Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Read online

  I needed comfort. I needed to be good to myself.

  I needed to go shopping.

  Nothing, with the possible exception of sex, ever made me feel as good as finding something new and bringing it home. But I couldn't afford to hit the consignment shop again, since the purse had cost so much.

  I brushed my fingers over its plush trim. Mom had thought it was cute, but also thought it wasn't quite my usual style. Well, perhaps not, but I had wanted it forever and I would make my style work with it. I'd found a smaller wallet in my collection so the purse was working better already, although I still could never find my keys when I needed them.

  I didn't need them now if I didn't go home yet, and I didn't want to go home. Gertrude from next door had given Paddington his dinner and post-meal walk since I'd gone straight to my parents' from work, so I didn't need to be at home, and there was nothing exciting there anyhow. I wanted the thrill of the shopping hunt without a big hit to my newly smaller wallet.

  Fortunately, I knew lots of places where I could make that happen, and I was soon at my favorite thrift shop. The place was small but packed with cool things. I'd been going there for years and still felt sure there were trunks and corners I hadn't yet explored. The owner, a short wizened old man who moved like every step required deep thought, gave me a weary smile when I walked in and murmured, "New scarves just came in."

  I smiled. "Point me to them."

  He did, and I was soon standing beside an age-crackled mirror winding scarf after scarf around my neck. Some, of course, were utterly hideous, like the orange one with spots that I hoped weren't the bloodstains they appeared to be. I didn't have any trouble discarding those. One was perfect for me, a deep strong teal that made my eyes seem a richer brown, so I knew I'd buy it for sure.

  The ones in between, though, not awful and not amazing, were agony. Once I'd gone through all the scarves I had fifteen maybes. I didn't need fifteen new scarves. I didn't even need one, really, since I had a bunch of them at home. But these ones were new, new to me at least, and therefore far more interesting.

  Plus, each scarf was only three dollars. How could I turn down something that could become the cornerstone of an outfit when it was only three bucks?

  I'd had a friend in university who hardly owned any clothes or accessories because she only bought things that seemed like they'd been made just for her. I'd never understood that attitude. She left behind so many things that would have been nice enough on her, and I'd have regretted their loss so much.

  Remembering that made it clear what I needed to do.

  I bought all sixteen scarves, plus three shirts that looked not bad on me and a skirt that would be great if I found the perfect belt.

  I thought I was done, but before I'd walked half a block from the store I went back and began hunting for the belt. I couldn't find the perfect one but my search paid off because I eventually bought three that weren't bad.

  Then, my urge to shop subdued for the moment, I took the subway home clutching my bags and proud of myself. Eighty bucks for all those scarves and all the rest of the clothes. A huge bargain. I'd make them all work for me somehow, and though I still felt over-full and sick and a little sad about my talk with Dad I was also pleased I'd chosen to be so good to myself.

  Chapter Eight

  Well, my darlings, it's Friday, and you know what that means: it's romance or sex day! I hope you all get your fill of one or the other, and maybe both if you're really lucky. ;)

  Right at the moment, I have to admit I don't have much of either in my sights. But that's okay, I think. I might not actually have the time for a guy right now. This project is harder than I'd anticipated. Who'd have thought being good to myself would seem like work? But it does. Watching every decision to see how it rates is surprisingly exhausting, and it turns out that eating way too much apple pie doesn't feel good at all.

  But you know what does? Shopping. Of course. I dragged my pie-stuffed self to "Thrift Galore" and got the gorgeous teal scarf in the picture, and a bunch of other things too. And you know what? I love that scarf. So maybe there's a little romance in my life after all!

  Let me know what your romantic or sexy plans are for the weekend! I'd love to live vicariously through you. :)

  I spent the morning working on the weekend posts and processing email, then went back to check on responses to my post before taking off for lunch.

  Lydia, you sound a little stressed. Can I ask, do you exercise? You should check out my yoga teacher. Jen's wonderful and I always feel so relaxed and peaceful after a class.

  I was about to write a reply asking for contact information when I noticed another response a little further down.

  Jen here, Lydia. I'd be happy to give you two free weeks of unlimited yoga classes if you'd like to try them out. My only request is that you let me know, good or bad, what you think of them. Deal?

  Nothing better than getting something for free, but did I want to do yoga? I really didn't exercise much, other than walking around the city, and I'd never been remotely flexible. I'd probably be terrible at it. Still, if it helped me relax...

  I bent my head forward to stretch my neck, and with my chin close to my chest I realized that I did badly need to relax and loosen my whole body not just my neck. Even this exercise done several times a day only kept the headaches and tension from running rampant. Yoga might actually free me of them.

  I raised my head, almost certain I wanted to take Jen up on her offer, and found myself looking at Patricia. I'd never noticed before, but my coworker was developing that awful 'old woman hunch' about her shoulders, nearly a hump.

  The sight made me push my own shoulders back, and to my horror they didn't want to move and when they did they felt like the joints were breaking free of years of rust. I wasn't even forty yet! Things would only get worse if I didn't take control.

