"Hey, now, take that back," Forrest said. "I used to play hockey with his younger brother, so when I moved to Toronto and heard he'd opened this place I had to come see it, and now I eat here every week or two." He eyed me for a second before adding, "He's single, by the way."
"Good for him," I said tartly, picking up my menu.
"You didn't like him? That's a first. Women usually love him."
"He's Jen's type, not mine. He's charming, sure, but too polished, too perfect."
I looked up from the menu and saw him consider asking me what my type was then decide not to. Good, since I could hardly admit I was sitting across from the embodiment of it. "Too like Corey," I added to change the subject.
Forrest nodded. "He's not, actually, but I see what you mean. They do both have that well-groomed show dog look about them."
I grinned at the image, and he said, "If Corey did take my puck, he's up to his old tricks again."
I frowned, Kegan forgotten. "What happened?"
"My shoe was missing when I went back to the dressing room after our session this afternoon. Found it in the toilet."
I raised my eyebrows. "That's unlikely to be an accident, isn't it? What did you do?"
He shrugged. "Squelched home, what else could I do?"
When we'd finished laughing, I said, "Are you going to confront him?"
Forrest shook his head, and my ringing cell phone saved him from my disapproving response.
"It's Jen, do you mind?"
"Go for it," he said, so I did.
"Remember I asked about staying with you?"
Dread swept me. "Yes?"
"Can I move in tomorrow afternoon, around three? They say two days, so figure at least two weeks."
I bit my lip at the thought of making pieces for Jayne with Jen chattering away, but how could I refuse my best friend? My slovenly best friend? "Of course. If I'm not home, hang out in the coffee shop across the street and I'll be there as soon as I can."
"You're the best. See you tomorrow."
Forrest said, "Is she okay?" as I put the phone away.
I nodded. "She has to move in with me, though, until her bathroom's fixed. She's coming tomorrow."
"Will she interfere with your art?"
I turned one hand palm upward. "For sure, but I can't say no."
Forrest narrowed his eyes and studied me, but before I could ask what he was thinking Kegan returned with our wine.
Once our glasses were filled to Kegan's satisfaction, he promised to send over his best waiter, winked at me again, and left. I shook my head. "He doesn't quit, does he?"
"Nope. That's probably why we get along even though he's all metrosexual and I'm... not."
I smiled at the understatement, and he said, "You know, you could use my spare room as an art studio, at least while Jen's living with you. If you wanted to, of course."
I was too close to falling for him already. Spending hours in his home couldn't be a good idea. But working with Jen around might be impossible. "It gets messy. If I spilled paint or something, I'd feel bad."
He shrugged. "Excuse to refinish the hardwood. I've thought about it but haven't bothered."
A question flashed into my mind and I asked it before thinking it through. "What do you do with all your money?"
His eyebrows went up.
I buried my blazing face in my hands, my stomach curling in horror. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that right out loud."
He gently peeled my hands from my face and held them. "Everybody wonders and nobody asks. Don't worry about it."
I clenched my eyes shut. "A molecule of wine and my social filter's gone."
"Tess."
I opened one eye.
"It's okay." He smiled.
I opened my other eye and smiled back, my stomach smoothing out and my blush retreating as I realized he truly hadn't been offended. Why did my hands feel so right in his?
"I save most of it." He gave my hands a gentle squeeze then released them and picked up his wine glass, which he set down again immediately. "The condo wasn't cheap, and the monthly fees are ridiculous, but otherwise I don't need much. I… I want to open a hockey school when my career's over, so I'm saving for that. I want to have the best teachers and facilities, have scholarships for kids who can't afford it, really help young players get a good start."
His shoulders climbed and his eye twitched as he talked about the school, and I didn't know why. "Great idea," I said, meaning it. "You're an amazing teacher."
His cheeks blotched red, but his shoulders sank closer to normal. "I hope so."
"I know so. Jen still can't believe I understand hockey now."
He laughed. "So, speaking of Jen... what do you think?"
"Wouldn't I be in your way?"
"Not at all," he said as the waiter arrived. Once we'd placed our orders, he said, "Seriously, you wouldn't be. If it'll help, go for it."
I liked the idea a little too much. "Can I think about it?"
His disappointed look only worried me more. "Sure. But don't take too long. You're short on time."
Thanks for pointing that out.
*****
When the waiter arrived to offer coffee and dessert, Forrest said, "I would, but we don't have much time before the movie."
"What movie?" I said, more sharply than I'd meant to. "I need to get back to work."
"Just the bill, please," he told the waiter, who smiled and departed.
"Tess, you need to take the night off and relax."
"I can't relax. I'm too worried."
"Do you honestly think you'd get anything good done tonight?"
"Maybe."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Okay, no. I have no ideas," I confessed, and relief flooded me at admitting it. "I should, but I don't. Don't tell your mother, okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of it. But the movie might help."
I sighed. I had to work, ideas or no, but I didn't want this, whatever it was, with Forrest to be over. It wasn't a date, of course, but I hadn't had such a good time in ages. We'd been chatting about anything and everything, like we'd been friends forever. And he wasn't hard on the eyes either. "What movie?"
