, I texted from the back room of the shop.
It was only about a minute later when he replied with a wink emoji, U should have showered w/me.
Since his answer was impressively sexy, especially considering there had to be hundreds of people swarming the studio, I continued, I had to make coffee—strong, sweet coffee & then blow it since it was so hot.
LOL. I nearly just spilled mine.
I laughed, picturing the image of him with his travel mug of coffee I made him in his kitchen. Sorry. Not sorry.
Preacher’s daughter. SMH.
I laughed again but knew I had to draw our sexting to a close since both of us had to work. Ha! Ha! Can’t wait to watch the show. You’ll do great.
Thx :)
***
“Willow ...” I wanted to scream, but it came out as a raspy whisper. “Willow ...”
“Sheez, Bethany, what? Be quiet. I want to hear the singer and see what Mr. Mean says. He should get a negative—”
“Willow ...” I couldn’t focus on Singer Spotlight or anything on the television. I couldn’t focus at all. “I don’t feel good. My mouth is tingly, and I’m a little light—”
“What? Did you bring Brownie Marys? I’m not feeling that at all. Although, they are delicious. Where did you say you got them?”
At that moment I was especially glad we were watching the show in the privacy of my room and not in the lounge with a lot of other women. I knew I shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s not my fault. It’s a medical thing. But ...
“Call 9-1-1 and my ... purse ...” I managed. “I need my purse.”
Chapter Twelve
I shifted in my seat, checked the large analog clock on the wall, and sighed at my ringing phone. I cleared my throat and answered, trying to sound as normal as I could. “Hey. How did it go?”
“You’re watching, right?” His voice came across the line.
“Uh, yeah, no ... change of plans.”
Ryan didn’t catch my hesitation. He instead threw himself under the proverbial bus with his question. “There’s something better to do than watch me make a fool out of myself on national television?”
“The tripping part?” I countered. “Yeah, Ryan, you need to work on the art of an entrance.”
I had, indeed, grimaced when I had seen him stumble on his own two feet as he first took his seat at the judges’ table. Willow, by contrast, had rolled over laughing. The show hostess, Portia, thankfully provided some quick, witty humor, and then the lights had dimmed and the future stars had taken the stage.
“You did watch.” I could hear the chagrin in his voice.
“Not much after that,” I admitted.
“Why? Where are you? What is that noise in the background?”
“So ... funny thing ...” I started.
“What’s that beeping?”
I breathed out, just anticipating his reaction. “Yeah, I’m in the emergency room.”
“You’re where? Why?” That was the start.
“So, even with the injection, if you had an allergic reaction, you should follow up with a hospital visit immediately.”
“You what? Are you all right?” And there it was ... he was off to the races. Thank goodness he didn’t know about my ambulance ride, with Willow following in her car behind us.
“I—” I started while glancing over at my faithful friend, now sitting next to me.
“What happened?” Ryan’s voice soared through my telephone. “Did you eat something? What—”
“Ryan, where are you?” I interrupted, mostly as a way to get him to calm down.
“Home,” he answered quickly before asking his own question. “Do you need me to come to the hospital? I can ... geez, I can be there in—”
“I’m fine.” I think my breathing was becoming labored just through an osmosis of him. “Goodness no, don’t come here. Willow is here, and I am fine.”
I looked over at my best friend again. Grinning like crazy, her eyes were glimmering as if she knew a secret, and, of course, she then had. It was my secret. I knew I hadn’t said anything directly via the phone conversation with Ryan, but just how Andre could tell by the way Ryan and I had looked at each other on the bench, the current intimacy of our phone conversation was surely giving me away to Willow.
“The doctor did an exam. My breathing is under control. I just have to stay here a while to make sure I don’t have a second reaction, which sometimes happens. I’ll be released tonight with some scripts. It will just be a while,” I informed him and that time tried not to look at my friend.
“I know you are so careful. What happened?” Ryan at least sounded a little calmer.
“I ... uh ... might have taken a couple of your brownies. Sorry,” I apologized. “I should have asked. I just grabbed some for a snack. You had said you would save me some, and I know how crazy you are with the nut-free house.” If I hadn’t given our relationship away to Willow at that point, it was surely outed then.
“They’re Mr. Mean’s brownies?” she whispered wide-eyed, and I smacked her.
“What brownies?” Came the music mogul’s voice from across the line.
“The ones you made with the kids on Thursday.” Gosh, was he so upset he didn’t remember the brownies?
“We didn’t end up making them,” he denied. “We ran out of time. What brownies? Sallie! Joel! What brownies do we have?”
“Oh, I j—" I started, only to be cut off.
