Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  I wanted to believe him, but I was afraid. How long could that really take? Was he changing his mind? When he'd come back into my apartment on Saturday he'd taken one look at me and everything had been different. I couldn't believe he'd just realized my size, but it almost looked like that, like he'd been shocked to see me. And if it hadn't been that, then what?

  Joel? I'd been afraid that Andrew would find himself unable to deal with what I'd done. Had that happened? Was he working on how to tell me he couldn't be with me after all? Or had he decided that my obsession with planning was too annoying for him? Maybe my embarrassing mistake at work had made him less sure I was worthy of him.

  Whenever I thought of our kiss and the time we'd spent together, I doubted my own doubts. He hadn't been pretending, I knew that with every cell in my body. But something had changed. It could have been anything, and I thought of every possibility and agonized over them.

  I was at least somewhat productive during my obsessions: I restricted myself to only worrying about Andrew while I was on the treadmill or elliptical machine. Seeing the dress I'd be wearing to Sandra's wedding made it clear I needed to step up my workouts and tighten my diet, and I'd done just that. I'd also been eating only WeightAway foods at home, and when Andrew and I went out I ordered only salads.

  At Thursday's lunch, he tried to get me to eat pizza with him but I told him about my bridesmaid dress and explained that I couldn't afford the extra calories. It was the closest we'd ever come to a fight, as he insisted I didn't need to stress about the dress and I was equally adamant that I did. Fortunately, he backed down, saying, "I'm not trying to sabotage you, so let's both get salads and enjoy them," before it went too far.

  A few times that lunch he worked the conversation around to weight loss and seemed about to mention Joel, so finally I said, as casually as I could, "At least I don't have to get weighed until January. I have tons of meals left over, so I won't go back to WeightAway until then. And then I'll get a new counselor." I tried to laugh. "A new counselor for the new year."

  Andrew looked so relieved; he clearly didn't want me seeing Joel any more than I wanted to. But then why was he unable to spare any time for me?

  Friday morning at work, Christmas Eve, was a dieter's nightmare, with cakes and cookies and candies filling the office. Andrew's flight left at four so I'd encouraged him to take the day off, but Liz had booked a meeting for eleven and he insisted she wanted him there.

  As it turned out, she did, but only because he'd asked her to call the meeting.

  After several hours of refusing every cookie and treat I was offered and trying not to listen to my coworkers enjoying them, I headed with the rest of the staff to the conference room to find Liz sitting at the table and Andrew standing at the front by the projector. One of our coworkers said, "What's up, Andrew?" but he just smiled and said, "You'll see."

  Wondering what he was doing and surprised I didn't already know, I took the chair beside Liz and asked, "How're you feeling?"

  She shook her head. "Conscious, barely. Trust me to get the flu right before Christmas."

  "You so shouldn't have come in today."

  "I'm drugged to the eyeballs. I'll be fine."

  "Great. Can I have a raise, by the way?"

  She laughed. "Not that drugged." Her eyes sharpened and she said with meaning, "How are you doing?"

  She'd been off work all week, so I hadn't seen her since she'd announced Kate's sabotage to me, and it took me a second to realize what she meant. The events with Andrew had completely overshadowed what Kate had done, and I felt a flash of delight at how much that would have annoyed Kate. "I'm fine. Everything's going well."

  "Glad to hear it," she said, then reached out and caught my wrist. "That's a gorgeous bracelet. Where'd you get it?"

  Andrew turned away and busied himself with his laptop and I said, "Birthday present from a friend."

  "Must be a good friend."

  "An amazing one," I said, and a glance showed me Andrew's ears turning red.

  Liz gave the group a minute to settle down, then said, "Andrew's been working on some new designs for the game, and he wants to show them to us. I did warn him that you're all full of cookies and candy and that you might be more attentive after Christmas, but he wants you to think about what he's done over the holiday. Go for it, Andrew."