He grinned. "Good girl." The grin faded and he looked embarrassed. "Have you seen 'Even Starfish Get the Blues'?"
I blinked. A romantic comedy about a woman whose dreams of opening a public aquarium were thwarted at every turn? I hadn't seen it, because Jen, who read at least three romance novels a week, had deemed it too mushy. "You want to see that?"
He nodded.
"Why?"
"My babysitter when I was little watched a lot of soap operas and I guess I got used to that stuff. I can't go alone, though."
He gave me such a pleading look I couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, fine. But you're buying me popcorn."
Finding a parking spot took forever, and we crept into the darkened, mostly empty, theatre as the last trailer played. Once I was settled, he passed me the promised popcorn. Might as well not have bothered.
When the woman's original and much-loved starfish died in the first scene despite her frantic efforts to save it, I dissolved into tears I'd had no idea were lurking, and they trickled down my face like water from a cracked fish tank from then on.
I burrowed into my shawl, trying to calm myself, but whatever the source of the tears, a shawl wasn't sufficient to stem them. Since they were falling silently I resigned myself to letting them out since I couldn't stop them.
Unfortunately, they didn't stay silent for long. When the ferociously vegan man who'd opposed the aquarium woman from the start acknowledged she'd created a cruelty-free facility and gave her his support, I began crying in earnest, and by the time they recognized their love at the end I shook with actual sobs. I did my best to stifle the sounds, and nobody in the theatre noticed. Nobody but Forrest.
When my first tears fell, he'd leaned over and whispered, "Now I don't have to feel bad if I cry at the end," and I'd given him a soggy
smile that had apparently reassured him. As the movie went on and I fell apart, though, he became worried.
"Do you want to leave?"
I shook my head. Embarrassing enough he'd seen me crying. Walking out and having everyone in the lobby watch me bawling did not appeal.
He passed me several napkins, which I soaked in no time, then went out to get more, ignoring my concern he'd miss the movie. When he returned with easily fifty napkins, and a huge bar of chocolate, his kindness made the tears fall even faster. The chocolate helped a bit, but his solid presence beside me helped more. We didn't speak again, but I knew he was watching me, watching over me. I felt safe.
When the movie ended, I mopped up my face and pushed away the tears still waiting to fall. "Sorry about that."
In the theatre's dim light, his hazel eyes were a rich near-green, and the concern in them swirled my emotions again. "Don't apologize. Are you okay?"
I took a deep rib-creaking breath then released it, willing the sadness to leave me with the air. "That kind of movie usually makes me cry at the end, but never like that. Guess I'm just tired."
"Well, let's get you home then. Anything in there you can use, do you think?"
"Something with starfish, maybe," I began, but when we stepped out into the hallway someone called, "Hey, it's Forrest Williams!" and I was drowned out by the clamor of people wanting his autograph.
"Sorry, folks, I'm afraid I can't right now."
The crowd groaned and muttered.
Knowing he'd only refused for my sake, I went up on my toes to whisper into his ear. "If you want to, do it. I'm okay. Really."
He studied me, clearly torn, and I gave him the same thumbs-up sign he'd given me at his first good game. "Go for it."
His grin lit up his face and I grinned back, the absence of the tears making me giddy.
"Okay, fine, since the boss says I can," he said, winking at me.
With great patience, he responded to some thoroughly inane comments about his playing ability, although he had to fake a coughing fit and I focused on rearranging my shawl to keep from snickering when a short tubby man said, "Let me tell you how I'd play if I were you."
Forrest listened as the guy made suggestions that even I could tell were useless then carried on signing movie tickets and napkins and one particularly annoying woman's upper breast as she pulled down her t-shirt's neckline.
"I'm going to have it made into a tattoo," she told him, flashing me a triumphant look as though she'd stolen something from me.
Forrest's eyes widened but he just said, "Up to you," and kept signing.
After about ten minutes the crowd was diminishing, so he apologized to the rest, telling them the team's office would be happy to send them a signed picture, and we left.
The people he hadn't signed anything for grumbled behind us, and I wanted to tell them off but was too stunned to speak. No wonder he preferred to go places he wouldn't be recognized. He'd spent his own free time doing things for them, and because he hadn't served every last one they complained.
We reached his sleek black SUV and he locked us safely inside. "Thanks. I hope you didn't mind too much."
I shook my head. "I only minded for you. They're so pushy. And that woman. Unbelievable."
He pouted, his bottom lip quivering. "You don't want to get my signature tattooed on you?"
I shook my head, trying to match his devastated expression. "Sorry, no."
He grinned. "Thank God. Creepy."
"How do you stand that?"
He started the car and joined the parade leaving the parking lot. "Goes with the territory. I figure every job has bad parts, and getting mobbed is a bad part of mine. It means they care, though. I guess I'm in worse trouble when nobody wants my autograph."
"Yeah, but still. I can't imagine."
"I don't go out much. They can't get me if I'm hiding at home."
"Unless they climb up the building."
He laughed. "To the thirty-fifth floor? If they want me that bad, they deserve the autograph."