  Jen had included her web site in her comment, so I sent her a quick email saying yes and giving her my phone number so we could chat when she had a moment.

  I hadn't even had time to answer the next site comment when my phone rang. Jen had a calm voice but there was a hint of amusement and irreverence in it that I liked. She sounded professional too, though, and I could tell I'd be in good hands.

  We agreed that I'd start on Tuesday night at her beginner class and then see where I could go from there. I was impressed that she took the time to ask about my physical condition and what I wanted to improve then gave me a few suggestions for exercises I could do to get my shoulders and neck pre-relaxed before my first session. One was the same as that long-ago chiropractor had given me, but several were new and when I gave them a tentative try while we talked I could feel them working exactly my most tense muscles.

  As we neared the end of the call, I felt someone watching me and looked up to see Felix approaching, his eyes fixed to my face. I looked down, typing Jen's class times into the computer though they were on her web site so I wouldn't have to make eye contact with him. I'd been trying to avoid him, though I still wasn't sure why. All I knew was that I felt better when I didn't see him.

  He came around to my side of the desk and stood, too close, at my shoulder.

  "Okay, sounds great," I said into the phone once Jen had given me all the details. "I'll see you on Tuesday."

  We said our goodbyes and I hung up.

  Felix leaned closer and tapped my screen. "Yoga, eh?"

  I nodded without looking at him. Maybe if I ignored him he'd go away.

  He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Feeling tense? I could give you a massage."

  His voice was low, pitched so the rest of the staff wouldn't be able to hear, and seductive, and I had no doubt this 'massage' would end up in bed. It had been months since I'd had sex, and I knew Felix would be good at it. Would a little horizontal fun relax me better than any yoga class could?

  His other hand took my other shoulder. "Maybe at my place later?"

  A wave of fatigue crashed over me. Not physically, but mentally
and emotionally. How many times had I listened to a guy suggesting we take things further? I knew how many I'd gone with, but not how many I'd turned down. At the moment it felt like a cast of thousands, and I couldn't bear to hear it from another one.

  "I told you," I said softly, turning in my chair so his hands left my shoulders. "I will not date my boss. Ever."

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I'm a patient man."

  His breath against my skin sent fiery shivers through me and the rush of lust meant I almost didn't hear him add, "And I won't be your boss forever. We'd be damn good together."

  He ran his hand across my back then walked away, and I sat trying to look calm and cursing how fiercely my body reacted to him. As always with a sexy guy I felt both the urge to approach and the urge to flee, but after my months of unplanned celibacy the urge to flee was far fainter than usual. Almost non-existent.

  I'd never felt so nearly a pure attraction to a guy and it surprised and scared me. Was I doing the wrong thing saying no to Felix?

  My cell phone signaled a text message.

  Hey, Flipper. I'm outside that sports pub you said makes great burgers. Want to join me?

  I couldn't hold back a smile. Away from Felix, eating a huge juicy burger, with the adorable and non-lust-causing Percy?

  I'm on my way.

  *****

  Percy and I enjoyed our burgers and fries while perched on bar stools watching the replay of last night's Toronto Hogs game, which we both already knew the Hogs ended up losing, and crowing over how much better we would have done as coaches.

  "Of course, you've never played hockey," Percy pointed out.

  "Yeah, well, neither have you."

  "Good point." He looked thoughtful then said, "So we'd have a fresh perspective."

  "Unencumbered by little details like how the game is supposed to work."

  "Exactly." He smiled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "You got it, Flipper."

  He turned away to reach for the ketchup a little further down the bar and I sat feeling like the only part of my body that was truly alive was where he'd touched me. It wasn't lust, not like I'd felt for Felix, wasn't anything I'd experienced before. I felt like my shoulder might be glowing with a clean pure light, sweet and warm. The sensation was new and weird but somehow--

  "What's up? You look lost in thought."

  I blinked. I was in desperate need of a lover if Percy, the quintessential nice guy, got me going. "Nope." I wriggled my shoulders to make the feeling go away. "Just thinking about the game."

  We went back to watching and analyzing, and when we were done eating he said, "You know, we could always watch a game while it's happening."

  "Get tickets?" I dropped some cash on my bill. "They're almost impossible to find."

  "For you, my lady," he said, pretending to tip his hat to me, "I would make the effort."

  I giggled. "Thank you, kind sir."

  "But actually I was thinking we could watch on TV. Interested? They're playing again tonight."

  His persistence surprised me. I'd never known Percy to go ahead and actually set plans. "Tonight's not so good. I've got tons of stuff to get done that I've been putting off." Specifically, I was wearing my last clean pair of underwear and the house was a mess.

  He looked disappointed, and I felt bad, so I said, "But I would like to," realizing as I spoke that I actually would. "We'll have to check the schedule sometime."

  He smiled. "You're on, Flipper."

  "Quit calling me that, you. People are going to start checking my head for a blowhole."

