How I Fall (24 page)

I smile and wave. “Who are you calling ‘wee’?”

“The accent’s so flipping cute, right?” Patrick mutters, letting out a long breath as he stares at the girls. “I am seriously not okay. I can’t breathe every time she enters a room. Look at her.”

Ellen giggles at something Laura’s whispering, and I suck in my own gasp of air at the sound of that little catch in her throat.

“What are you two doing?” Ellen calls out.

“Man talk,” Patrick says. “Stay away.”

“Bonding.” I shrug. Neither of us makes any moves to head in their direction. Today Ellen’s in leggings and an oversized lumpy sweater. Two long braids instead of one. A smile so big and trusting it somehow makes me feel guilty.

Ellen’s clinging to Laura with one hand, half doubled over as she laughs and laughs. “You guys have got to hear the story Laura’s been telling me. Guess why her parents sent her to Canada for the rest of this year. It’s…so…beyond.” As Ellen tries to choke back another round of giggles, the room feels like it’s tilting while my heart flies up into my throat.

I want to play it cool like Patrick seems to be doing, but I lose my attempt at composure and find myself grinning back at her so wide my cheeks hurt.

Laura flings her bag onto the table where Patrick and I placed our lunches. “Stop laughing. It’s a true tragedy. My unrequited love story is not a comedy. Casper said he’s going to wait for me. You’ll see.” Laura pulls a face. “Just because my father caught us half undressed in the back seat of a car. The man jumped to conclusions and lost his wee-mind.”

“Interesting. Back seat of a car?” Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up.

“We weren’t up to any harm. We were comparing tattoos.”

“So your dad caught you before the—
harm
—happened?” I call out.

“You—you’ve got tattoos? As in more than one?” Patrick leans back and mutters, “I’m-so-gone-for-this-girl,” under his breath so only I can hear.

Laura sighs. “Yeah. A few. Pixies. Near me-navel and a few along me-waist. My dad didn’t know about them until that day, either. It’s why he went mental.” She shakes her head. “I was on a plane faster than lightning strikes the highest hill. They think Casper’s a bad influence. Just because he’s nineteen. Do you know, he’s never even tried to kiss me, and he’s only got one tattoo on his shoulder. Only one. And it’s a Celtic cross, no less.”

“Laura, did you say he’s nineteen?” I blink. “That’s a bit old if you’re only sixteen.”

“Okay, Grandpa. Thanks for that amazing lecture I’ve never heard once in my life before today!” She stomps across the room to where Patrick and I are frozen. “One hundred years ago, especially in my country, I’d be married off to an old geezer over thirty with my own babies and a whole castle to manage by now. But these days it’s like a crime to fall in love before you’re twenty. No, in the new age if you find your soul mate and vow to marry them then you’re a wee-trollop and the guy’s a criminal who could be stuck in jail just for looking at tattoos on a navel!”

“That’s because he’s a cradle robbing criminal,” Patrick answers. “You should listen to your father. Take a break. Date boys your own age while you’re here.”

Ellen leans her weight on the table and doesn’t follow Laura across the room. I see she’s slightly out of breath and I scan her expression, wondering what’s causing her to flinch. Her leg? Her arm? I scan below the table and see she’s got one foot up and is slowly turning her ankle like she was doing the other day. Is it true what Patrick’s said? Does even walking to lunch wear her out?

Laura shakes her head, staring up at Patrick. “Don’t joke.”

“Who’s joking? I’m available.” Patrick winks at her, and I become so jealous of his game.

Laura’s caught me laughing and shoots me a little annoyed frown.

Ellen says, “I’m sorry I laughed, Laura. I don’t know him, and I know you must miss him, but I’m with Cam and Patrick.” She pulls one of her braids over her shoulder to tighten the band holding it together and sets out her lunch. “Nineteen is on the edge of…
old man
.”

“No. You don’t understand. He’s a very young nineteen, and I’m a very old sixteen. Obviously.” Laura tosses her glittered curls away from her face and Patrick and I take in her sad-eyed expression. “They wouldn’t even let me say goodbye to him. All communications and social media have been shut off. He’s not even allowed app-texting thanks to his—work. And his parents are right angry too about how we got caught by my father.”

“Work? Is he not going to a university?” I ask, sharing a glance with Patrick who’s been silently processing this information as well, and I wonder if he thinks he’s got more or less of a chance now.

Laura rolls her eyes and turns her back on us and walks to the table to sit by Ellen. “Not every guy has to go off to a university to be having a wonderful life, you know? My Casper’s going off to be a member of the Episcopal clergy! Of course he’s got to go to college for that and everything, but he’s beginning the process.”

Patrick laughs. “A priest? Well that explains why he didn’t kiss you.”