“What? Hold on, Bethany.” I could only partially hear him questioning the kids. “You made them with Mommy? Did they have nuts?” The bustling hospital area didn’t help my ability to hear Ryan and most definitely not Sallie or Joel’s responses. “Didn’t you tell Mommy not—?” He seemed to listen before asking another question. “And what did she say?” Again, I couldn’t hear the children but only his disbelieving response. “She said what?” There was a shorter pause then before he continued, “No, it’s not your fault. Let me know next time, okay? Finish getting your pjs on.” There was a slight growl before he more calmly said my name.
“Yeah, I heard.” I resisted my growl, although there was certainly one growing. “Kari made them.”
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Can y
ou believe she told them it wasn’t that big of a deal?”
Growl! Growl! Growl!
“Some people don’t think it is. They think we are just whining.” I somehow managed not to call her out directly or suggest what I was trying hard not to believe ... the nut additive had been deliberate.
I heard another low grunt before he redirected his focus. “You sure you don’t need me to come to the hospital?”
“Totally sure.”
“Come here then. Come here after you’re completely checked out or whatever.”
“I’m fine, Ryan. Willow is here.” Willow nodded with a grin as I continued, “And you have enough going on.”
“Tomorrow?” he relented.
But that wouldn’t work, either. “I have to work from eight until three.”
“Call off. You are going to need your rest.” What he said about sleep was absolutely the truth.
But I said another. “Can’t.”
“Why? If you’re sick—"
I cut him off with determination. “I am fine.”
Surely hearing the frustration in my voice, and maybe remembering the stories I told of my mother, he resigned with a compromise. “Well, then I think I’m gonna need a coffee stop tomorrow.”
“You can’t see me, but I am shaking my head.” I literally was.
“I don’t think I need to see you to know that.” I was glad he was coming down enough from his initial freak-out to tease me.
“Go take care of the kids and any follow-up you have from the show. I’m sure there is a lot. We’ll talk later.”
“For real.”
A smile warmed my face upon hearing and repeating our meaningful words to one another. “For real.”
Willow barely waited for me to return my phone to my purse before she nudged me hard and smirked. “This is no longer coworkers or even friends, is it?”
“That is what we are,” I tried to continue down the road of denial.
“Someone like Ryan Thompson has lots of coworkers and friends. But he called you. And that talky-talky was pretty personal ...” Her voice led in that tell-me-it-all way.
“Remember, I know you snuck Til in,” I cautioned, recalling how Tilman had pretended to be a delivery person at the apartment complex and insisted he needed to deliver the new television—a.k.a empty box—personally to Willow per store orders.
“That was fun,” she reminisced. “But I don’t think we’re going to try that again after the Andre shit. So, anyway, Miss Innocent ... Miss Easter Dress, this is what the big secret is, huh? What kind of blackmail do I exactly have on you?”
“I think you already have it figured out.” I was trying to stay true to my word and not actually say it out loud.
“Bethany Opala, whoa!” The college-grad-to-be almost bounced in her chair.
I thought about shushing her, noting the abundance of people nearby. Instead, I used a softer voice, hoping she would mimic mine. “Willow ... if there is ever something that I need you to keep a secret about, this is it.” She didn’t need to interlock her smallest finger with mine for a pinkie swear, but when she did, it only confirmed how much I trusted my best friend. Yet, I still couldn’t tell her he wasn’t married. I told him I wouldn’t say anything, and I would honor that. “Just remember, it’s not as bad as you think.”
“But is it good?” Her eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“It is,” I agreed. “It’s good.”
An immediate, uncontrollable heat blushed my face, and it had nothing to do with any allergies. I was not only thinking about our physical intimacy but how much Ryan cared. His reaction on the phone call solidified it.
***
I traveled the Americano with a shot of cinnamon across the counter and went to call out the name. Had I not been so tired, nor had the customer line not been starting to snake toward the door, I would have realized. I wouldn’t have even bothered to start with the T before stopping myself.
“Oh, my gosh, you really did show up.” I looked across to those deep blue eyes, which did bear a little sleep deprivation, too, if I was right.
“I told you I was.” And Ryan kept his promises. “You all right?”
“I’m tired,” I admitted. “But otherwise good.” I then went on to explain. “The shock of the med brings my system on a little bit of a roller coaster. Then, going through all the doctor stuff. It was just exhausting. I’m probably gonna crash early tonight. Hopefully, I will get to see any Ryan bloopers first,” I teased.
“Mercy.” Ryan rolled his eyes.
“You’re Ryan Thompson, right? You are. I know you are.”
The voice caught me off-guard, even though it was coming from a woman standing directly next to Ryan in line. For a beautiful moment it had been as if we were in our own private Bethany-Ryan world. Now, the blonde, about my age, and the rest of the coffee shop were back in focus.
