“I do. But since I found out you almost went to Julliard as a piano major, I mostly want to hear you play.”
“Oh.”
“What if I come tomorrow night?” she suggested. “Just for a bit? Could you play Chopin? And Bach?”
Now what? Better make an excuse.
“I’ll probably be too weak to do much of anything.”
Finn reached to his right toes, ripped off the annoying sock and tossed it across the room. The other sock followed suit. He refused to think of how many germs were crawling
onto his bare feet.
“What was I thinking?” she exclaimed. “Of course you won’t feel like playing the night you come home from the hospital. You’re still sick.”
“Yes, I’m pretty sick.” It was only a small white lie. In fact, he was much improved, though still on heavy antibiotics.
“I know… I’ll cook something for you!”
A small white lie that blew up in my face. “You don’t need to do that.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, even though the room was cold.
“No, I want to. Honestly, I’m so relieved you’re not mad at me. When you didn’t call for two days, I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Me? Avoiding you?” He forced a laugh.
The phone got quiet. “You are avoiding me, aren’t you?”
“I promise, I’m not avoiding you,” he answered, truthfully.
I tried, but the universe is conspiring against me…
Chapter 12
If Laurie’s bed had lungs, it would’ve smothered to death. Every article of clothing she owned had been thrown onto the reject pile, the new function of her queen-sized mattress.
“It doesn’t matter what I wear,” she mumbled for the umpteenth time as she stared into her closet, empty but for a rack of shoes and dozens of desolate hangers. She and Finn were only friends. Or they were friends, before she invaded his privacy. Now he was pushing her away—perfectly polite, but buttoned up from bottom to top—exactly the way he acted around his mother and sister.
How should she dress for a casual, attempting-to-be-friends evening? If she dressed up, would he think she was trying to impress him? If she wore something frumpy, he might think she was a slob. She didn’t dare wear something tight because he would think she was trying to be sexy. But a loose blouse would make her look like she weighed 300 pounds.
All this worry about her appearance, and he probably wouldn’t even notice her clothes. A true friend wouldn’t care.
On the other hand, if he was the least bit interested in being more than friends, she wouldn’t be offended. Once or twice, she’d thought he was attracted to her, but it must’ve been wishful thinking.
I’m not going to act like a silly school girl with a crush on the captain of the football team. Let’s be sensible. He doesn’t think of me as anything but an employee and possibly a good buddy. He could care less what I wear, as long as I cook a nutritious meal for him. So I’m going to close my eyes, reach onto the bed, and grab the first thing my hand touches. And that’s what I’m going to wear… no matter what.
Stretching as far as she could reach, her fingers closed on a piece of silky fabric, and she opened her eyes to examine her choice. The lime green shirt with orange horizontal stripes hung in her grasp, mocking her. Why did I ever buy this? With a stiff gait, she moved to the corner of the room where a small trashcan was tucked beside a desk. The offending shirt found a new home, and Laurie pulled on a pair of jeans and dug to the bottom of the bed pile to find her favorite black blouse.
When the taxi dropped her off at Finn’s building, with an armful of groceries, she regretted her clothing decision. She felt way under-dressed in the posh lobby, where the concierge greeted her, wearing an expensive-looking suit. He directed her to the elevator and put in a key code that allowed it to go to the penthouse.
The concierge must’ve called upstairs because Finn was standing in his doorway when the elevator opened. She was relieved to find him in jeans and a t-shirt with the image of a computer and the words, I hear voices in my head, but they speak Java. Studying him closely, she noted his face was thinner, but a healthy glow had returned to his skin. He might’ve lost a pound or two, yet she could still see his muscles flexing beneath the thin material covering his chest. A wide black band covered the PICC line on his arm. It wasn’t until she felt her stomach relax that she realized how worried she’d been. The image of him lying in bed, unresponsive, was forever etched in her mind.
“You look nice.” His compliment was hard to believe, since his face turned a deep shade of crimson. Either he was lying or embarrassed from the effort of being polite.
“Thanks. I just threw something on.”
“Come on in.” He swept his hand ahead of him. “What are we having for dinner?”
“Chicken enchiladas. I make them pretty spicy…”