  He cleared his throat, and I realized he was deeply nervous. He'd spoken in front of the group many times, so why the stress this time? And why hadn't he told me he was doing new designs? I'd have loved to see them.

  "Okay, well, I've been really impressed with how interesting the non-player characters are in the game. Most games use the same old orcs and trolls and things like that, but our characters are different. So I wanted to make a few of my own."

  He dimmed the lights and pulled up the first design on his computer so it appeared on the conference room's screen. "I see this going in Rhiannon's new area," he said, "with her permission of course."

  "Granted," I said at once. The octopus in shining armor he'd created would make a great opponent in my underwater medieval city. "It's awesome."

  He grinned and moved on. He'd obviously been studying the game closely; he'd come up with at least one character for every area and they all fit perfectly. Liz had been right that we'd usually have been too full to think, everyone but me anyhow, but the amazing detail of his designs kept us enthralled.

  After one particularly incredible one, we actually broke into applause. He blushed, and Liz said, "I had no idea you could do stuff like this, Andrew. You've been holding out on me."

  He'd had a few sketches from his old job pinned up above his desk at home, so I had known he could draw and create pictures on the computer. The depth of what he'd done, though, did surprise me. It must have taken forever.

  "I didn't know if I could get what was in my head onto the screen, so I didn't want to tell you until I'd tried it. I've been working on these for ages. I actually designed a whole area too. Can I show that?"

  Liz glanced at her watch. "It's almost eleven-thirty. Do you have time, or should you head out for the airport? It'll be crazy busy today."

  "I want to show it. If it's okay with you."

  She told him to go ahead, and I studied him. Had I been the only one to notice the sudden tension in his voice, the way he'd become so serious? And why was he risking missing his flight?

  "Well, we're a medieval game so I figured there should be a heaven. So I made one."

  The area was empty, but still stunning, and we loudly admired the way he'd made everything glow with a vibrant light. The sky was impossibly blue, the clouds looked fluffy enough to touch, and the shafts of sunlight that lit up the scenes made me feel warmer just looking at them.

  Then he said, "And of course, it needs an angel, right?" His voice shook, but again nobody else seemed to notice.

  He turned to face the computer. "I worked especially hard on her. I just... I want you to know how I see her."

  Had he said that, so like what he'd said to me before kissing me, by mistake?

  The angel appeared.

  After a moment of silence I felt my coworkers turn to look at me, but I couldn't look away from the picture.

  The angel's long red hair, the sunlight behind her turning it to a blazing halo, framed her face then flowed down over her shoulders and back, swirling at her ample hips. She wore a simple white dress, sleek without being tight, that showed off her full breasts and the soft curves of her body to perfection. Not skinny or thin, or even normal-sized, she was a big girl, and glorious beyond belief. Her face was sweet and sad at once, with a smile just beginning to blossom, and almost painfully beautiful.

  Her face?

  My face.

  I'd never seen myself looking close to that beautiful, but it was undeniably my face. The eyes were mine, and the shape of the mouth.

  Someone behind me whispered, "Look at the bracelet." I glanced at my wrist and then back up at the angel. The final sign.

>   This. This was how he saw me.

  My eyes filled with tears and I stared at the screen, letting the reality fill me, warm me like the beams of sunlight in his heaven scenes. Andrew saw me like this. How could that be? But it was.

  Liz cleared her throat. "Andrew, that's stunning. Thank you."

  The group applauded but I couldn't do anything but stare.

  "You're welcome," he said, his voice soft. "I just wanted you to see it."

  Liz cleared her throat again. "I do feel compelled to remind everyone of the rule that we don't use each other as models for the game. But given recent events... well, I have no problem with it this time. It's eleven forty-five, Andrew. You should really get going."

  With an effort, I shifted my eyes from the angel to Andrew's face.

  The corner of his mouth barely flickered into a smile, then he said, "I guess so. Merry Christmas, everyone."

