Page 15 of Somewhere Along The Line
“Oh shit!” I jump up with a start. “Sami, we’ve gotta go home. I need to make more sausage balls.”
After last night’s exchange,I’d be thrilled if Piper skips this morning’s commute like she did yesterday’s. I seem fairly incapable of having a normal conversation with her, and I don’t have the energy to stick my foot in my mouth, not ahead of today’s pitch at work.
I go through my usual morning routine, black tea in hand, my jacket scratching at the back of my neck as I head out the door. It’s 7:08 on the dot, right on track for what should be a busy, if uncomplicated day.
One can certainly hope.
The B Line arrives at Carmack at 7:15 and I step on, finding a seat near the doors so I can make a quick exit if necessary. It’s a beautiful day, sunny, and the ride is peaceful… as peaceful as it can be on public transit.
My pulse increases as we pull into Roosevelt. My eyes start scanning the crowd for Piper before we even stop.
She boards in a rush, as though she made a ten-minute walk in five minutes flat, her tote bag trailing a second behind her as she pulls it through the doors. She spots me immediately and breaks into a grin before shuffling through the car and plopping down in the seat beside me.
So much for an uncomplicated day.
Piper’s buzzing, and I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or nerves. Maybe she had too much coffee this morning? She turns in her seat, her knee bumping mine like it did the last time we found ourselves here. I’m not sure she’s noticed.
“This,” she rustles through her tote like she’s digging for gold, “is for you!”
The bag of sausage balls swings from her fingers like a pendulum in an old cuckoo clock, ticking-tocking back and forth as she awaits my reaction. Her brown eyes are so earnest I can’t pull away. Her gaze sends blood rushing south and my heartbeat thumping in my ears.
“Wow!” I say, realizing she may be rubbing off on me already. “To be honest, I didn’t know if you were going to hold up your end of the deal. Thank you.”
I take the bag and open it carefully, savoring the familiar smell. It’s home and childhood and easy mornings and everything good. My eyes close without my consent.
“Why would I slack on this if we made a deal?” A jolt of cortisol races through my veins, pulling me out of my nostalgia. “We shook hands, remember? I resent you thinking I might take you for your money without delivering on my end.”
She’s joking, I think, but this is clearly a sore spot. I don’t like the fact that it’s there. I like even less that I touched it.
“Sorry, you’re right. Thank you for these. If you don’t mind, I’m going to save them for lunch.” I press together the zipper seal and tuck the package into my shoulder bag to save for later. It would be a shame for them to get squished before we leave the train.
“James, I don’t need your pity. If you don’t want the sausage balls, you can say so.”
She deflates, sinking into her chair and picking at a string near the hem of her skirt. Piper has no idea how much I want these damn sausage balls, much less why.
Foot, meet mouth.
I reach for her leg, my hand extending toward her before my brain knows it’s happening. I grip her thigh gently, the warmth beneath my fingers spreading heat up my arm. “Hey, look at me.”
She lifts her cautious and questioning eyes to mine.
“I’m not doing you a favor here. I meant what I said last week—this breakfast,” I pat the bag in my lap, “is what’s in this arrangement for me. I appreciate you bringing it for me.” I lift my hand slowly, moving it from her thigh to my own, watching her straighten and soften as we both take a breath.
BANG!
The sound ricochets off the metal siding and surrounds us, loud and disorienting. Piper and I operate from muscle memory, years of lockdown drills at school propelling us to dive into the well in front of our seats and raise our arms to shield our faces.
The area between our row and the row in front of us is tight—not meant for two adults to crouch comfortably.
I step over Piper and sit, positioning my back as a barrier to the aisle of the car before pulling her to me, tucking her into the pocket between my arms and chest.
I’m sure I do this to help optimize the tiny space and not because I feel protective over this woman I barely know. She collapses, her head heavy under my collarbone and her body twisted up between my legs.
Smoke fills the car. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I’ve got her. My autopilot kicks in, no thinking or feeling, and I act accordingly.
“You okay?” I shout, my mouth grazing the soft, warm shell of her ear. Her legs curl up as she scoots into me, trying to make herself smaller. She’s definitely not okay.
“I want you to breathe with me.” I tuck my chin to the top of her head, my arms wrapping around her curved back as she inhales again and again, too shallowly. “I’m here with you. Try to slow your breathing down.”