"True enough." I took a breath, curious but not sure I wanted to ask, before saying, "Did it bother your fiancée?"
His eyes locked on the car before us, he said, "She loved it."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Saw it as validation for all the work I'd put in. The first time someone recognized me on the street, she said it meant I'd reached the peak of success."
"I can see that, sort of," I said, feeling awkward arguing with a dead woman, "except the peak part. You've got a huge career ahead of you. Lots more peaks to come."
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I hope so."
"I know so."
He cleared his throat. "Well, you'd better get used to the crowds," he said in an oddly jovial tone. "When you're a famous artist it'll happen to you."
I shuddered, only half mock. "Artists don't usually get hounded for autographs. Especially not at my level."
He glanced over, and his voice returned to normal. "You're going to make it, you know."
"What are you basing that on? I can't even finish one piece."
"You finished mine, and it's amazing. Just do what you did there."
But I'd had all the time in the world, and I hadn't expected anyone else to see it. I tapped a finger on the door handle. I'd made Forrest's piece for me. Could I make these other ones the same way, somehow forget they would be on public display? I could try.
"I know you haven't had time to think, but if you want to use my apartment I can take your stuff tonight."
"Actually, I think I'm going to stay put," I said, trying to convince myself. "You're right, I should repeat what I did before, and that'd be easiest at home."
He nodded. "If you change your mind, the offer's always open."
"I appreciate it," I said, tears rising yet again.
He looked over. "You need a week off, you know. Time to rest."
"No rest for the wicked." I blinked back the tears and smiled at him. "I'll be fine. It's not for long. And once my swim meet's over I can back off the swimming a bit."
"Good. And no work tonight, right?"
"Sure."
He poked me in the shoulder. "Promise."
"Okay, I promise."
When we reached my apartment building, he parked and came around to open my door. "Thanks for seeing the movie with me. Even if it did make you cry."
I undid my seatbelt and stood in front of him. "I should be thanking you, not the other way around." I didn't want him to leave, and before I knew the words were on their way I said, "Do you want to come in?"
He appeared to give it some serious thought, but eventually said, "I should probably get home. Early day tomorrow."
I nodded, trying not to feel embarrassed for asking. "Good point. Well, I'll see you then."
He nodded, but he didn't leave. Instead, he moved closer and took hold of my shoulders, searching my face as if he'd never seen me before.
My heart picked up speed at the intensity of his expression, the subtle scent of his cologne dizzying me.
His hands tightened on my shoulders and he took another step closer.
I stared up at him, hardly able to breathe.
He backed away, dropping his hands. "Thanks for everything, Tess. Have a good evening." His tone matched the sudden distance in his eyes.
I swallowed hard. "You too." I was losing my mind. He'd wanted to thank me and hadn't been able to find the words, nothing more. It might have looked like he was about to kiss me, but of course that wasn't the case. He was my client, after all.
When I was halfway to the front door, he called my name. I looked back, and he said, his voice teasing, "No work tonight, right? You promised."
I smiled. "I remember."
I broke that promise, though. I sat at my table and told myself, "It's all for you," over and over again, refusing to let the real world interfere, and worked.
I worked for three solid hours, until my eyes were too tired to focus on t
he next tiny starfish I was making and painting silver. A woman still stood in a vortex, as she'd done when I'd first started the piece back before I met Forrest, but now starfish flooded in on her from all directions and I'd painted the vortex in shades of blue over the original black and white.
I'd changed the woman too. Her little clay figure now stood with arms raised, calling the starfish down to her. I planned to put one large starfish at the top, calling the small ones back but not having an effect as they instead plunged into the vortex and to what I saw as their doom. Tiny starfish lemmings. I didn't know what it meant, if anything, but I liked the look of it.
But would Jayne?
Chapter Eleven
Seven o'clock the next morning came far too soon, and I hit the snooze button again and again until I had five minutes to shower, dress, and make the ten minute drive to the arena. I texted Forrest to let him know I'd miss his pre-practice massage, then cried in the shower, sad I'd let him down. When I shut off the water, though, I made myself stop my own waterworks too.
After our previous night's friendliness, Forrest ignoring my arrival at the arena hurt, and it annoyed me too. I'd never been late before: didn't I deserve one freebie? Angry tears scalded my eyes, but I clenched my fists and they passed.
I watched the practice, trying not to let myself resent the time away from my art, and saw that while Corey still kept his distance, the other players were nearly as relaxed with Forrest as with each other. Knowing how much Forrest wanted to bond with his team, the tears stinging my eyes now were of joy.
If he was happy, he hid it well when he met me after practice. Pulling off his pants without preamble, he said, "Let me guess, you stayed up all night working?"
I'd intended to apologize for my lateness, but his tone infuriated me. "Not all night."
"You promised you wouldn't work."
"Look, I got home and felt like it, so I went for it."
He climbed onto the massage table. "Oh, so you get to say when I have to rest but I can't do it back?"
Rage spun through me, whisking away any rational thought. "It's not the same, and it's not up to you."
"It is when I tried to relax you and you wrecked it as soon as you got home."
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 37
