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On Friday morning, I walked to the coffee shop Hale had mentioned before I could talk myself out of it. Just as I was arriving, my phone buzzed in the side of my bag and I stopped against a building to check it. I anticipated it being Hale, telling me he had better things to do after all. In some way, as I pulled out my phone, I realized I’d been expecting him to let me down.
I steeled myself for the disappointment, but it was unnecessary. The text was from Pamela.
Pamela: You’re not here. Where are you? I need you.
Me: What’s wrong? I’m taking a day off.
Pamela: Oh no, are you sick? I’m sorry to bother you!
Me: What’s wrong?
Pamela: Nothing really. I’m freaking out. I took Kenner to preschool this morning and it was SO hard. He wrapped himself around my leg and cried. And then I came to work and cried.
My heart twisted, thinking of Pamela having to leave her son crying in an unfamiliar place. I thought being a parent had to be one of the hardest things in the world.
Me: He started on a Friday?
Pamela: He goes for a half-day today and then starts full time next week. It’s supposed to make it easier on both of us.
Me: Aha. I’m so sorry, P. Can you call to check and see if he’s doing better now?
Pamela: See? This is why I need you. That’s a good idea! Calling now. Thank you.
Me: Anytime.
If only my own problems were so easy to solve. I entered the coffee shop, squinting into the dim interior and settling at a table in front of the window. Hale wasn’t here. Still a chance he’d let me down. I waited.
A few minutes later, he strode in, the sun shining through his messy blond hair and highlighting the broad muscular form of his body. He spotted me and came to sit down. He was wearing dark indigo jeans and a soft long-sleeved green T-shirt, and my visceral reaction to him surprised me again, sending blood rushing to my cheeks and making me sit up taller in my chair. He’d trimmed the beard to a two-day scruff that skimmed the planes of his jaw, and his wavy blond locks had been pushed back from his face. The result was worlds away from the broody, careless image he’d conveyed in the coffeehouse. He looked put-together, composed, and completely confident. Even the way he was standing was different. His body language made me feel immediately as if he was in charge, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was intimidating and I found myself feeling nervous, fighting to control my composure. He was also handsome. No, not handsome. He was hot. As. Fuck.
This version of Hale was commanding, imperial. I wouldn’t have thought a shave and a shower could have such an impact. And I hadn’t expected to be thrown off so much by him. I took a deep breath and found my voice. “Thank you so much for this.”
“I’m glad you called,” he said. He pulled his chair closer to mine so we were both facing the window.
A waitress approached and we each ordered coffee. I drank my regular coffee with lots of cream, which Hale watched me stir in, his eyebrow raised. The air between us felt strangely formal away from the coffeehouse. We were together in a new and different venue, and the situation felt especially strange to me, since this was my neighborhood and my local café. Hale was in my world suddenly, and it was actually kind of nice. No one else ever came to see me here, spent time in my neighborhood. Delia had been here, but because of the girls it was usually easier for me to go to her.
“Should we get to work?” I asked, trying to push whatever this odd sensation was firmly back into something I could understand, while ignoring the sense that I was sharing more than my idea for StrokeStat—that I was sharing something fundamental about me just by being here.
Hale had been watching me, his big body relaxed against the back of his chair, the dark eyes thoughtful. “Sure,” he said, almost sounding disappointed, as if he’d been expecting me to say something else. “Have you put together the slides for your presentation?”
“That’s what I’ve been working on,” I said, pulling up the slides. I hadn’t gotten far. “I got stuck. That’s why I called. I’m not sure how to talk about the tech side of the new application.”
“Have you named it yet?”
I looked up from the slides, my eyes meeting his again. “What?”
“This isn’t StrokeStat anymore. Plus, that name carries a connotation of old technology. This is a completely new application. Give it a new name. Fastball or Speedstat or something.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up as I thought about this idea, and a smile crossed my lips as I considered it. “I like that idea. But it doesn’t feel right.”
“Why not?”
“What would the executives think?” I asked, dropping my hands into my lap. “I’m operating totally under the radar here. I don’t know how much you know about the way things work up there, but I’m not sure the bigwigs would appreciate me taking liberties with their technology and rebranding it for them.”
That strange sadness flickered through his eyes again, but the gorgeous full lips smiled just before he said, “I think they’d be grateful.” There was a tone in his voice that made me think he knew something I didn’t, and I wondered again what Hale’s involvement at my company had been before he left. “Plus,” he said, “if you sell it, they’ll be too busy celebrating the ridiculous amounts of money this will bring in to care.”
A spike of excitement sent my skin tingling as I considered that. “And if I fail…?”
“They’ll never know, anyway.”