“God, you’re even better looking in person.” She wouldn’t stop staring at Ryan.
“Hi,” was his solitary word response with a quick glance at the initiator.
“I saw Ben Winthrop in here once, too.”
I nudged the coffee closer to Ryan and used his alias. “Tom, be careful ... it’s hot. You don’t want to get burned.” I know he caught my meaning the way he casually grazed my hand on the cup exchange.
I looked for her name on the next order, laughed at the irony of her drink choice, and used it fully to my advantage. “Hadley? No more blondes.” I spoke of the coffee roast but meant it in a whole other way for the man in front of me.
“What?” She actually managed to look my direction instead of Ryan’s. “They didn’t tell me that at the register.”
“Just happened. You might want to try something else. It’s been taken.” I raised my eyebrows at Ryan, who I could tell was trying not to laugh before walking off and exiting the shop.
My back pocket buzzed as I was making Hadley’s order ... somehow having “miraculously” found more of the roast she requested. I normally wouldn’t look at my phone when busy at work—it wasn’t good customer service—but I pretty much knew it was going to be a text from Ryan. And I couldn’t resist.
U seem to B feeling OK.
Blood pressure went up a minute or so ago, I texted back with a snort as I multi-tasked with the drink.
Me or the little minx?
Combo, I replied with the truth.
I enjoyed the quick banter.
I’m sure you did. It’s the lyricist in me.
Oh, the lyricist, is it? He called me out on my jealousy.
I wanted to remind him of his almost jumping to conclusions with Andre but, instead, asked, Does that happen a lot? I mean, besides Ryan being a celebrity in his own right due to the show, he was a gorgeous-looking man. Maybe I was glad he wore his wedding ring.
I was working on the lid of Hadley’s coffee when Ryan’s reassuring text came through. No worries, Lenay.
Hadley should be the one who is worried. LOL! I teased and then sent, How does the coffee taste?
Not as good as U. Ryan was spot-on with a witty comeback.
Right answer. I added a smile and two thumbs-up emojis.
Gotta get to the studio.
DO NOT break a leg. I referenced his tripping the night before and finally handed a grumpy Hadley her coffee. See you tomorrow.
He replied with, Not funny. Yes tomorrow. And added a bunch of smiling, winking, and flames emojis.
***
By the time I got to Ryan’s that next day—Wednesday—he and the kids were having a snack before bedtime. Ryan also had a deep glass of some kind of golden-brown liquor. We talked a little about the show—whom he liked, whom I liked, how they differed from each other, and who would probably win. But when it was time for the kids to go to sleep, Ryan had to deal with a resistant Joel. The kids, after all, were completely off their schedule, having gone to the show for the previous two nights and still having school.
“Fine, Joel, whatever, you stay up. When you
are miserable tomorrow, there’s not going to be any treats.” I could hear Ryan—who had to be exiting Joel’s upstairs room—all the way from my seat in the living room.
“I’m not tired!” the little boy yelled.
“Fine.” And then, a couple minutes later, Ryan reentered the room to join me. “What?” he asked, examining a look on my face I hadn’t even realized I was giving. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s overly tired.”
“I know. I think you are, too.”
“I just need another drink.” He reached for his tumbler on the coffee table. “You want anything?” He tilted one of the red wine bottles up.
“No. Still kinda recovering from the other night.” After a grimace, he sat back on the sofa, and I asked, “You all right?”
“It’s just a lot.”
I rubbed his hand. “I know.” I brought his hand up to my lips and kissed it—that even felt tense.
“Everything is coming at me all at once. The pressure with the show, work, Kari returning and being so unapproachable, trying to figure out a schedule with the kids ... and you.”
“Me?” I blurted. How was I a pressure? I didn’t want to be that.
He clarified, “You scared the crap out of me on Monday.”
My heart skipped a sweet beat on his concern. “Sorry. I’m fine. Please don’t think about the food.” I had noticed a little extra scrutiny on his part when I had eaten some of the cocoa-flavored popcorn snack with the kids.
“I’m trying not to.” He closed his eyes momentarily and then, after reopening, used a directive tone on me. “You really shouldn’t have pushed yourself going back to work like that.”
“I had to. The ER bill is not going to pay itself.”
“That’s what insurance is for.” When I didn’t say anything, his eyes appeared bigger and his face more serious. “You have insurance, don’t you?”
“Yeah. But it’s not the best, by far. So, the copay and the meds and what the hospi—”
“Let me take care of it. I’ll pay whatever.”
“No.” I halted that idea immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s my fault y—”
“No, it’s not. It’s not your fault or responsibility.”
