After the Storm Read online

  Zoe took the bowl full of chopped vegetables. She added them to the pan on the stove, and the air was filled with the hiss of hot oil.

  “I could come back in a few weeks,” she said. “You’ll be out and about more and you can show me around. Give me the tourist treatment.”

  Something she’d had very little of since arriving, he realized. “You should have gone out and explored this time.”

  “That wasn’t why I was here.” She sighed. “We’re going in circles now. What about Thanksgiving? I could come visit then and make you and Coop a turkey, then we could go whale watching or whatever it is you do here. Whales are cool.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “You’re a nut. We have dolphins here.”

  “Better yet.”

  He walked over to her at the stove. Wrapped an arm around her neck and squeezed affectionately. “Don’t come back, Zo. It’ll only make me feel like crap, because I’ll know you’re taking time away from school to check up on me.”

  She pretended to look devastated. “I see how you are.”

  “I’m grateful to you for being here this week. Incredibly so. But coming back next month isn’t going to help.”

  When she still looked doubtful, he added, “We can talk about possibilities for Christmas. Will that get you off my case?”

  She grinned and squeezed his middle in a bear hug. “For now. Only because I have veggies cooking.”

  He yanked a strand of her hair and directed her back to the stove. The truth was, Zoe couldn’t help him. No one could. Doctors and therapists might be able to put his body back together to a degree, but he was on his own for what the hell to do with the rest of his life.

  * * *

  PENN HAD NEVER REALIZED the night could be so damn dark.

  Even when he was on the clock at the station, falling asleep had never been a problem. When he was ready to catch some z’s, usually all he had to do was find a pillow and put his head on it. Apparently now he was joining the ranks of insomniacs.

  His brain wouldn’t give it up. Wouldn’t stop obsessing over the doctor’s verdict and how that affected the rest of his life. Affected was such a mild word, really, when what losing his career really did was screw him all to hell.

  He’d never realized how much of his life revolved around being a firefighter. His friends were all firefighters. His roommate was. His favorite bar was owned by a firefighter and his wife and was the main hangout of, what else, off-duty firefighters. He spent a massive chunk of his time with people involved with the fire department.

  And now he wasn’t a firefighter anymore.

  He couldn’t fathom it. Didn’t even want to begin to imagine how he would earn a living once he was able to work. He had no skills except for fighting fires, truly. One semester of failing grades in college had done nothing for him but piss off his mom. He’d gotten through his fire sciences classes after that only by sheer will, because he’d so single-mindedly wanted to become a firefighter. Even in high school, the only job he’d had was stocking shelves at a grocery store. Not exactly something he could pay the rent with these days or see himself doing till the end of time.

  If he wasn’t a firefighter, he was nothing.

  He started to roll over and swore, the twinge in his lower back reminding him for the hundredth time that casually changing position wasn’t an option.

  The longer he lay there, the more he was climbing the walls, racking his brain for an escape. Previously, he could have gotten up and taken a run. Now? The best he could do was a slow walk to the parking lot. Couldn’t even drive once he got there.

  Penn had never been a fan of self-pity and he was starting to get on his own nerves. Sitting up slowly at the edge of the bed, he funneled the pity into the now-familiar anger. Grabbed his pillow and punched it once, which did nothing to relieve any of the blackness that’d been building up inside him all day.

  His cell phone buzzed and lit up on his nightstand. He scowled at it, figuring it was a wrong-number text or one of the guys out at the bar screwing with him. He picked it up and raised his brows. Nadia.

  Got cookies?

  Penn scoffed and wondered why she would even want to contact him after the way he’d treated her earlier.

  Carefully positioning himself against the headboard, using a pillow for back support, he considered his options. To reply or not to reply? It was 1:17 a.m. Easy to get away with feigning sleep. But the message wasn’t going away and he’d have to acknowledge it eventually.

  What the hell. At the very least, he could kill some time and maybe distract himself from his depressing thoughts.

