Under the Table(41)
All Zoey knew was that she was going to be left alone, which she thought was a blessing. She needed time to figure out her own next move, starting with pushing her life’s reset button, even if that meant ghosting Tristan Malloy. She couldn’t bring herself to delete his phone number, but she would forget it existed. One day turned into two, then to three. Zoey’s spirits started to sag on day four and she waged an internal battle with the urge to text Tristan a quick hello. What if he had overdosed on late-night television or was shaking in a cold sweat after binge-watching The Walking Dead? But she couldn’t run that risk. If that hello led to an invitation, she would be tempted to accept. She had to stop the cycle for his sake as well as hers. She spent days four and five questioning why she would take love life advice from her freewheeling heartbreaker of a sister to begin with. Ruth, who had resurfaced while Blake went out of town for business, resumed making herself scarce after Zoey nearly bit her head off after a casual question or two.
By day six of the cold turkey, she conceded all hope was lost. He had never gone that long without making some sort of contact. Adding insult to injury, she hadn’t received a single call for a job booking. She spent the whole day systematically eating everything she could get her hands on, emptying both the fridge and the pantry.
On day seven, she was downright pissed off. A stupid kiss on the cheek and a hug scared him off? She hadn’t groped or propositioned him. She hadn’t thrown herself at him. Why would she want to be with someone so timid and skittish anyway? The anger lingered through the weekend despite numerous invitations from her sister to get out of the apartment. She spent that Sunday snarling on the couch, with Ruth shooting her sideways glances of genuine concern. She ordered takeout all day, at one point tipping the delivery person a handful of dimes, nickels, and pennies because she’d run out of money. Not completely out of money, but she would need her quarters if she was ever going to wash clothes again.
Zoey started that Monday with an attitude adjustment. A new week called for a new perspective. A pity party was fine but turning it into a vacation was not. Tristan Malloy hadn’t asked for her help; she had offered it. Having an extended temper tantrum because things didn’t work out as planned was not only childish, but also plain old stupid. She was the one who deviated from her original strategy of taking this year to work on herself. It was time to get back to it. She promised herself, starting today, she was going to dig in. Her sole focus was to start drumming up some business. She would place new ads, call on previous clients to say hi and tell them all the new things she was working on. She would test new recipes. Zoey checked her bank account on her phone and sighed. She refused to dip into the nest egg she had put away. She had drawn up a budget, and she was sticking to it. How many ways could she dress up Kraft mac and cheese?
Then a text came through. A text from Tristan Malloy.
MORNING! CAN YOU WORK FOR ME WEDNESDAY NIGHT?
She shook her head in disbelief. What the hell? She had just released him into the universe an hour ago. Now he was back. And worse, he reentered with the only offer she couldn’t refuse. With hands that needed steadying she texted back.
SURE
GREAT! I’LL HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED HERE. ARRIVE AT FIVE. THINK FRENCH.
There was no further conversation. No playful banter. No sharing any new tidbits of discovery on his part. Tristan didn’t even let her suggest the menu. Her heart wouldn’t stop fluttering, even as she reminded herself that it really was time to let him go. They could still be friends, a conclusion that left her feeling successful and at the same time forlorn. But, if nothing else, she was able to redirect her focus back on what she had set out to accomplish. The clock was nearly out of time before she was getting back her name and going out all on her own. Nothing and nobody was going to get in her way.
Chapter 17
When he opened the door to let her in, he still looked so good. This time, however, Tristan’s nervousness echoed the night she met him. All the gaming equipment was gone from the living room. He made no mention of the way she had stormed out the last time they were together, which was depressing in its own right. Once she followed him into the kitchen, she found out why.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Tristan said. “A big one.”
“Okay,” Zoey said warily as she scanned the very simple menu and the recipe for the main course he had placed on the center island. There was something foreboding; this was a dinner for two.
“I only have one guest coming tonight.” Tristan rushed through the words as he watched her read through the directions. “A woman. A date. I have a date.”
“Oh.” Zoey managed to get the one word past the tightening in her chest. Suddenly, trying to tell the joke about not poisoning anyone didn’t seem so funny. She managed to plaster on a smile. “That’s great. You really came out of your shell. I could’ve delivered a pep talk over the phone.”
“That’s not the favor though. I want you to stay in here.” He began to trip over his words. “I don’t want her to know you’re here.”
Anger began to mix in with the heartbreak. “Tristan, you know how to cook. You don’t need me.”
“But I do. I really do.”
“Then let me get to work and I’ll leave as soon as I’m done.”