Between These Walls (11 page)

“Growing up without your dad must’ve made your faith that much more important to you.”

“Let’s say God became my best friend. Where my dad couldn’t be present, God showed up and filled the void. It’s not quite the same, since God is invisible. You can’t feel Him wrap His arms around you—that’s the one thing I always wished for as a kid, the feeling of having my dad’s arms wrapped around me to bring me comfort. Even as an adult, it would be nice to have my dad’s arm wrapped around me. But you don’t always get what you want in life, right?” Gabe shook his head. He shaded his eyes with two fingers in an effort to hide embarrassment. “Whose therapy session did you say this is?”

“I don’t mind.” Hunter sensed his heart draw closer to Gabe’s. “When you’re in a struggle, it’s good to know you’re not alone. That’s the worst feeling, when you feel like you’re on your own, with nobody to talk to—
really
talk to, even if you don’t know how.”

Gabe said nothing in response. He offered a simple nod.

Hunter perceived a bond had formed between them and didn’t want the chat to end.

Yet, before he knew it, the appointment had wound down. Gabe had already worked past Hunter’s calves, down to his feet. And a few minutes later, Gabe finished.

Hunter got up from the massage table. They said good-bye and shook hands. Gabe’s palm felt warm against Hunter’s.

Standing still, Hunter studied Gabe as he headed toward the door.

When Gabe looked over his shoulder with a lingering gaze, Hunter thought he saw a trace of disappointment in his eyes.

Perhaps Gabe, too, thought the appointment had ended too soon.

Maybe he felt the way Hunter did about him.

CHAPTER 8

Hunter inhaled the scent of coffee beans fresh from the grinder. The kind that permeates your clothes and leaves you with a memento from a carefree portion of your day.

After meeting with a client in town, Hunter had decided to stop by his favorite deli for lunch. Regardless of what unfolded during his workday, an hour here felt like a miniature vacation. Even amid the bustle of the lunch hour, Hunter found this place conducive to leaning back and pondering. He often stopped here for a latte after work.

Located in a small strip mall in Solon, the deli was a local, mom-and-pop variety that specialized in creating its own unique coffee blends. Unlike many coffeehouses, the ambience here emphasized light, from the bright florescent lighting to colors of spring that washed over its walls. The grill ignited an aroma of charred meats and bread that traveled throughout the dining area.

Upon placing his order and paying the cashier, Hunter moved past the refrigerated display case of cream-cheese spreads, fruits and packages of lox. He eyed the baskets of bagels that hung behind the display case as he made his way to the pickup counter. The flavored brew of the day, pumpkin spice, gave him such a boost, he felt ridiculous for getting excited about a simple cup of coffee. The owner once told him they blended their coffee beans with real pumpkin seeds to capture their rich flavor and fragrance. By the time Hunter filled his cup, he found his order ready for pickup.

When he made his way to the dining area to search for an unoccupied table, he looked toward his right and noticed Ellen sitting in a booth against a window. Focused on the open laptop computer before her, she poked at a salad with her fork and took a bite. She didn’t notice his approach.

“Hey gorgeous! Looking fine,” he teased.

He hadn’t expected Ellen to find humor in such a comment from a random passerby. And she didn’t.

“Look, man, why don’t you kiss my—” She raised her eyes and caught sight of Hunter, who couldn’t hold back his laughter. “That never gets old for you, does it?”

“I’m batting 249-0 with it. A perfect record, and an impressive one.”

“Are you gonna sit down, or just stand there and volunteer your services as eye candy?”

Hunter took a seat across from her and bit into his toasted Reuben sandwich. Its hot sauerkraut and corned beef exploded with flavor. Swiss cheese, which had bubbled beneath the rye bread, melted in his mouth.

“How long can you hang out?” Ellen asked.

“A half hour or so. I’m headed to the office after this.”

Ellen had a stack of paperwork beside her, printouts of recipes for dishes Hunter wouldn’t attempt to cook for himself. Ellen’s typical recipe contained an ingredient or requirement foreign to him. An odd spice or vegetable. A specific method of chopping, smashing or heating. Once, Hunter had watched a weekly cooking competition on television with her. The home cooks received an assignment to prepare a dish using a technique Hunter had never heard of. Yet the amateurs went right to work, as if everyone knew what the host’s rambling had meant.

