Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
We reach the top, and Baden pauses briefly. He’s not winded and doesn’t appear to be in pain, but I get the sense that climbing that flight might’ve been harder than he’d anticipated.
“That sucked,” he says jovially, shooting me a wink.
“If it helps, you looked marvelous making the climb,” I say.
“It helps,” he replies with a grin and then leads me into the restaurant.
Baden had apparently made reservations as the lady at the podium seats us right away after he gives her his name. If she recognizes him as the Titans’ new goalie coach, she gives no indication.
At the table, Baden pulls out my chair as I unbutton my coat and then surprises me by helping me take it off. He drapes it over my chair and then does the same with his before sitting.
The hostess offers us menus before rattling off the lunch specials. “We have a wood-fired Atlantic salmon fillet with fresh vegetables, beef tenderloin tips with roasted red potatoes, and our vegetarian special is a spinach risotto. Brad will be your server. Enjoy your meal.”
Baden thanks her, glances down at the menu, and then back to me. “So…”
“So…” I smile, feeling like I’ve got a million things to say, unsure where to start.
But then a young man approaches, dressed in black pants and a white shirt. He carries a pitcher of chilled water and a plate of sliced lemons. Clasping my hands in my lap, I wait for him to pour the water and set the plate down.
He no sooner leaves when a woman, also dressed in black pants and a white button-down, appears. “Good afternoon. Welcome. Would you like to hear our specials?”
“We’ve already been told,” Baden replies.
The waitress pulls a pad out of her apron, pen poised. “Are you ready to order?”
“We just sat down,” Baden says politely.
Blushing, the woman apologizes and backs away, promising to give us more time.
Giving me his attention, he opens his mouth to say something but is cut short by a large, middle-aged man who walks up to our table. “Mr. Oulett, can I get a picture and an autograph?”
I’m jolted, completely surprised by this stranger coming up to our table and asking something of Baden. I shrink back slightly, my brain not connecting that this is a fan but only recognizing it as a strange man coming at us. The instinct to bolt is strong, and my legs shake with the effort to stay seated.
Sweat dampens my forehead, and Baden responds to the man but I can’t understand what he’s saying. It sounds as if he’s in a tunnel far away, and the edges of my vision blur. A weight presses down on my chest, and I no longer feel like running because I can’t. I feel weak all over.
“Sophie.” My name, loud and clear. Baden’s voice. A warm hand on my shoulder. “Sophie.”
I blink and I’m staring into Baden’s expressive, dark-golden eyes. He’s squatting beside my chair, one hand on the edge of the table, the other on my shoulder.
Realization that I might have just had a panic attack, and it was ugly enough to pull Baden out of his chair causes me to flush hot with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, a slight squeeze to my shoulder. “I think you got a little overwhelmed. No one saw anything.”
Such a kind way to say I flaked.
“This is my first time in a restaurant, and all the people coming up at once just…”
Baden’s hand drops from the edge of the table and takes one of mine from my lap. It’s such an intimate touch, our palms touching as he offers me a measure of comfort and safety.
He squeezes. “Let’s not focus on the people,” he suggests in a low, melodic voice. “Let’s focus on things.”
Right now, it’s easy to focus on his eyes, locked on me.
“Describe the table,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you see.”
With great difficulty, I force my attention away from him. “A little plate with lemon slices. There’s a seed left in one.”
“Good,” he praises.
“A milk vase with a red rosebud barely starting to open.”
“More,” he urges.
“Condensation running down the water goblets with square ice cubes floating at the top. Linen napkins with the Fairview crest embroidered on them. A small dish filled with ice and scalloped pats of butter on top. Your phone with a Vengeance cover, but you really should get a Titans cover now.”
Baden chuckles. “I’d shut it off if I could, but this being only my second day on the job, I want to make sure I can be reached.”
I laugh and just like that, I feel okay. The pressure on my chest is gone, and I feel light.
Unbothered.
Secure.
“You good?” he asks, still squatting beside me.
“I’m good.” I let out a breath and inhale another right back in. Yes, I feel good.