  He reached for the crown of my head like he was going to inspect me, but I pushed him away, laughing. We walked slowly back to the office, chatting and enjoying the crisp cold fresh air, and when I returned to my desk I looked across the room to see him smiling at me and felt like I'd been away on vacation instead of just on lunch. Getting out of the office had been good for me, for sure.

  I'd been good to myself without even realizing it. Excellent.

  My cheerful mood didn't last, unfortunately. Everyone who'd previously posted on my site in response to my 'good to yourself' posts had been interested and supportive, but that had now changed.

  Stupid white people and their supposed problems. Boo hoo, you're not good enough to yourself. Try living with a man who beats you, or raising four kids on your own, and see how much time you've got left to worry about stupid shit like this.

  At least ten other people had posted in agreement, calling the project nothing but "rich girl bitching" and "selfish" and "unnecessary". My readers had of course responded, defending me and the project and saying there was nothing wrong with giving a critical eye to how you treated yourself, and the whole thing had blown up into a nice little fight.

  Nice, that is, if you weren't the one who had to moderate it.

  I waded in and did my best to calm the waters, pointing out that certainly some people had it harder than others but that I still thought the concept of taking even a few moments to think about your life had merit.

  I knew from past experience that the dissenters might well not be back, since some people simply enjoyed causing controversy and then running away, but I was careful not to say anything offensive to them that would make them want to stay around and keep fighting if they did return.

  I couldn't shake the mess off, though. Was I being selfish? Certainly I did already have a better life than lots of people, but did that mean I wasn't allowed to work at improving it?

  Was what I was doing really work? I'd be spending Sunday at the spa. Oh, the unfairness and hard labor.

  The project did feel like hard labor, though, a lot of the time. I wasn't used to watching my every decision to see how it affected me, and the constant awareness of what I was doing seemed overwhelming sometimes.

  I'd never thought it could be so hard to be good to myself.

  Chapter Nine

  "Hey again," Jack said as I walked into his restaurant. "Jerry's off tonight. He'll be sorry he missed you."

  "I didn't think you ever gave him time off." I smiled, trying to hide that I was glad Jerry wasn't there. I usually enjoyed talking hockey with him but at the moment I just wanted peace and quiet.

  "Once a year, if he's good. You need a menu?"

  "Yeah, right. I know it better than you do. Spaghetti, please." It wasn't bad but it wasn't Jack's most delicious dish either, so I wouldn't be tempted to eat it all. Important to have room for the best part. "Then..." I studied the spotless glass dessert case. "Peppermint cheesecake? Really?"

  "It's good stuff."

  "All right, I trust you."

  He went off to the kitchen and I took my favorite table and pulled out my computer. Once I'd connected to Jack's free Internet access, I set to work checking again that my site hadn't blown up. So far so good. One of the negative types had returned but since I hadn't given the guy anything to argue with he'd only posted a "You're all stupid" kind of response that didn't merit anything from me.

  My spaghetti arrived, and I plowed through it while processing my forum posts and email, not even noticing how much I'd eaten until I reached for another forkful and realized there was nothing there.

  Jack appeared. "Want to lick the plate clean?"

  "Pack it up, I'll let my dog do it at home."

  He laughed. "I think the health inspector might complain. Ready for cheesecake?"

  "When am I not?"

  He brought his hand out from behind his back and presented me with the dessert plate. "Enjoy, honey."

  I smiled. "Thanks, Jack."

  He walked away, and I watched him go. Jack would be an awesome father-in-law, I felt sure. Too bad I didn't have even a hint of feeling for his son.

  My first bite of the cheesecake was sweet minty paradise, and I let it melt in my mouth and somehow resisted the urge to moan out loud with delight.

  The second bite was amazing.

  The third was good.

  As the fourth slipped into my mouth, I re
alized I was full. I hadn't meant to eat all the spaghetti and now I truly didn't have room for the rest of the cheesecake.

  I looked down at the half-eaten slice. I'd tried taking cheesecake home in the past, but somehow it wasn't the same once it had been packed into the little box and carted along on the subway. After a few trials, I'd decided to always eat it at Jack's and take home only its memory.

  So what would I do now?

  I was already stuffed. After another half slice of cheesecake I'd need to be rolled out the door. I remembered my other cheesecake-related discomforts early in the week and knew I probably shouldn't eat the rest. I'd feel better if I didn't.

  I pushed the plate experimentally away, but that felt wrong so I pulled it back again. Jack changed his cheesecake menu every few days, and sometimes things never reappeared. I was still hopeful he'd someday bring back the earl gray tea variety he'd made only once, but he refused to commit to that, saying, "I make what I feel like making and I haven't felt like that one again." What if the peppermint went away too? I'd forever regret not finishing my slice.

  Knowing that was a bit over-dramatic, but also knowing it was true, I took another bite.

  If those complainers on my site had known I feared 'forever regret' over cheesecake, they'd have had far more to post about.

  A wave of "what's the point?" swept over me. So I'd spend twenty-three more days trying to be good to myself then go right back to who I'd been before. The complainers were right: nothing would change and no part of this really mattered.