“Preparing a menu?” Hunter asked.

“A company dinner at a winery. It takes place in early October, so considering the environment and season, I’ll propose a harvest theme. Maybe a special take on a baked ham, maybe a pumpkin bisque. I haven’t figured out how I want to tie it all together.”

Hunter admired Ellen’s tenacity. After several years working in the kitchen at a four-star restaurant and observing chefs at work, she decided to branch out and pursue her dream of owning her own business. She started a small catering outfit in her home with a focus on local social gatherings and company dinners. Her first jobs were for friends and family members. As visitors passed along referrals, however, her customer base expanded.

“Have you opened your office suite at the pinnacle of downtown Cleveland yet?” Hunter quipped.

“Don’t I wish,” Ellen replied. “I’ve got a long way to go before I can rent my own office space. But I’ll get there one day. Slowly but surely.”

“You seem to have a steady job flow. You must be earning a decent living from it.”

“It’s enough to pay my half of the rent.” Ellen paused, then added, “My roommate isn’t thrilled when she discovers food and baking dishes spread all over the kitchen counter and dining room table every week, then opens the refrigerator door to find it packed with groceries we don’t get to eat. But at this point, it’s only a short-term situation for her.”

“That’s right, less than a year away! A perfect June wedding for a delicate princess.” Hunter shot her a wink.

“The stuff dreams are made of.”

Hunter sipped his coffee, which went down smooth. Liquid velvet, as he described it.

As Ellen talked further about her roommate and an argument she’d had with the landlord, Hunter got distracted by a sudden brush against his shoulder as two individuals made their way in opposite directions beside his booth. Hunter looked up.

“Sorry about that,” said a guy around Hunter’s age as he steadied a tray in his hands. Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt, he looked like the type of person who would wear short sleeves in the middle of winter. Judging from the jeans, Hunter guessed the guy had taken a vacation day.

“Oh, you’re fine,” Hunter said, waving it off with his hand.

As the guy walked past, Hunter noticed the flex of his biceps as he carried the tray topped with a sandwich and a heavy bowl of soup. The guy had added a dab of gel to his hair. His dark hair and deep skin tone suggested Mediterranean genes. Italian, probably.

Hunter returned his attention to Ellen and tried to focus on her face. Yet, at frequent intervals, Hunter flicked his eyes to the guy who had brushed his shoulder, who had settled into the booth behind Ellen, facing Hunter and in his direct line of vision. Unaware of Hunter’s glances, the young guy started his lunch and paid Hunter no further attention.

“Anyway,” Ellen continued, “when Brendan and I build our new home, I’ll have plenty of room to cook.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to buy an existing home?”

“Are you kidding? This new home is
Brendan’s
dream. After all these years he’s spent working for the construction company, managing projects and walking people through the options for their homes, he gets to build one for himself.”

Another quick glance toward the guy in the next booth, then back to Ellen.

“In that case, it sounds ready-made for him,” Hunter said. “Brendan probably has all the research and connections in place.”

“Connections, skills, plus we get to buy all the materials at cost, which is a huge savings,” Ellen said. “And since we’re designing the house ourselves, we can plan the kitchen with my business in mind. I’d
love
to have a nice, big kitchen to work in. It’s every professional cook’s dream.”

“A new home for a new marriage.”

Ellen ran her fingernail along the edge of the table, peered at a distant point past Hunter’s shoulder. “Everything changes from there, doesn’t it ...”

To Hunter, Ellen appeared absentminded. Perhaps she thought she recognized another customer standing in line. He tried to decipher what had captured her attention, but he wound up short and figured he had read too much into it. While Ellen tended not to hide her opinions, Hunter could tell she stifled her share of personal thoughts.

“How long before you build?” he asked. “Do you have an area picked out?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you! Over the weekend, we checked out a plot of land we love! I’ll show it to you some time. If Brendan can negotiate the price and the sale goes through, we can break ground and get the walls built this spring.”