Laura stamps her feet. “That’s not why. Episcopalian priests are allowed to get married. It’s because he’s a gentleman!”

Patrick shakes his head. “A stupid gentleman. Who resists the chance at kissing you?”

Laura smiles. “Aww. Patrick. That’s sweet. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but it’s not working because now I’m only thinking about kissing my Casper and he’s so far away.”

I say, “Don’t look so desolate, Laura. If it’s meant to be, Casper will wait the years needed for you to age past the jail-bait years.”

“Not helpful, Cam. That’s what my father told me at the airport. And if my dad’s got anything to do with it, that man means to keep me stuck here in Canada until I’m an old maid because he thinks Casper will dump me by Christmas.” She sighs. “My boyfriend
will
wait, despite what you non-believers think. You’ll see.”

“Hey. I didn’t say I didn’t believe. It’s just that it’s not easy waiting a long time for anything—anyone. ” I finish, glancing at Ellen.

“I believe in waiting for love,” Patrick adds, shooting me a dark look that says he’s as undecided about his fate as I am about mine. His gaze moves back to Laura before adding, “As long as it’s
real
love. I think it’s worth figuring out over time.”

Laura dejectedly opens her lunch bag and flops into a seat. “And
that’s
why we’re going to be life-long friends, Patrick Gable. I believe in real love, too. At least one person in this country seems to understand me. Now, can we please stop talking about my sad love life? It’s so depressing.”

“Not as depressing as Patrick’s,” Ellen says, in a teasing voice.

“I’m not complaining.” Patrick glares at Ellen before going on, “Does that mean I get to see your tattoos, Laura? I think if I saw those up close, I could understand you even more.” Patrick’s turned back to look at me as if he’s as scared as I am to approach the table.

“If you call my father and ask him for special permission first, I might let you see them.”

  “What’s the number? I’d love to speak with him.”

Ellen laughs.

Laura does, too. “Not. No. Never. And…you wish. That’s all I need is my father telling Casper that I’m already snogging another guy.”

Patrick catches my eye and whispers. “Shoot me. I hate Casper so much. This is never going to work for me, is it?”

“Your chances might be better than mine. I can’t even fathom retrieving my lunch and chewing in front of Ellen let alone talking to her normally right now, because I’m having those same thoughts. You go ahead. Explain why my back has fused to this window and let her know I’m permanently broken, would you? It will save me trying to explain later.”

Patrick pushes away from the window and adds, “Don’t promise her anything you don’t mean to deliver 100%. Ellen’s not some set of dice you roll to help you figure out your personal life. Got me? If you…” He frowns. “If you hurt her, make her even cry once, I swear, I’ll fry every inch of your skin and I’ll make sure you suffer like you’ve never—”

“Stop. We’re good.” I’ve met his gaze with my eyes wide open. He can see all the way to my soul if he wants. At this point, there’s not much left to be exposed after what I’ve told him.

“
Oi…oi!
What gives over there?” Laura calls out.
“
You two coming to eat or not, because I’ve got my wee-little eyes on these Godzilla-sized cookies that are falling out of the bag marked, Patrick. Your
mommy
write that for you, cute-little-laddie?”

“Yes, she did, but I made the cookie myself.”

I bite back a smile, and talk quickly under my breath. “This goes two ways. You make our little Ireland cry, then I’ll pound you right back. Deal?”

“Not going to happen. I
know
what I want, and I’m already playing. For keeps.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“I don’t need luck. She’s Irish. Plenty of luck for both of us. It’s only a matter of time.” He smiles. “I’ve got this face and I’ve got… cookies.” He grins wide. “You can watch how it’s done, take a few notes while you’re stuttering and bombing out next to Ellen.”

As though we’ve reached some sort of truce, he heads away and sits next to Laura while I try to establish a casual looking way to take a seat next to Ellen.

Patrick points at Laura’s phone. “Change your mind about me checking out your tattoos yet? I’m sure he’d be happy to know that I’ve got only smooth, unmarked skin hiding under these clothes—should you care to check every ripped inch of it in return?” He winks.

She wrinkles her nose. “Yawn. No thanks. Once I met my Casper—who’s actually skinny—he cured me from all alpha males, not to mention the unrealistic six-pack-abs cravings that the likes of
you
probably inspire in
other girls
, Patrick.”

“You think I’m an alpha male? My six pack isn’t that huge.”

“But you’ve both got one.” She glares us as if we’ve committed a crime because we’re in shape.

Patrick laughs and goes on, “Either way, your father would love me. I’m just the right age and a complete gentleman compared to Casper.”

“How can you say that?”