  He finally replied: Cookies made awesome midnight snack.

  Did I wake you?

  Penn scowled. A little late to worry about that.

  Some people turn their phone off when they sleep. ;)

  I was awake, he admitted. Not really sleeping much. You?

  Working. I know. Shock. So…

  Curious, he prompted her. So?

  There was a pause. Maybe she was typing and maybe she wasn’t, but Penn leaned his head back and allowed his mind to veer back to earlier today. That kiss. There was definite chemistry between them. Just remembering how she’d felt, how she’d responded to him, made him hard now. Good to know parts down south still functioned. Not that he was in any position to use them, now or in the near future.

  Another message popped up from her. I imagine news from doctor is crushing.

  Crushing. That was one word for it. Pretty damn good word.

  Rather not talk about it.

  Understandable. There’s something I’d rather not talk about but need to say…

  He stared at the screen, waiting for her to continue. Curious as all get-out but unwilling to prompt her to spill it.

  Finally, another message appeared. Kiss was a bad move on my part.

  So. Add “direct” to Nadia’s list of qualities. And thankfully, not a hopeless romantic.

  He weighed his reply carefully. So many wrong things he could say without even meaning to.

  He settled for: Not a big deal.

  I know you’ve got way more important things on your mind.

  Every last one of which sucked. None of which he cared to spend his time thinking about. Before he could figure out a response, his phone buzzed again.

  Won’t happen again. Not that I don’t like you. Just that we both seem overwhelmed right now. Me with work, you with your back. Did you know it’s possible to babble via text message? ;)

  Ignoring her question, he typed: Heard about your two-date policy.

  Going to kill Faith. I did away with that policy anyway. Instituted no-date policy.

  I’ve got the same. Guess we’re even.

  It’s almost 2:00 a.m., only crazy people and drunk people stay up this late.

  Penn chuckled quietly. And insomniacs and workaholics.

  There is that. I’ll let you try to sleep now. Glad we talked.

  He set his phone on his thighs and realized he was smiling into the dark.

  He blanked his face and shrugged. So she’d distracted him. Made him relax for a few minutes. No big thing. After trying so hard to keep Nadia out of his life, he had to admit that tonight she’d been just what he needed, when he’d needed it.

  Even after he’d been an asshole to her. Repeatedly.

  He knew blaming her for his injury or directing any of his anger toward her wasn’t right. Maybe it was high time he tried to put that into action. First, he owed her an apology. Then he needed to figure out how not to let the blame sneak in again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE FIRST THING THAT struck Nadia two days later as she walked toward her mother was the odd look on Joyce’s face. Undeniable happiness, yes. A wide smile that had been absent of late. But beyond that she looked…flirtatious?

  Her mom?

  Was it a full moon? Had her mother lost her mind?

  As Nadia approached the table in the hotel’s restaurant where her mom was s
itting, she zeroed in on the man in the opposite seat. His back was to Nadia, his dark gray hair the only feature she could see. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and rested his arms on the table casually, confidently.

  Nadia veered around a table, changing her angle just enough that recognition flickered. Dr. Gene Morris, the podiatrist who’d toured the property last week. Neither of them noticed her until she stood right in front of the table.

  “Nadia!” Joyce straightened. “You remember Dr. Morris?”

  The man stood and shook her hand.

  “Of course.” Nadia looked between them, baffled, waiting for them to explain what they were doing there. “Am I late for a meeting I don’t remember?” she finally asked.

  “No, no.” Dr. Morris pulled out the chair next to him. “Join us, please. I wanted to sample what your kitchen is capable of. Not an official visit.” There was a mostly empty dinner plate in front of each of them.

  “We were just discussing the best things on the catering menu,” her mom said. “Marcel is checking to see if he can track down some of Joan’s almond-pear torte so Gene can have a taste.”

