Final Draft by Shelley Burbank
Chapter Three
Jasper shot her an amused look. “I like you, too, Olivia. You are definitely not what I expected.”
Tiffany sniffed, not sure whether to be offended or relieved. “And I like Gilbert. And he likes me. And we both like Olivia.” She speared a look at her only daughter that would have shriveled all but the most immune. “Most of the time.”
Liv looked at her father. “And you!”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You allowed her to do this.”
“Well, maybe I’d like to see my only daughter settled down before I die,” her father grumbled.
Jasper looked from one to the other. “Uhhh… pass the scones, please.”
“See what you stumbled into here, Jasper? This family is nuts,” Liv said, nudging the basket of scones closer to his plate. “But cheer up. No one has died on account of a date with me yet.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking a scone and cutting it open. “Is this a date?”
“I hope so,” Liv said, shrugging and handing him the jam before he asked for it. “Or the prelude to a date, anyway.”
“Prelude to a date,” Jasper said, nodding. “I like that. Maybe you should give me your number so we can talk about that in greater detail.”
Liv handed him her business card. “Knock yourself out.”
“Okay, Ruth. I have a pretty good idea of your setup here. I’ll email you my recommendations for a new security system by the end of the week.”
“Much appreciated.” The short, gray-haired owner of Buoy Bagels stuck out her hand. “I shouldn’ta put it off for so long, but you know how it is.”
She did. Owning a small business meant doing it all yourself or hiring someone to do it for you. There was never enough time in the day. When Liv got back to her office, she planned on spending the afternoon with her accounting software and stack of receipts.
They left the office, and Ruth stepped into place behind the cash register. “Getcha a latte or something before you go?”
“You know what? A latte would be fantastic. Thank you.”
As Ruth made the drink, a group of female students wearing black leggings, furry boots, and sorority sweatshirts trooped into the shop. Seeing them laughing and chatting, Liv felt a not-unpleasant ache of nostalgia for her own college days.
Had it really been nine years since she and Ashleigh were roommates, smoking cigarettes over their morning coffees at the tables outside the student union? She remembered so vividly the flavor of the tobacco and the taste of burned coffee, the bad poetry in the online student ’zines they’d followed, the anxiety about papers and mid-terms, and dating drama. Wearing their low-rise jeans and tiny tees and puffy coats, they’d thought they were so cool.
Yeah, cool, Liv thought. It had taken her three years, countless acupuncture sessions, and a billion nicotine patches to finally kick that nasty smoking habit. She watched as one of the girls sneaked a puff on an e-cig and passed it to a friend. Now all the kids were vaping. The more things changed…
“Here ya go, Olivia. Thanks again.” Ruth placed a large latte on the counter. “My treat.”
“Thanks, Ruth.” Liv waved on her way out the door and stepped into the warm sunshine filtering through the still-bare branches of the trees. Spring had finally decided to make a tentative appearance.
She took her time as she drove toward her East Bayside office. The smell of spring made her feel reckless and young, so she rolled down the window a few inches and turned up the volume on Bach’s Partitas, which she’d been playing over and over the last few days. The trilling piano notes fit the lighter, spring mood in the air.
She caught a glimpse of fortress-like Sharon Medical Center with its old wings and new wings and recently-completed parking garage, and her thoughts turned to Dr. Jasper Temple. Was he working today? She pictured him dressed in scrubs and wielding a scalpel, a hero working to unclog an artery, repair a faulty valve, or jump-start someone’s heart.
She wouldn’t know.
Because he hadn’t called.
It had been two days since brunch, and that meant something. She frowned. She’d liked the tall, dark, and delicious Dr. Hottie with his warm smile, verbal wit, and good manners. She thought he’d liked her, too. In fact, they’d both come right out and said it.
She tapped her fingers on her steering wheel. Ashleigh, in full school counselor mode, would have been impressed by the honesty. Except it had now been two days, and he still hadn’t called.
She scowled as she contemplated what could have gone wrong. Maybe her parents had scared him off. Maybe she had. Either way, it stung just a little.
But, she told herself, still tap-tap-tapping her fingers, keeping time with Bach, it was no big deal. She could always adopt a couple cats if she got too lonely. Or start taking solo trips to Cancun orKey West. Somewhere, anywhere, that was hot, tropical, and relaxing. She’d bring along a few classics she’d always meant to read and some Agatha Christie’s for when she needed a break from the heavy stuff. And she’d pay to have regular installments of juicy, sweet tropical drinks brought to her lounge chair on the beach.
She started making plans as she drove, but when she stopped at a red light at the edge of Deering Oaks Park, her phone rang through the car’s speakers. She glanced at the console. She didn’t recognize the number. Jasper?
She pressed a button and held her breath. “Olivia Lively.” A horn blasted at a delivery truck pulling out into traffic. Pedestrians walked briskly down sidewalks wet with melting snow.
“Hi, Ms. Lively? It’s Cooper Tedeschi, from the other night?”
She exhaled, trying not to feel disappointed, but failing. She tapped her fingers again, glared at the traffic light. “Hi, Cooper.”
“Hi. I was just wondering if I could set up an appointment for today.”
Liv hesitated. She didn’t really want to take this case. There were so many reasons: Too many ifs. Too little chance of success. Too messy. Not to mention the little problem about a retainer.
Then again, business was business. “Um, hold on a second. I’m in traffic.”
She thought about a recent meeting with her accountant. Quarterly taxes were due in a few weeks, and she had some time in her schedule at the moment, especially since she wasn’t dating. She could accept Cooper’s case on a contingency basis, and if she helped Cooper prove his story and he won a settlement, she could collect her fee.
And if he didn’t? Well, even a pro bono case might take her mind off of a certain hot surgeon and his apparent inability to dial a phone.
The light changed. Traffic started to move. She had a couple of appointments scheduled for later in the afternoon, but the next hour or so was free.
“Cooper? Could you be at my office in fifteen or twenty minutes?”
“Yes, I have the day off, so anytime today would work.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”
“Really? Thank you so much!”
He started to gush, but she interrupted him. She gave him her address. She had to do it quickly, she thought. Before she changed her mind.
Ten minutes later, Olivia parked her green sedan in the parking lot of a shabby warehouse, grabbed her computer bag from the seat beside her, and walked into organized chaos.
Lively Investigations rented a two-room office for cheap in an East Bayside warehouse just off Marginal Way. The building was owned by the Fiber Fox Cooperative, a newly-established makerspace for hands-on creatives of every stripe. FFC ran their operation out of a set of offices, including a conference room, next to Liv’s, but the majority of the space was taken up with industrial sewing machines, screen printers, presses, hand looms, spinning wheels, die cutters, and offset printing presses. They even had a 3-D printer.
Today a bunch of women and a few men milled around, holding up colorful swathes of printed fabric. Over to the right, another small group stood near the screen-printing table. In a back corner of the large space, books and samples spanned long shelves. A lone seamstress, satin material bunching and pooling around her, bent over one of several industrial sewing machines.
Liv swerved left from the entryway door, her mind on her upcoming meeting with Cooper Tedeschi. Preoccupied, she entered the short hallway that led to the restrooms and offices.
“Hello, Liv.”
She froze, startled by the deep voice and unexpected figure lurking in the shadows. A man with slicked-back light brown hair stood beside her office door. He gave her a sardonic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and he kept one hand in the deep pocket of his overcoat. He worked to appear nonchalant, but he twirled a keychain in his other hand, a tick she recognized.
He was angry. Nervous. Maybe both.
“Rob.” Liv ignored the rapid beating of her heart as she greeted her most recent romantic mistake. “What do you want?”