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Vivian smacked herself in the forehead. “I swear if my head wasn’t screwed on, I’d lose it.”
Everyone laughed, and I passed her bag to her. I glanced behind me in hopes of seeing the girl, but she was nowhere to be found. She’d picked her purses wisely. If I wouldn’t have caught her, I’d guess she’d have had plenty of money to last for a while. I didn’t know how much cash Vivian carried around, but she and her husband were well off. The girl probably could have sold the empty purse and made a good bit.
“Where’d this come from?” Baker asked, pointing at the toy key ring in Ella’s hand.
“A Good Samaritan gave it to her. Turns out, it stopped the crying.” I smiled, wishing I’d told the girl I’d met that I understood sometimes we had to do things that were necessary to survive.
Maybe I should have given her some money, but the address to Paths of Purpose was far more valuable than what little cash I had. On one hand, I hoped the girl used it. On the other, maybe her situation would sort itself out, and she’d never need the shelter. But I rememberedthatfear. The daily agony of feeling so alone in the world, so . . . vulnerable.It wasn’t that long ago when I didn’t believe hope existed. That fear was the only emotion available. That the only thing I wished was for it all to be over.
Chapter Eight
Andrew
My biggest clientwas closing on sixty-four properties this week.
I didn’t stutter.
For a time, I’d briefly considered putting a bed in my office instead of a sofa. Reason won out, so I’d opted for a couch that was as comfortable as a mattress. Well, maybe not quite, but it would do in a pinch.
I sat up and swung my legs to the floor, attempting to wake up. When my eyelids wouldn’t stay open any longer at my desk, I’d moved to the sofa to stretch out for a few minutes. In my haste to power nap, I hadn’t even taken off my tie.
I glanced down at the rumpled crimson fabric. The tiny elephants printed on it appeared to be unharmed. “Wonder if Bright Side would like this one?”
Sunlight poured into my office, but it was the fading afternoon kind. I checked my watch and rechecked it, stunned that I’d slept for nearly two hours . . . in the middle of the day. My stomach rumbled, and that was all the encouragement I needed.
I slipped on my shoes and slung my jacket over my shoulder before I strode out of my office.
“See you tomorrow, Diane,” I said as I hustled toward the stairs.
“You’re leaving early?” she asked, surprised that I’d abandon ship with such a heavy workload.
“I’ll be back. Just not before you take off.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Dixon.”
I joggeddown four flights of stairs, wrestling my arms into my suit jacket along the way. It was Thursday. I hadn’t been by Trish’s food truck in nearly a week. A guilt I had no reason to feel churned as I trekked the few blocks over.
Nerves prickled the back of my neck when the line in front of her truck came into view. For five o’clock, she was busy. I was proud of that.
My steps quickened the closer I got. Would she be glad to see me or pissed off that I hadn’t been around when I’d promised I would be? I wasn’t a man who made idle commitments, yet I hadn’t kept my word to Trish. I should have. Something told me that was important to her.
As the line inched forward, I watched her work. She was on her own today as far as I could tell. A strand of her dark blonde hair fell across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear. When she moved, it came loose again. Trish blew at it in frustration, though she kept a smile on her face.
Deep lines creased around her eyes. Her skin was pale. A glob of something that once resembled chocolate frosting stained her aquamarine T-shirt.
Exhausted, the woman looked as though she’d needed a few days off for months yet wouldn’t be getting them anytime soon. But her attitude toward her customers was full of energy and light. She didn’t let on she was tired. There wasn’t any way for me to quantify it, but I could tell that shecared. Trish was here to do business, but more than that, she was here for the people.
“I’m not here to write her a citation,” a voice said from behind me.
I whirled around to find Officer Timothy Wilson standing tall with a roguish smirk on his lips.
“You can’t now. If you piss her off, you won’t be able to eat here anymore.” I thrust my hand out to shake his. “Trish told me you apologizedandsent an army of your colleagues over.”
He took my hand and gave it a firm shake. The air between us cleared. “I see you can’t stay away either.”
Officer Wilson let his gaze wander over Trish, and I suddenly wasn’t feeling so friendly. Territorial was a better word. My fist balled at my side, and I struggled to keep my temper in check.Huh?Never in my history had this happened to me.
Wilson put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re up.” He nudged me toward the window.
