“Don’t worry about that. I’ll pay for everything,” he says emphatically. “Flights, meals, everything. Consider it an all-expenses-paid vacation.”
“That sounds great,” I say, wincing. “But I’ll be missing a week and a half of work.”
His enthusiasm dims as though he hadn’t considered that. “Okay, I can cover that. I’m guessing you work forty hours a week?”
“I work thirty-eight here,” I admit, grimacing. “They can’t give us forty hours or that will make us full time. And if we’re full time, the owner has to give us vacation and health insurance.”
His mouth drops, then snaps shut. “Wait. You don’t get vacation or insurance?”
“Nope.”
He blinks, baffled, like it never occurred to him that an adult could work without getting benefits. “Yeah, sure. No problem. Tell me how much money you’ll lose, and I’ll cover it.”
“That’s great.” I feel greedy, but I’m doing him a favor. Why should I feel guilty for missing nearly two weeks of work? “But this isn’t my only job.”
This time, he doesn’t bother hiding his shock. “How many jobs do you have?”
“Regularly, just one more. I’m a part-time phlebotomist at a nearby hospital. But sometimes I pet sit when my neighbors are in the hospital.”
He grins like I’m joking. “Your neighbors routinely go to the hospital?”
I release a short laugh. “When the median age in my apartment building is seventy-eight, it happens.”
He stares, dumbfounded. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he finally says, “Why are your neighbors so old?”
“I live in a low-income senior apartment complex,” I say with a shrug. “How I got there is a long story about a paperwork snafu, but bottom line? The rent is cheap, and my neighbors are amazing.”
His grin turns smug. “Then you can tell me the long story on the plane.”
There’s that confidence. He thinks I’m hooked, so I arch a brow. “I haven’t agreed to go.”
“Yet,” Alex sits taller. “Figure out how much money you’ll miss from both jobs and text me the amount.” His phone vibrates against the table. He turns it over, frowns at the screen, then turns it back over and gives me his full attention.
“I want a contract,” I blurt, surprising myself. But Maggie was right—I need to treat it like a business deal. He’s already made it clear there’s nothing romantic about this, so if I’m giving up two weeks of wages, I need something legal to hold him to it. Lord knows I’ve been burned by men who claimed to love me. I’m not about to let someone who doesn’t get away with it.
Alex looks taken back, then he gives me an appreciative nod. “That’s a good idea. Text me your terms, and we’ll get it ironed out.” His phone buzzes again, and this time he looks irritated. “Sorry, Finley. I need to take this.”
He slips a card from his shirt pocket and sets it on the table. “This has my email address and phone number. Once we’ve worked out the details, send me the contract. But I need to have it by tomorrow night so I can tell my mom and book your tickets. This close to Christmas, we’ll be lucky to get seats on the same flights.”
He’s already on his feet, answering the call before I can respond. He strides out, his low voice murmuring into his phone.
I watch him go, battling myself. This isn’t me. I’m practical. Careful. Not impulsive.
Nothing about this is practical.
Promise me you’ll be impulsive. Take risks. Promise me you’ll live, Finley.
My mother’s voice is so clear it steals my breath. I close my eyes and I’m back in her hospital room. She’s lying in her bed. Her hair thin and patchy from chemo. A nasal canula taped to her face. She’s so frail, she’s almost a skeleton. She clutches my hand, trying to squeeze, though her strength is gone. Tears shimmer as her chin trembles. “I named you Finley Joy for a reason.” Her chin trembles again. “You’ve been the joy of my life, Fin. But you can’t always play it safe. Sometimes joy isn’t in the safe places. Sometimes you have to take risks to find it. You have to be impulsive.” She squeezed my hand again. “Promise me you’ll try.”
Through my tears, I nodded. “I promise.”
I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts. The holidays are always worse, but this year is harder. Lonelier. I picture Christmas Day in my apartment with Maybelle, eating my sad Christmas dinner, with no presents waiting under my sad, thirty-year-old, artificial tree.
But the truth is, I’ve broken my promise to Mom. The most impulsive thing I’ve done since she died was deciding to live alone and signing the lease at the senior housing complex, which wasn’t impulsive at all. It was the cheapest, nicest place I could find.
But this…. If I agree to this, not only will I keep my promise to Mom, but I’ll get the Christmas we’d dreamed of. It feels like destiny has dropped this in my lap.
When I looked at it that way, how could I refuse?
