Page 33 of Fooling the Forward
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to. I’ve got a great life.”
“Yeah, but you don’t need to be alone.”
“I’m not. I see you every day. Even when I don’t want to,” he jokes, but then his expression shifts, becoming more serious. “Where is this coming from? You’ve never brought up the topic of me dating before.”
“I don’t know. I got to thinking you might be lonely.” Having Calista around for a couple of days must’ve turned me sappy.
“I miss your mom, but that’s not the same as being lonely. No one can fill the void she left. But I don’t want you worrying about me. I’m a lucky man. I’ve got wonderful kids.”
“Especially that son of yours.” I smirk.
“If only he could cook,” he says.
I laugh. “Tell me about it. I wish I could.”
“Do you think your chef would make daily meals we could purchase?” he asks.
My chef?I like the sound of those words together.
“I know she has some clients who do.”
“Maybe you should give her a call and get added to her list,” he suggests.
“Yeah, I suppose I could do that.”
But the thing is, I don’t want her to drop off meals once a week. I want her in my kitchen where I can be near her. I want to talk with her while she prepares my meals. I want to watch her and breathe in her perfume because, apparently, I want to torture myself. I’ve never been someone who makes decisions by thinking things through. I’m impulsive and impatient when I want something. But the good news is, I always get what I want. And to start, that’s Calista in my kitchen.
* * *
Stepping onto my front porch, I sit down on the top step. I’ve been planning to buy furniture for this area, and I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. I should remedy that soon with how much I love sitting outside and looking at the beautiful view. The peaceful environment seems to put everything into perspective for me, and never more so than during hockey season. If I have a bad practice or we lose a game, taking in the vastness of my farm reminds me it’s only a temporary situation. This is where I do some of my best thinking, which is my motivation at the moment.
Since my dad and I spoke at lunch, I’ve felt a compulsion to call Calista, but I’ve been doing my best to talk myself out of it. Though the reasons for calling her are valid and plentiful, the one or two reasons why I shouldn’t are significant enough to make me pause.
There’s no reason why she can’t work for me. I know I can’t date her, but I can hire her and have a business relationship with her.
Fuck it.
Pulling her name up on my phone, I make the call. It rings a few times before she answers.
“Hello.”
“Calista, it’s Ryder.”
“Hi.” There’s a husk to her tone that’s not usually present, and I selfishly hope it’s because of me.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Hi. I’m well, thanks. What can I do for you?” she asks politely.
“I was hoping we could meet up. I have a business proposal I’d like to discuss with you.”
“I’m working and won’t be done until later.”
“There’s no way we can connect?” I ask, knowing there’s no way she missed the disappointment in my voice. I hear the sounds of things moving around on her end of the line, followed by a low sigh. “I’m in the middle of cooking at my house and can’t leave.”
“Can I come over?” I ask, crossing my fingers like I’m once again eight years old.
“Fine. But I’m warning you, I’m going to be busy while you’re here. If you’re okay with that, come on by. I’ll text you my address.”