Hunter sneaked another glance at the guy in the next booth, who thumbed through his phone as he ate. Studying the man’s face closer, Hunter found it handsome. Not the chiseled features of a model or someone who would render Hunter too bashful to look him directly in the eyes, but everyday, all-American good looks. Hunter also had no doubt the man was straight.

At that point, the man gave a final tap to his phone and looked up. At random, his eyes landed on Hunter. Before Hunter had a chance to think, he cut his glance away from the guy.

Gritting his teeth, Hunter prayed the guy hadn’t noticed. For Hunter, these frequent glances were akin to habit. He did it as second nature, without thinking about it first, the way other guys—and even Hunter himself, when his interests tugged him in the opposite direction—checked out females.

But there was a difference: If a female caught a guy checking her out, the guy could wave it off. She might even consider it a compliment. When Hunter checked out another man, however, the thought of getting caught left him anxious—as anxious as he felt right now. But the man, who returned his attention to his phone, didn’t appear to give Hunter’s actions another thought. Hunter whispered thanks to God, who had rescued him from another close call.

“You’ve got a big life change coming up, getting married. Are you looking forward to it?” Hunter asked. Then, reconsidering what he’d asked, he snorted and took a sip of coffee. “What am I saying? Of course you’re excited.”

Ellen reached over and gave his elbow a playful jab. “Way to go, Hunter Carlisle, ruining a bride’s ride upon her fluffy cloud of bliss.”

“You’re right.” He gave Ellen his most wicked grin. “Maybe you should give me another look at your engagement ring so we can giggle together over the size of the diamond.”

“Great comeback. So you’re saying women are pathetic?”

“Just trying to dig myself out of this hole I’ve stumbled into. My chances don’t look promising, though.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to ask about the wife thing,” Ellen said with a wink. “Why do you think everyone’s shocked that I’m getting married?”

“I don’t think
shocked
is the best word. I’d say it takes a lot of us by surprise because you’ve always been the independent type. You’ve had relationships, but you’ve never
needed
them.”

“I do take care of myself, huh?”

“That, plus you’re a ball-buster.”

“Whatever. Be glad you’re not on my enemy list, Carlisle.” Ellen took a final bite of her salad before shoving the bowl aside. “In all honesty, I surprised myself by getting engaged—for the same reasons. It happened so fast. When Brendan popped the question, it threw me off balance. That doesn’t happen much. Immediately, I said yes—just blurted it out before I had a chance to consider what was coming out of my mouth. But as the weeks passed, it started to make sense: Brendan and I love each other. Why not dive in? I mean, if you’re gonna do something, why do it half-assed?”

“You have a way with words. You should include that in your wedding vows.”

Ellen laughed as she sipped her iced tea. Hunter finished off his Reuben sandwich and picked at the remaining homemade potato chips. He felt the warmth of sunlight as it emanated through the window and settled on the back of his neck.

“Marriage changes everything. But it’s a
good
change, right?” Ellen said. “It’s not the kind of disruption that causes the roof of your life to come crashing down while you’re still surrounded by walls.”

Ellen seemed to step deep into thought for a moment, then shook herself out of it.

“Wedding plans are keeping me busy. Then again, there’s never a convenient time to become extra busy,” she said. “That’s one difference between other women and me: They shriek over their weddings, making sure they fulfill every detail of an elaborate dream they’ve constructed for themselves since childhood. But for me, the wedding’s functional. I love Brendan, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“It’s your wedding. You should do whatever makes you happy. If simple makes you happy, more power to you.”

“Brendan’s parents have a different perspective on that. They want a big wedding and are paying for it themselves. I don’t even know how it happened. It’s like I woke up one morning, got into my car, and drove right into the middle of a fairy tale. Which reminds me, have you seen my magic wand? I seem to have left it behind somewhere.”

Hunter leaned over and feigned a quick search. “I don’t see it under the table ...”

“Where, oh where, is my magic wand? Don’t worry, it’ll show up.” She patted her seat. “I’ll get comfortable, sit down on a comfy booth like this one, and then—
Ping!
—that magic wand will poke me in the ass when I least expect it. Watch it happen.”