  Gene? First-name basis? While it was natural to be more casual with a meeting planner by using his or her first name, it seemed a liberty with a physician.

  What was her mother trying to do? Like Nadia, she rarely dated. Both of them were too busy with work, and both of them had always preferred it that way.

  Nadia pulled the chair out the rest of the way and sat, endeavoring to hide her irritation. Selling the hotel’s events services was supposed to be her job. Well, not even hers, really—the events manager’s, but since she hadn’t yet hired one, it fell under her umbrella of responsibility. Not her mother’s.

  “It’s to die for,” Nadia told him. “If you like pears, of course. But we have so many other good choices, like our triple-chocolate mousse, the chocolate avalanche, Joan’s carrot-zucchini cake.... Normally, we set it up so you can have samples of each when you’re planning your menus.”

  “I’ll definitely have to join Stacy for an official menu-planning session,” Dr. Morris said. “We’ll consider the torte an extra treat. Maybe Marcel will come back with two pieces and you can indulge along with us.”

  The torte was always amazing but Nadia had homed in on his first comment. “Setting up an official menu-planning session…does that mean you’ve decided to hold the conference here at Silver Sands?”

  “I have, young lady. I’m most impressed with your facilities and the food is excellent. The general manager’s not bad, either.” He winked at her mother.

  Winked at her mother.

  So wrong for Nadia to have to witness the flirting.

  “That’s the best news I’ve had all day,” Nadia said, pushing the personal ick-factor out of her mind and focusing instead on the welcome promise of the boost to the hotel. “So Stacy will still be helping you out?”

  “She will, indeed. In fact, she’ll be handling most of it now that we’ve agreed on a site. Except for the dessert tasting, of course.”

  Marcel, the restaurant manager, appeared at the table then. “Bad news,” he said. “There’s not a piece of almond-pear torte to be found. I even looked in Joan’s secret stashing spot. No luck. However, tonight we do have five other fabulous desserts for you to choose from.”

  Dr. Morris shook his head graciously. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out how I was going to fit in the torte. I’ll take it as a sign. Dessert was not meant to be this evening.”

  “Are you sure?” Joyce said. “I don’t want you to go away wanting.”

  Oh, God, was the double entendre intended?

  “I’m very satisfied, but thank you, Marcel. I’ve been assured by this young lady I’ll be exposed to a variety of Joan’s masterpieces later on.”

  “Absolutely,” Nadia said.

  “Tonight’s dinner is on the house,” her mother said.

  Joyce and the doctor debated the tab for several uncomfortable seconds before Nadia broke in to try to end it.

  “I’m going to weigh in on my mom’s side this time. Two against one.” That made it more business than personal, didn’t it?

  He finally accepted, and the three of them walked out into the hotel lobby together. Maybe Nadia should have bowed out to let them say goodbye privately, but this was business. She ignored the little voice in her head that asked why she was being so adamant about that.

  After Nadia agreed to contact Stacy to arrange a meeting and they all said good-night, she and her mom headed toward the executive offices.

  “Was that a date?” Nadia asked as soon as they were around the corner. She’d meant to sound nonchalant, not curt or nosy, but she could tell from the look her mom gave her, she’d missed her mark.

  “I…” Joyce glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know, to be honest. I was going over some spreadsheets in my office just after five and was called to the front desk. There he was. He invited me to join him.”

  “That’s a date.”

  “He was legitimately testing the food. Why does it matter, anyway, Nadia?” They’d reached Nadia’s office and her mom followed her in. “Do you have a problem with Dr. Morris?”

  Why did it matter, indeed? Nadia collapsed into her chair, suddenly so tired she might seriously consider sleeping at her desk tonight. Her mother sat in one of the visitor chairs opposite her and crossed her arms.

  “If it was business, I should have been in on it from the beginning,” Nadia finally said.

  “We didn’t talk business for most of the dinner.”

  “Then it was a date.”

  “Okay, then. A spontaneous date.”

  They stared each other down.