“A gentleman never tries to get his girlfriend to take off her clothes in a small car when there are more comfortable places than that. And…I’m going to be a financial analyst one day.” 

Ellen snorts. “Oh, please. Laura, Patrick’s not a gentleman. Not at all. Don’t believe him. He’d try to get you to take off your clothes if you were stuck in a soda can together. And he’s a huge, chronic liar. On his sixteenth birthday, he got a ride to Detroit, lied about his age and got a bird tattoo on his back with wings stretching shoulder to shoulder. It’s as huge as his lies.”

“Your whole back…?”

Patrick winks again and Laura’s eyes widen as she asks, “Does this mean you won’t study to be a financial analyst?”

“A pastry chef, actually. If my football scholarship doesn’t work out, that is. Here. Try this.” Patrick holds out the huge, obviously homemade, lumpy and perfect looking chocolate chip cookie from his bag.

Laura brightens and reaches out to grab it, but Patrick holds on until it does this chewy-gooey, slow tear in half so they’re each holding part of it.

“Why do you torture people?” Ellen says, eyes glued to the cookie. “I love those things.”

Even my mouth starts to water, staring at it.

Patrick Gable is good. Very good.

As he and Laura both bite into the cookie at exactly the same time, I feel like Ellen and I have become unwelcome date crashers. Patrick’s watching Laura eat the damn cookie like he’s never seen a girl eat a cookie before in his life, and of course, Laura London’s eating the cookie like she’s starring in some sort of sexy, chocolate chip cookie commercial.

“Mmm…this…so delicious…wow…so, oh wow, can you bake.”

Ellen meets my half-eye roll with a half-eye roll of her own.

Patrick flicks us one very fast, very satisfied smile as he takes another bite of the cookie.

I wonder if Patrick could read the complete envy in my face at how easy he’s making things look. It’s pretty obvious I’ve got zero moves compared to this guy.

I glance in my lunch bag, but all I’ve got to offer Ellen are some soggy snap-peas or a whey protein shake my dad makes me drink every day that tastes and looks like it might be made out of liquefied hot dogs.

Laura, who’s completely oblivious she’s just been led to the doors of some sort of love-trap, sighs as though she’s been drugged and eats another bite.

“So…wings,” she says with a full mouth of cookie-bite number two. “Shoulder to shoulder, huh? What kind of bird? Any color?”

“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine?”

Laura shakes her head and drops the last chunk of cookie to the table. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“What?” Patrick looks up. “Were we having a moment? Did you want to have a moment?” He grins shamelessly.

“I’m sure you guessed that’s what my Casper said to me when we were together in the car. ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’” She frowns. “Now I can only picture the last day I saw my one true love. Such sadness.”

“No. Hey…total accident. How would I know that?” Patrick turns all red. “I’m sorry…honest.”

I shake my head, and give him the,
you-had-her, but you-lost-her
look and rub some salt in it. “Laura, you going to eat the rest of that cookie?”

“No. Go after it. Maybe I’ll never eat again. Oh…Casper…how I miss him.”

“Guys.” Ellen shoves Patrick’s arm because he’d fully moved in to stop me from eating the last of Laura’s cookie!

“Mm. Mmmm,” I taunt him, breaking off a corner and shaking my head at his show of poor sportsmanship. “This cookie
is
really good. Chef Patrick. Who knew?”

“Both of you, stop fooling around. Let’s set up the project calendar. I want to talk weekends. Sundays are best for my PT schedule. Will this Sunday work for the football schedule? I really want to set up the first round of pulleys and ropes and do test shots over the long weekend.”

“For this weekend, Saturday is the best day—the only day, I’ve got really. It’s a team rest day. For Patrick also.” My dad’s going to be MIA, planning for Sunday’s special game and my mom will be off doing work stuff.

“Good,” Ellen says. “Maybe after that we can switch to Sundays because I’ve got PT with Nash on Saturdays but I can beg him to switch it up for the holiday? Can all of you schedule some hours on Sundays until it snows?” She looks away, writing furiously. “Does that work for you, Patrick?”

“Maybe not the whole day, but I should be able to get a few hours each Sunday.”

“Laura?”

“A few hours at least. But some days I’m baby sitting my wee-nieces for Auntie Judith.”

“My guess is, based on yesterday’s preview snow, we’ve only got one or two Sundays max to wait out the first good ice storm.”

“I’m in. However long it takes. I’ll give you from sun-up to sunset this Saturday.” I leave off shouting out:
  and the rest of my life
. Instead I add, “Is it enough?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with waking up early?”

“I do. You know I do!” Patrick groans.

I shake my head. “I don’t. Because I live right by the willow grove, just text me when you leave your house, or better yet text me and I’ll come get you.”