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After my doctor’s appointment, I text Logan.
CANDACE: Not that it’s any of your business, but everything is healing up nicely. They think I can get my stitches out on Friday. Oh wait…what am I telling you for? They’ve probably already phoned to tell you the news!LOGAN: I’m glad. Are you back at work already?CANDACE: Tomorrow.LOGAN: You aren’t working at District, are you?I’m not. I’ve called in for the whole week, but I don’t feel like telling him that.
CANDACE: I don’t think that’s your business.He phones me then! My mobile starts ringing and I shove it into my purse.
Then Ryan’s mobile goes off and he, of course, answers it.
“Hello—yes—I’ll tell her—yes—of course.”
Then he hangs up.
“Well?! What’s he said?” I demand.
“He doesn’t think you should be waitressing anymore, but if you insist on it, a member of my team should be there with you the whole time.”
Oh good grief!
I throw up my hands and walk on. “Let’s go, you. Where should we eat lunch? Do you like sandwiches?”
He seems extremely confused, like I’ve just asked him to do the worm down the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t usually eat on the job.”
“Right, well, you will with me. I’m not going to have you watching me chew my crisps like a weirdo.”
“Okay then, there’s a good place around the corner.”
I motion for him to lead the way.Thursday is my first day back at school since last Friday, and the kids must have decorated the room yesterday so I’d see it all when I arrived. There’re big letters that say “Get Well Soon, Ms. Candace!” and loads of streamers. They’ve even tidied it up (I’m sure with the help of the temp), and it’s a really lovely way to start the day.
When they start to arrive, each of them rushes to give me a hug and asks me how I’m feeling. I don’t have the bandage on my head anymore, which is quite a relief as it was getting a bit itchy under there. I’ve still got my hand wrapped up to protect the stitches, but they all think it’s quite cool and I even let them decorate on it so it ends up a colorful mess by the time they’re set to leave for the afternoon.
I start to gather their things and load them up with their lunch sacks. One by one, they leave, until Briggs is the only one left.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Candace. My uncle didn’t forget about me,” he says with a huge smile. “He said he’d be a little late for pick-up today.”
“Oh, did he?”
All day, I’ve told myself I wasn’t excited to see Logan, but it’s no use. I didn’t slip out to the loo and freshen up my makeup during naptime just for the fun of it. I am eagerly anticipating his arrival at my door, so much so that I’m a nervous wreck.
I tidy up the pillows in the reading corner. Then, suddenly, I hate how they’re arranged and decide to completely redo them. That’ll do…for now. Next, I rewash the brushes in the sink that we used during art class. It takes quite a long time using only the one hand.
I’m nearly finished when there’s a knock on the door, and I turn to glance over my shoulder. Logan’s standing on the other side of the half-opened Dutch door with a bouquet of white peonies in his hand. He’s dressed to the nines: black suit, black tie, crisp white shirt underneath his unbuttoned fitted jacket.
He is, in short…divine.
I don’t even have enough sense to walk over to greet him, but fortunately Briggs is there as a distraction.
“You look like a secret agent, Uncle Logan!”
Yes, very 007 of him to show up here like that.
I dry my hand with a towel and head for the door, highly aware of every step I take that carries me toward him. He’s watching me with a little smile, every bit as confident as he’s ever been.
“Who are the flowers for?” I ask, crossing my arms once I’m close enough to him to feel that little tug of energy that seems to exist between us.
“Briggs’ teacher. I’ve got a thing for her.”
Briggs gags like he might throw up. “Girls are so gross!”
Right. I accept the flowers when he holds them out for me and try hard to ignore their beauty, but they’re quite huge and there are enough of them that they’re heavy in my hand.
“Where are you off to?” I ask, nodding toward his clothes.
“A dinner with the team from Gatorade. I wanted to invite you.”
“I can’t go. I’ve got plans.”
With my sofa.
“You didn’t answer my call yesterday.”
“I’m a busy girl.”
He tips his head, looking at me like he can’t get enough. His eyes crinkle and he’s not mad, even though he should be. Why isn’t he mad?
“So do you have plans all weekend?” he asks.
