Day Trip

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The rest of my week had been relatively normal in terms of work. One client canceled on Tuesday, saying she didn't feel well and would prefer it if I came the next week. Mr. Macciata also called the office, telling the receptionist not to send me. He'd been asked to work at the butcher's shop for the day as they were short-staffed. Part of me was relieved that I would not be seeing him. And the therapist in me liked to think that he'd taken our discussion about finding meaningful work seriously and was taking the first step towards regaining order in his life. Hey, a therapist can hope, right?

Saturday came quickly. Julian had met me at the door every day since Monday. He'd ask me how my day went, I'd tell him, then we'd share a few more words of trivial conversation before going into the dining hall. I quickly found out that although the rest of his family commenced eating at 6, Julian would wait for me to arrive back at Grimfur, usually around 6:30. One time I caught him sitting on the stairs, waiting. He blushed when I eyed him. I don't know why he was waiting for me. I told him to eat when dinner was served. But he never did. I find the gesture cute if I'm being honest.

Padding down the stairs, I grabbed the newel post and used the force of my swing to turn me in the direction of the kitchen. I, unfortunately, ran smack into Julian's chest. I winced, rubbing my forehead.

"I'm sorry," I grumbled. "I didn't see you there." Looking up at Julian, I saw the concern on his face. Shifting the tinfoil-wrapped bundles he had in his hands, he rubbed gently at my forehead, as if smoothing out an invisible dent.

"No, it's my fault. I should've warned you I was here."

Before I could rebut, he held out one of the tinfoil bundles he was holding. "Breakfast. Portland is at least an hour's drive with good traffic. I figured we could eat and drive if that's okay with you?"

I shrugged. "Sure. You're the tour guide. I'll do whatever you tell me to." I noted his breathing hitched for a moment, an unfamiliar glint briefly appearing in his eye. Blinking a few times, he seemed to come to.

"Carry the sandwiches. I'll carry the thermoses." He hefted two decently sized thermoses. "Coffee."

I smiled. Excitement shot through my chest. This was going to be fun. As we headed to the garage to get Julian's truck, I stole glances at him. He was dressed differently than usual. Gone was his characteristic dress shirt. He still wore his usual pair of jeans that were fitted through the butt and thighs but straight-legged after the knees. On top, he wore a hooded fall jacket. The red and brown plaid of the fabric contrasted with his skin tone. Underneath the jacket, he had on a simple red henley. 

I glanced down at my own attire. Was it okay? The way he was dressed was like he was preparing for a hike in the woods. I was not dressed for hiking. Although I had on boots, they were block heeled. I also wore a pair of fitted dark wash jeans and a plain, long-sleeved cream shirt. I threw on a maroon cardigan for warmth. The air was starting to get cooler. It didn't help that we were relatively close to the coast either.

Stepping into the garage, I glanced at the row of cars lined up. It was easy to forget that the Walkers had money. They were humble about it. But seeing the variety of shiny, expensive vehicles before me quickly reminded me that they had cash. Julian strode to a charcoal truck with four doors. Glancing behind him, he looked at me expectantly as he opened my door. I whispered my thank you as I climbed in and waited for him to cross to his side.

Closing his door and turning the key in the ignition, he looked at me with an excited smirk. "You ready?"

"Of course!"

He put the truck in reverse and backed out, putting his hand on the back of my headrest to look behind him as he did so. My heart fluttered. Cool it, woman, he's just being a safe driver.

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