“If—if you’re asking if I’d like to see if this could lead to more, then the answer’s sure I would.”
He’d replied to that skillfully. He’d kept his admission relaxed and, in doing so, made this discussion easier for them both. He often did that—made things easier for her.
“But it sounds like you’re not into the idea of dating me,” he continued. “Which is cool.”
“I’m content with our friendship. In fact, I feel fortunate to have you as a friend.”
“Same here.”
“I’d hate for you to waste your time . . . waiting for me.”
“I won’t.” He gathered food onto his fork. “Should you ever come to your senses and want to go out with me, though, let me know.”
“Okay.”
“But I won’t hold my breath.”
“Best not to.”
“Because there are a lot of fish in the sea.”
“So many!”
“And a math genius for a girlfriend might come with a whole set of issues.”
“Now you’re thinking. When they handed me the menu earlier, I had a hard time concentrating on the food because I was busy rounding the dollar amounts of the items and adding them in my head.”
“Right. That would be super annoying to deal with.”
“I’m doing you a favor by taking my name off the list of contenders.”
He shot her a smile tinged with sadness.
I really am doing you a favor, she wanted to insist. He deserved someone who would love him wildly. Her intuition was telling her that God had someone picked out specifically for Ben.
However, that person was not her.
The next day, Sebastian sat alone in the staff break room at the hospital, his lunch on the table in front of him. He picked up his phone after it began to ring. Ben. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
Something was wrong. He could tell by the sound of his friend’s voice. “What’s the matter?” he asked, a tendril of fear sprouting in his stomach. Were the Colemans all okay?
“I talked with Leah about my feelings for her last night.”
Sebastian put on the armor of control he wore whenever things went wrong in the operating room and the air started to smell like panic. “And?”
“She told me that she likes me as a friend and nothing more.”
The air squeezed from his chest.
Leah wasn’t falling in love with Ben. And yet . . . what came as a tremendous relief to Sebastian was devastating his friend. “I’m sorry.”
“She just suddenly brought up the subject. Out of the blue. Which makes me think that you must have told her that I like her.”
Crap.
“Did you tell her that?” Ben prodded.
“Yes.”
“And did you also tell her to go out to dinner with me?”
“Yes. I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t need your help,” Ben said tightly, clearly struggling with his temper. “I didn’t want your interference.”
“She had no idea that you liked her, Ben. She was never going to figure it out unless someone told her.”
“I disagree. She would have figured it out for herself. I wanted it to happen naturally.”
“You’ve known her for two years. When? When was she going to figure it out for herself?”
“I don’t know, but I was content waiting.”
“I wasn’t content watching you wait.”
“My relationship with Leah isn’t about you or your preferences,” Ben snapped.
Sebastian bit his lip to force himself to shut up. Tension filled the silence. He’d thought recently about how quickly Ben usually got over his anger. It didn’t look like that was going to happen this time. “You’re right. I apologize.”
More jagged quiet.
“You told Leah,” Ben said, “that one of your frustrations with me is that I don’t confront you when you do things that bother me. So let me tell you something outright.”
Sebastian braced himself. “Go ahead.”
“I’ve shared a lot with you over the years. My room. Vacations. Family gatherings.”
“Yes.”
“I know you like Leah, but I draw the line at sharing her with you.”
He didn’t answer.
“Sebastian?” Ben demanded.
“Okay.”
The line went dead. Sebastian cursed.
Ben had shared a lot more with him than the things he’d mentioned. During Sebastian’s two years of high school, Ben had shared some of his paycheck with Sebastian, so that Sebastian could join him at the movies, so that Sebastian didn’t have to wear an uncool brand of socks, so that Sebastian could split the pizzas Ben ordered. Ben had shared his parents’ attention with Sebastian. He’d shared his time and sweat moving Sebastian from one dorm room to another. These days, Ben even shared his nieces and nephews with Sebastian.
It had taken nineteen years, but he’d finally found the limit to what Ben was willing to share.
You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Those inspirational words by A. A. Milne scrolled across a decorative sign displayed on the bookcase in Leah’s classroom.
Alas, though. The start of a new school year in August always tempted her to deduce that she was less brave than she believed, weaker than she seemed, and dumber than she thought.
By week two, things had started to settle. By week three, the kids gave her reason to hope. And now, on week four, they’d found their rhythm.
When Dylan was at football practice or out with his friends, she kept an eye on him via the phone app that tracked his position. When he was at home in his room, she spot-checked to make sure he wasn’t dead. During their nightly dinners, she forced him to have a conversation with her and to eat healthy meals that contained vegetables.
Blessedly, the dynamic between herself and Ben hadn’t been as uncomfortable as she’d feared after she’d divulged her position on dating him. His laidback, cheerful manner remained intact.
She continued to threaten to set him up because, earnestly, she wanted to set him up. If she found someone for him, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about her failure to be to him what he’d hoped she might be. So far, he’d evaded her attempts at matchmaking.
Her search for a current address for Jonathan and Trina Brookside had proved equally unsuccessful. They were annoyingly savvy about protecting their privacy online. She couldn’t shake the notion, though, that the Brooksides’ current address must be ripe for the finding somewhere. She simply needed to peek under the correct rock.
She’d revisited the two online articles attributed to Jonathan Brookside at Gridwork Communications Corporation. It very well might be, of course, that another man with the same name had written those articles. But the location of Gridwork, just miles from the hospital where she’d been born, made plausible the possibility that the man who’d penned the articles was, indeed, her biological father.
During quiet moments, she mulled over how best to confirm whether the Jonathan of Gridwork was her Jonathan. And, if so, how to obtain his address from the company without arousing his suspicion. She’d yet to settle on the optimal strategy.