How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [106]
I glance at the clock. It’s only one-thirty. I might be able to squeeze in a nap at some point if I can get this all in motion in time.
Oh. But I don’t need a nap, do I? Since I won’t be opening in the morning. Damn it.
Cat is always doing the books at this time of day, and I find him in the corner booth at his restaurant. A couple of guys are standing around, waiting for orders, and he scribbles something, hands it over, and one scurries off. He doesn’t look well. His face is drawn and waxy, his hair a bit too long. Has he been eating? Sometimes he forgets. If there is no woman in his life, he sometimes drinks too much, forgets to take care of himself properly.
When he catches sight of me in the shadows, one dark eyebrow lifts. He waves away the guy who has been waiting and says to me, “What are you doing here?”
“I need advice.”
For a minute, he only looks at me. He shakes his head. Gestures. “Come talk to me.”
When I stand at the side of the table, he looks at my attire and says, “It must be big if you came out without changing.”
“Hot-water heater rusted out. I’ve got to get it replaced as fast as possible.”
“What do you need from me?”
I lift my hands, show my palms. “No money, no phone calls, just advice. Who would you call and what would you do?”
“I’d kick some asses is what I’d do.” He growls and throws a pencil down on the table. “That hot-water heater is only a couple of years old.”
The first ripple of hope touches me. Maybe there will at least be a way to recoup the lost revenue. Eventually. “That doesn’t actually help me today.”
He nods. “Let’s go to my office, see what we can do.”
“You don’t need to make the calls and I don’t need any help financially.” I say it again so it sinks in. “I really need to do this myself. So if you could just give me advice and maybe the best people to call, I would appreciate it.”
He inclines his head. “Okay. I still need to go to the office to get the names you need. Is that all right with you?”
I relent, smiling. “Yes.”
“Come on, then. You want Parker to pour you some wine or something?”
“No, I’m fine.” It occurs to me that I’ve missed him. We spent a lot of time together, and now I haven’t seen him at all for weeks. I miss my friend. “How are you, Cat?”
He steps behind his desk and looks at me. “I had a touch of food poisoning a few days ago. I know you were worrying when you came in. You get this little wrinkle on the side of your mouth.”
“You don’t look well,” I return honestly. “Sure it was food poisoning?”
He shrugs, flips through a Rolodex, and writes some names and numbers down. He hands the paper over to me. “You sure you don’t want me to call somebody?”
“Yes.” I smile. “But thank you. You have been so good to me.” I lower my gaze, nod almost imperceptibly.
He points to the paper. “You let me know if you have any trouble, all right?” He winks. “I know people.”
“Thanks,” I say, and give him a hug.
When I return, Katie has left a note on the table that she’s gone to the store. It makes my heart hurt to think of her writing a money order to send to her mother, but this is something I have to let her work out on her own.
In the meantime, I call the numbers Cat gave me and arrange for someone to come in and look at the problem. He promises to be here in an hour, which isn’t going to leave a lot of time to get ready for dinner. Realizing that I’m still wearing my work clothes, I jump in the shower—which is served by a regular household water heater upstairs—wash my hair, and shave my legs in some kind of nod toward the big day. Leaving my hair rolled up in a towel, I put on a workaday sundress and some flip-flops, pour a glass of iced tea, and whistle for Merlin to follow me out into the backyard. He trots along happily. “Why didn’t Katie take you with her?”
He looks