  I mumbled an echo to my coworkers' cheerful "Merry Christmas!" calls, and Andrew packed up his computer and left.

  When he'd gone, nobody moved. I couldn't imagine what my coworkers were thinking, and couldn't bring myself to look around to find out. They couldn't possibly see me like that, and I didn't want to see them rolling their eyes at each other or mocking what Andrew had done.

  The group sat in silence for several seconds before Liz said, "Um, Rhiannon?"

  I turned to her, bracing myself for every possible reaction.

  She grinned, her eyes wet. "If you like him at all, go after him, for crying out loud. That's the best love letter ever."

  My coworkers clapped and cheered and a few brushed away tears as I jumped up and gave Liz, who'd been the only one from work to attend Bill's funeral, a quick hug before running after Andrew.

  I found him in his cubicle, getting ready to leave. He looked up at my arrival and we stared at each other. I had so many things I wanted to say, and no words.

  He cleared his throat. "I hope I didn't embarrass you. I was always going to show the rest of the stuff, but when I came back on Saturday and you were standing by the window... That's why I've been so busy this week, making the angel and the heaven background. I wanted to show them to the group because I thought it might help you forget about what Kate did. Are you mad?"

  My tears rose again. "You have to be kidding. How could I possibly be mad?"

  He moved forward and I met him halfway, pressing my face to his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulled me into his embrace.

  "Is that really how you see me?" I whispered. "Really?"

  He slid his hand over my hair and took hold of my ponytail, gently pulling my head back until he was looking down into my eyes. "Absolutely." The sincerity and emotion on his face made it clear he meant it. Somehow, he meant it.

  A single tear escaped and slid down my cheek.

  He smoothed it away, his fingertips trailing across my skin.

  Heat tore through me at his touch, almost painful in its intensity, and I had the briefest instant of seeing my sudden passion reflected in his eyes before we fell into each other.

  Our first kiss had been all about sweetness and beauty. While this one had those too, the depth of the desire between us shocked and amazed me. We kissed deep and hungry, devouring each other like we were trying to get inside each other's skin, and nothing on the planet mattered to me but him. Him, and the pure clean glory of knowing he felt the same way about me.

  As it went on, the kiss changed, calmed, still passionate but with a rising tenderness that felt like the air after a thunderstorm has passed, fresh and sweet and full of possibilities.

  When it ended, it was too soon. A thousand years would have been too soon.

  I clung to him, afraid I'd fall over without his support, and he held me with one hand wound in my hair and his other arm pressing me tight against him.

  "Come to the airport with me," he said when his breathing had settled a little. "I can't leave you yet."

  His passion-roughened voice sent desire thundering through me again, so powerful I shook with it.

  "Come with me," he urged.

  "To Vancouver? I can't."

  He squeezed me. "My parents would love it, but I guess you can't. But come to the airport. I'm leaving my car there, but I'll send you back in a taxi and we can stay together until the last minute."

  So tempting, but I forced myself to be logical. "I have to go to the staff lunch."

  "Liz won't care."

  He was right, she wouldn't. Especially not after the morning's events.

  "But there's no privacy at the airport, and we'd hardly have any time together. And the taxi would cost a fortune." And I really needed to get in one last workout before going to my parents' place. "I love the idea, but it doesn't make sense."

  He pulled me closer against him, so tight I felt like we were one person. "So practical. I hate to say it, but you're probably right. Take care of yourself, okay? I'm really going to miss you."

  "I'll miss you too," I said, my words muffled against his chest. "Have a great time."

  "You too." He took hold of my shoulders and eased me away from him, and dizziness swept me at the mix of hunger and emotion in his eyes. "I have to go. I don't want to, but I do."

  "I know." A half-laugh-half-sob escaped me. "I thought you were avoiding me this week because you didn't like me any more."

