Addicted to You - Suzanne Jenkins Page 0,7
when we stop.”
They didn’t talk for the next few miles. She pulled into the parking lot of the Home Depot and gave him her phone number. He keyed it in, sending her a text.
Thank you for today. You made me feel human again.
“Why is that?” she asked, reading the text.
“I don’t know. I guess because you know the truth and you’re not judging me. I haven’t talked to anyone who didn’t have a bunch of advice for me. It’s really a tough way to have a conversation when someone keeps saying you should do something different.”
“You mean like me asking if you got unemployment?” she asked, chuckling softly.
“No, not at all. You’d have to preface it with ‘why don’t you apply for.’ See what I mean? You didn’t make any suggestions, and I really appreciate it. It’s exhausting.”
“Well, I’m about to ask you something,” she said, grimacing.
“Go ahead. You’re allowed one suggestion.”
They smiled at each other.
“Why don’t you ask your family for help?”
“I have, but the family is mortified. They’ve helped me in other ways, and when I’m really strapped for money, they’ll come through.”
“Okay, gotcha,” she replied.
“I’d better let you get back to work,” he said, opening the door. “Thanks again.”
“Call me later,” she said, suddenly wanting to see him again. “We should have dinner together. I’ll cook tonight if you’d like.”
“That would be great. I’ll text you after I’m done here.”
They said goodbye and she drove off. It wasn’t until she was at a stoplight that Jake made an appearance again. Attagirl, he said. She looked in the rearview mirror and had a smile on her face. She had a dinner date with a handsome unemployed doctor who was a homeless former drug addict.
As she drove to the paper, she had to pass by a surf shop on the Pacific Highway, a place Jake had frequented. The surfboards lined up on the sidewalk, leaning against the building, seemed to fill her future with promise. See all these boards? They are all going to catch waves this summer. Just like you.
After his death and she moved into the townhouse that she and Jake had bought together, she wondered if she’d ever sit on the beach again. They’d never lived in it because she still lived with Karen and Steven, and they would have had a fit if she’d lived in sin. And Jake had lived with his surfing buddy Jose in a flat in Pacific Beach. He loved living down there.
The townhouse had no associations with Jake. He was okay with the location, although it wasn’t his favorite beach by a long shot, that pier worrisome. But it was the only oceanfront they could afford, and he wanted to be on the water. In the end, he had been correct to be afraid of the pier.
Ryan sent her a text at three.
Employed! Start tomorrow at nine.
She thought about what it would be like for a doctor to work at Home Depot. It wouldn’t be too bad if he could work in the garden center or the lumberyard in the summer. Being outside all day would be wonderful. The little office she shared with a secretary at the paper was claustrophobic, dark and dreary. Being out interviewing people was preferable. When she was writing, she could do it from home, on the balcony overlooking the sea.
The rest of her afternoon was spent fantasizing about having Ryan Albright as a dinner guest while she prepared for the evening. She left the office early and stopped by the grocery store on the way home to do her weekly shopping. He obviously ate fish, so he wasn’t a vegetarian.
Do you have any dietary restrictions? she asked in a text.
I will eat anything.
The store had great-looking steaks, which she’d cook on the little grill on the balcony. Almost whistling as she strolled along the aisles, looking for anything interesting to prepare, she tried to remember what he’d had in his poki bowl, and it was almost the same stuff she’d had, so she got spring mix, cucumbers and avocado for a salad.
Once home, she quickly showered and straightened up, remembering the interior of Ryan’s neat shed; he’d even made his bed.
She was preparing the salad when she remembered he didn’t have her address. Sending it to him in a text, she added, Come whenever you’re ready. All I have to do is grill the steaks.
The Pacific Avenue townhouse was a few miles from Andover, but the Breeze Bus could almost take him door to