Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(48)
I sat at the Café Crepe for a late breakfast and coffee, feeling completely unlike myself, feeling as if everyone was watching me and commenting on me being alone. Ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake it. After eating, I debated going to the Burke Williams spa on 4th Street, but I’d never been there without Lilah or Antoinette.
That’s not why I’m not going. I don’t have an appointment.
Sounded plausible. I wished it were true. My time off from work was so rare, that it was an event I made the most of. Now, I felt like the kid at recess who had no one to play with. But the feeling of unease grew from mere pity that I was alone, to something worse. I felt nervous. Exposed. A car backfired and I nearly screamed.
I shouldered past happy couples and groups of laughing friends. I tried to battle back, to not give into the fear, but instead of perusing a bookstore or doing some shopping, I headed home.
I walked up Wilshire Boulevard, intending to cut over to California on 5th, when I came upon the Vanilla Bake Shop. The heavenly smell of warm, sugary cake greeted me from the sidewalk, easing some of my disquiet. I stopped at the window to admire the delicate pastries. The cupcakes were little works of art themselves. I often rewarded my staff with them after a particularly grueling workweek or if someone had a birthday. I’d already satisfied my own sweet tooth at the crepery, but…
Hospital food is notoriously bad.
Before I’d even consciously decided to, I turned into the bakery. The sweet scents hung thicker in the air, enveloped me in their sweetness. I glanced at the cupcake menu for Saturday, unable to decide. Does he like chocolate? Or maybe fruit?
They had a blackberry/passion fruit cupcake that looked gorgeous but I immediately rejected it.
Not passion fruit. No way.
I chose a Banana Chocolate Chip and then took a Vanilla Bean Confetti on the off-chance he didn’t like chocolate.
The woman at the counter placed the cupcakes in a little box, wrapped them with cellophane, and tied the whole package with a ribbon. I walked back to my bungalow, double-time, and hurried inside.
Being stuck in a hospital can’t be fun. If it were me, I’d think it very thoughtful of someone to visit and bring sweets. No big deal.
No big deal. The wry voice in my head, which always sounded like Lilah, spoke up. Then why are you changing into something prettier to wear?
I froze in the act of pulling on a short Prada dress with a blue and green hibiscus floral pattern. Because I don’t need to look like a slob fresh out of yoga class every time I go out.
I finished dressing, brushed out my hair and let it fall around my shoulders instead of tying it up, and added a light touch of makeup. I concealed the tired circles under my eyes, and some color had returned to my pale skin from my vigorous walk. I looked fresh and pretty, and my heart actually fluttered a bit when I thought of walking into Cory’s room.
What are you doing? Lilah wondered. One night away from Drew and…what?
“And nothing,” I answered. “He saved my life. I’m allowed to visit the man who took a bullet for me and look nice doing it.”
And say goodbye. Move on. Let go.
That took the wind out of my sails a bit but I nodded. “That too.”
I grabbed the neat little cupcake package and headed out the door.
#
I heard the chorus of men’s voices laughing before I even reached Cory’s hospital room. A surreptitious peek around the corner showed half a dozen guys standing around his hospital bed, teasing him that he looked like shit and taunting him about his heroics at the bank.
“You’re either one brave bastard, or dumb as dirt,” said one.
The others laughed loudly and I became acutely aware of being a young woman in a flowery dress holding a little box of cupcakes. I started to slink away, to sit in the waiting room until Cory’s own posse had left, but a nurse shouldered past, her voice cutting through the ruckus to demand quiet. All eyes turned to the door and my eyes met Cory’s through the small crowd of his friends.
“Alex.”
He was surprised to see me. And glad. A small smile touched his lips, and my heart did that silly little stutter again.
“Uh, hi.” I squared my shoulders and walked in. The men stepped aside to let me into their midst and I could feel the glances being exchanged all around me. I set the little box on the bedside table. “Thought you might want something beside hospital food. I didn’t realize half of Los Angeles was going to be here or I’d have brought more.”
The six men—all in jeans and work boots, some in plaid shirts, some wearing t-shirts that read Randall Martin Construction—laughed and accepted me immediately. I liked them. But for one. A guy who’d been sitting in the chair beside the bed was hounded for not giving it up to me. As he did, he gave me a lascivious wink as he eyed me up and down without bothering to be subtle.
I sat and introductions were made. The men’s names came and went but Doug Liman was the winking slime ball, and I picked out one man, Victor Ruiz, as Cory’s best friend. There was something about the two of them that reminded me of Lilah and me—an easy familiarity and no-bullshit policy.
After twenty minutes, the nurse returned to ask everyone to leave, as their booming laughter never grew any quieter.
“You can kick these bums out,” Cory said, “but let her stay. She just got here.”
A chorus of ooohs and wolf whistles met this and Cory rolled his eyes, though I noticed he couldn’t quite look at me.