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“Thank you.” I reach for the bag, grab my coffees, and head for my car.
If I really want to see Dex, I might want to make sure he’s actually at CB. He doesn’t seem to keep any sort of set schedule. Lucky guy.
Me: Are you at CB?
I stare at my phone, but he doesn’t answer right away. While I’m waiting, I pop open one of the smaller boxes and grab a chocolate-hazelnut cookie. Biting into it, I let out a moan of happiness. I also spill crumbs all down the front of my dress.
My phone buzzes.
Dex: Yes.
Me: Can I stop by?
This time he answers immediately.
Dex: Of course.
Stuffing another cookie in my mouth, I start my car and pull out of the parking lot. Serena was right, Crystal Ball is close. I’ve barely finished chewing my cookie by the time I’m turning into the lot.
Relief washes over me as I spot Dex’s bike. I park next to it, right by the back door. A few seconds later, it swings open.
Dex’s face warms as soon as his gaze lands on me. I take a swig of coffee to wash the cookie out of my mouth and step out of my car.
“Hey, baby. What’re you doing here?” He slides his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. “Everything okay?”
The cookies were only a Band-Aid on my bruised ego.
I burst into tears.
“Emily, what’s wrong?” Dex grabs my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, leaning down to look in my eyes. “What happened?” His deep voice takes on a who-do-I-need-to-kill tone.
“I got fired,” I blubber through my tears. Hic! Great, now I have the hiccups too.
“What?” He hugs me again, slowly rocking us side to side. “Why?”
I burrow my face against his chest and curl my fingers in his T-shirt. Hic! Hiccups, sobbing, sniffling—I’m a damn symphony of pathetic-ness.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes. “Come here. Let’s go inside.”
I sniffle again and wipe my eyes, fighting hard to regain control of my emotions.
“I brought donuts and stuff.” I point to the bag on my passenger seat. “And one of those coffees is for you.”
He frowns at my car. “You got fired, and you brought me donuts?”
I lift my shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I needed some sugar therapy?”
He gathers all the stuff and shoots me a questioning look. “This is an awful lot.”
“I thought maybe you guys have a break room or something and I’d leave them for the girls. Or do dancers not eat donuts?” Why didn’t that occur to me?
“That was sweet. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” He hands me one of the coffees, shifts everything else into one hand, and then leads me inside.
Once we’re safely in his office, he situates my stuff on his desk, grabs our coffees, and a couple donuts, and pulls me onto the couch with him.
“Okay.” He sets everything on a short filing cabinet next to the couch and turns to face me. “Tell me what happened.”
Once again, I pour out the whole story. At least I do it with minimal crying and snotting all over myself this time.
“I know it wasn’t the most exciting, adventurous job,” I add. “But it was stable, and I needed the damn health insurance.”
Dex listens intently to every hysterical, pathetic word. When I’m finished, he sets his coffee on the side table and leans toward me. “Emily, do you remember the day we ran into each other at the cemetery?”
The corners of my mouth lift. “How could I forget?”
“You told me how you wanted to wander with purpose but hadn’t had a chance to do it, yet. That’s why I bought this for you as soon as I saw it.” He curls one finger around my compass pendant and lifts it from my skin. “Your longing for adventure isn’t a passing phase.” He drops the pendant and presses his palm over my heart. “It’s an integral part of who you are. And you’ve had to set it aside for a long time.”
“But I didn’t have a choice,” I protest.
“I know. But you do now.” He nods. “Today, losing your job stings. It might seem like the end of the world.” He pauses and touches his finger to my chin, forcing me to meet his concerned but loving eyes. “Maybe losing this job will end up being the best thing that ever happened to you.”
My heart, my gut, all my instincts leap to agree with him. But my brain can’t stop saying I’m irresponsible and only hearing what aligns with my selfish desires.
“But it’s not only about me,” I say. “If it was, I wouldn’t be so worried. I needed the insurance. I can’t qualify for the state plan.” My forehead scrunches as I reconsider. I can probably get Libby covered. It’s been a while since I had to look into it.