  Joyce spoke first. “Apparently you have a problem with that.”

  “That depends. Was it a onetime thing?”

  Her mother chuckled. “Well, I really don’t know, since my daughter chaperoned our goodbye. I have no idea if he’ll call or invite me out again.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Of course I—”

  “You know what I mean, Mom.”

  Joyce leaned back in her chair and draped her arms over the metal sides. “Yes. I like him.” She stared Nadia directly in the eyes as she said it, as if challenging her to object.

  Nadia leaned her elbows on the desk, running her hands over her face. What was wrong with her? She was irritated to no end, but she couldn’t say why.

  “It’s just that we’ve never gotten involved with the people we do business with, I guess.” Even Nadia herself didn’t believe that objection.

  Her mom laughed again. “Not many opportunities for me to do so, when you get down to it. But hey, we landed the business, right? Win-win.”

  “What happens if you two get involved and something goes sour between now and February?”

  “Then I’ll handle it. Really, Nadia? You’re worried because he’s a client?”

  Nadia exhaled noisily. “The hotel needs all our attention right now, wouldn’t you say? The timing just seems rotten.”

  “It was one dinner, honey. He seems like a nice man but we’re not getting married or running away to Tahiti.”

  Nadia met her mother’s gaze and nodded. “I know. I’m overreacting and I’m sorry. Have your fun.” She attempted to smile. “Now we should both get back to work.”

  “I’m actually going to go home for the evening,” her mom said as she stood. “My momentum is gone and I could use a full night’s sleep for once. Don’t work too late, honey.”

  Nadia wasn’t able to respond before her mother waltzed out the door, seeming energized instead of tired. She glanced at her watch. Just after seven. Home? Her mother?

  She tried to shrug it off and clicked her mouse, waking up her desktop computer. Her mother might not feel the need to work but there were still things that needed to be done.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BETWEEN THE INTENSE physical therapy session earlier today—his third—and
now a long walk, Penn figured maybe he had a chance of sleeping tonight.

  Coop was working, and since Zoe had left, the condo had become deathly quiet like he’d never noticed before. Sitting became hugely uncomfortable after a few minutes. Going back to bed was out of the question, for his sanity’s sake, until there was no doubt he’d be able to drift off. When he was closed up inside by himself, it was harder to put his uncertain future out of his mind, and he couldn’t bring himself to think seriously about it. Not yet.

  Walking out of the condo had been a relief.

  He made his way toward the beach on the gulf side of the island, even though their condo was closer to the bay. The drama of the waves appealed a lot more than the calm quiet tonight. He’d had enough quiet lately.

  As the sun dropped in the sky behind him, Penn walked down the public path between two hotels toward the sand. He moved out to the waterline and relished the spray on his legs and the incessant roar of the waves.

  The gulf and the beach were the main reasons he’d relocated to San Amaro when he’d left Boulder. But he’d learned to take them for granted, he realized now. The fire station was on the beach, as were most of the restaurants and bars he frequented. It wasn’t until he’d become laid up in a stuffy room blocks away that it hit him how good he’d had it.

  He watched the waves rise, curl and spill over, again and again, as the last light faded from the sky. The urge to kick off his shoes and wade out up to his knees was overpowering, but one thing stopped him. One ridiculous thing. Because bending at the waist was off-limits, putting his shoes on was an ordeal. It’d taken him an embarrassingly long time and some awkward contortions to do it at home. He sure as hell was not going to go through that in public.

  Without thought, he turned to the right and gazed down the shore toward the fire station. Though it was a good mile and a half south, he could pick it out easily from the bright-as-noon lights shining out from the windows of the common room. The outside world was quiet right now, but inside the station, it’d be anything but peaceful. The guys—and Faith, if she was on duty—would be sitting around the table shooting the shit after dinner, or maybe by now they’d be in front of the TV arguing over what game to watch. Or maybe they’d be out on a run.