  He drew me in again and kissed my forehead. "Oh, Rhiannon. Trust me, it's not that. The more I worked on that angel, the more I liked you." He paused, then added, "So, when I tell my parents all about you, can I say you're my girlfriend?"

  The nervousness in his voice was unbelievably adorable, and his words warmed me right through. I squeezed him tight, grinning. "Only if I can tell mine you're my boyfriend."

  "I think I'm okay with that." I could hear the grin in his voice and it widened my own. We held on for another few seconds before he said again, the grin gone, "I have to go."

  I made myself step back. "I know."

  He touched my cheek gently, then took my face in both hands and kissed me again, sweet and tender but with the fire still smoldering. Then he hugged me hard and left without a word.

  I open my eyes with an effort and realize my face is flushed and my heart is pounding at the memories. I'd never been kissed quite like that before, and now I might never be again.

  I so wish I'd gone with him. Even if we'd spent only ten more minutes together, they'd have been amazing. It would have been a wild and romantic and crazy thing to do. I'd be able to relive it right now.

  But instead I did the rational thing and let him go without me.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Chapter Nineteen

  A while back, I had a huge flash of realizing that this is really my life. That's still glowing in me, changing how I see everything. I've been so focused on every last detail of my diet and exercise plan, but I haven't ever focused on every last detail of the great things I have around me. And even with the diet, did I notice the right details?

  I open my planning document again and take a look at the diet section. My ultimate goal field says, "Be strong, fit, and shapely." The four tasks I've defined to get me there are all "lose ten pounds".

  That made sense to me when I created the goals. It doesn't any more.

  I already am strong. I can exercise for an hour at a time, and while I'm tired afterwards I've still got the strength and energy to continue with my day. I'm fit, too; when Sandra and I left the restaurant with Lynne and Christine, we were at the top of the long staircase to the parking lot long before the other two, who were panting and begging us to slow down. I'm fitter than I look, that's for sure.

  And maybe I'm wrong about how I look. When I checked my email last night, I found that Andrew had sent me a screen shot of the angel he'd created, along with a note imploring me to have a great Christmas and suggesting we have dinner together the night before Sandra's New Year's party. I saved the picture to my computer, so now I open it up and study it.

&
nbsp; She's gorgeous, she really is. Curves for days. While Andrew's certainly applied a little artistic license, there's nothing I can point to as a place where I don't match the angel's figure. And she's definitely shapely.

  I run my hand down my side, slowly, and for the first time I can remember I don't cringe when my fingers encounter a bulge at my waist, because I'm looking at the angel's picture and she has that bulge too and it doesn't matter a bit. She's still gorgeous. So maybe, just maybe...

  My shoulders slump at the realization that I have wasted countless hours, and am possibly about to lose my life, in pursuit of a goal that I'd already met in every way that mattered. I'd met it, and I didn't even realize.

  I've always been so focused on the final destination, but is there such a thing? If I'd lost forty pounds, would I have been finished? Satisfied with myself? Never needing to set another goal? Of course not. For goal setters, there's always another goal, another target to reach.

  My poor tired brain is struggling to fit the pieces together, to make sense of something that's so foreign to me. If there's always another goal, then there's always another destination to reach. If that's true, and I'm feeling the truth of it ringing through me, then I can't expect to reach "the" destination because there isn't one.

  So, the focus has to be elsewhere, or else the fact that I can't be truly finished with everything will mean that I have to see myself as a failure. That's how I feel all the time, and that's because I've had it wrong, my whole life.

  It's not the destination. It's the journey.

  I wasn't satisfied with my grade two spelling test because I hadn't done the journey the way I wanted to. I was happy with how I made the staff database, because I enjoyed every step of the way. I might even have been working better because I was enjoying it.

  I sit still, letting the understanding fill me. It does, but a little doubt slips in too. Life can't be just about the journey, or else how would you ever get anywhere? I can't get in my car and drive around aimlessly and expect to reach Sandra's house. I need to remember the destination.