Page 11 of Give Me a Reason
“I don’t know the details, but as far as I know, she’s back for good.
Her family certainly seems happy to have her back.
Well, at least, Coraline and her family…
” Joe gave his head a sharp shake, then pointed a finger in Pete’s face.
“Anyway, Anne’s actually a little shy, so don’t make a big fuss and make her feel uncomfortable.
I told the rest of the team before you guys came, but most of them don’t watch K-drama anyway. ”
“Me? Make a fuss?” Pete blew a raspberry. “I’m Mr. Cool.”
“Anyone who calls himself Mr. Cool is as far from cool as humanly possible,” Joe muttered. “You guys will be spending a lot of time with her, being in the wedding party together, so we thought it would be nice for you to get to know each other.”
“Uh-huh.” Frederick nodded so Joe would think he was listening. “Uh-huh.”
“Hey, you okay?” Pete whispered, finally remembering the news would hit Frederick differently.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he rasped, scowling at him even as his head spun.
He didn’t want Joe to know about his history with Anne. There was nothing his lieutenant could do about it, and Frederick didn’t want him to feel bad. It wasn’t Joe’s fault that fate was a sadistic asshole.
“Uh… yeah. Why wouldn’t you be? I’m the one who is fanboying here.” Pete’s eyes suddenly widened in panic. “Oh no. I… I need to let Katie know.”
Frederick watched his friend rush off with a perplexed frown until he remembered Katie’s promise to give his ex a piece of her mind.
From the bloodthirsty light in her eyes earlier, he had a feeling that a piece of her mind was a euphemism for an ass kicking .
He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against, his hands fisting at his sides.
If Katie so much as laid a finger on Anne—if she so much as made one tear fall from her beautiful eyes—he would… he would what? He would fight his best friend’s wife, a good friend in her own right, to protect his ex? The woman who fucking broke his heart… broke him .
Frederick rubbed his temples, smothering his misdirected protective instinct. He would stay the hell out of it. Nothing was going to happen anyway. Pete would talk Katie down.
Meanwhile, Katie had put the rest of the crew to good use.
Everyone was busy laying out place settings and arranging the side dishes, leaving the center of the dining table empty for the turkey.
She oversaw the operation, while setting out mini-pumpkin decorations and small vases of orange and burgundy flowers.
Pete joined his wife at the dining table and whispered the news in her ear, while rubbing her back in soothing circles. Her hand immediately fisted around a poor little pumpkin, and that bloodthirsty light came back into her eyes.
Frederick wanted to rush over to warn Katie not to do anything rash, but her fist unfurled as Pete turned her to face him, running his hands up and down her arms. She proceeded to smoosh an entire Hawaiian roll into her mouth and chewed rather viciously on the fluffy morsel, but she nodded at her husband when he murmured something to her.
With a smile, his friend kissed the top of Katie’s head and turned to give Frederick a thumbs-up. Pete and the King’s Hawaiian roll had done their magic. Katie was defused.
“Captain?” From the confusion in Joe’s voice, he must have tried to get Frederick’s attention more than once.
“What’s up?” he said weakly.
“Do you think Pete and Katie will be chill?” Joe asked, not knowing the complexity of his question.
“Yeah.” Frederick nodded. “Uh-huh. They’ll be fine.”
“Good,” Joe said, already walking away. “Because they’re here.”
Frederick couldn’t believe he got to see her again.
What? He didn’t “get to” do anything. He had to see her.
Her presence was being forced on him. If he had a choice, he definitely wouldn’t see her again.
But he had no choice but to endure her company.
And the knot loosening in his chest was not relief but resignation.
With his blood pounding in his ears, he turned toward the kitchen door with…
dread. He held his breath with his eyes glued to the entrance, with dread.
He craned his neck and searched for her heart-shaped face, with dread.
The fluttering in his stomach was not butterflies but dread. Dread, not yearning.
Either way, he wanted to pull a Homer Simpson and fade back into a hedge. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a hapless cartoon character. More importantly, there was no hedge in the station kitchen.
Joe kissed Coraline and took two pie plates from her hands.
Bethany followed, carrying a giant foil-covered plate that could only be the turkey.
Then Anne walked into the kitchen with a big box of sparkling apple cider in her arms. How did she exude such quiet elegance while carrying an unwieldy box?
Anne was only five foot four, but she used to carry herself in a way that made people swear up and down that she was much taller. But when he saw her last time, she’d seemed even smaller than her actual height, like she’d shrunken in on herself.
Tonight, she stood with her back straight and her shoulders back with that stubborn chin of hers tilted up just so.
The hollows of her cheeks had filled out, and she had more color in them.
And her hair fell down one shoulder in a glistening cascade, its luster restored.
A sigh slipped past his lips, relieved despite himself.
Being back home must be doing her some good.
His eyes roamed her face, over the soft curve of her eyebrows, the delicate bridge of her small, straight nose, and the perfect shape of her not-too-thin, not-too-full lips.
No one feature stood out as her best one.
She didn’t have enormous eyes that you could fall into, or lush Cupid’s bow lips that begged to be kissed—not that her soft, expressive lips were any less tempting.
But all her features came together in a way that made her face exquisitely lovely.
A face you could look at for hours on end and never tire of.
Frederick jolted out of his trance and rushed toward Anne, his arms already lifting to take the box from her. What the fuck am I doing? He managed to adjust course at the last second and came to a halt in front of Bethany.
“Hello, Bethany.” He held his arms out to her with a forced smile. He saw Anne freeze from the corner of his eyes, and his cheeks cramped from the effort of hanging on to his smile. “Allow me. That looks much too heavy.”
“Hi, Captain Nam.” Bethany blushed, handing him the platter. “Thank you so much.”
“Captain Nam?” He raised his eyebrows, his smile becoming less strained. “Should I call you Ms. Hong, then?”
“No, of course not.” She giggled, a hand fluttering to her mouth.
“Then please call me Frederick.” He turned to make his way toward the dining table, but his lips thinned, noticing that Anne still held the box loaded with a dozen bottles of apple cider.
“Hi, I’m Pete,” his friend said, belatedly stepping up to Anne. “Let me take that from you.”
About fucking time , Frederick thought.
“Hi, Pete. I’m Anne.” She swiveled her torso slightly away from him. “But don’t let me trouble you. I can manage.”
Frederick barely held back his scoff. Knowing her, she probably insisted on carrying the heaviest box from the car.
She was as stubborn as ever. Just take the box from her already , he wanted to yell at his friend.
Instead, he resolutely turned his gaze away from them and offered a distracted smile to Bethany, who waited patiently at his side.
Joe grinned at him from across the kitchen before leaning down to whisper something to his fiancée.
Frederick had a sinking feeling that they were congratulating each other on their matchmaking prowess.
God, what a mess. He forced himself to walk toward the dining table, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder.
“I insist.” Pete carefully wrestled the box out of Anne’s hands. “My wife would not approve of me standing idle.”
“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.” She smiled, while surreptitiously squeezing her upper arms.
She can manage, my ass. Frederick took another minuscule step toward the table, his shoulders tense with frustration.
“It’s my pleasure.” His friend stood grinning vacuously at Anne until she delicately cleared her throat, her eyes fluttering to her toes. Pete turned beet red. “I’m so sorry for staring. It’s just that my wife, Katie, and I are huge fans of yours. But I promise not to be weird. From now on.”
Anne laughed, pressing a hand to her chest, and the melodic warmth of the sound seeped into Frederick’s bones. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. Then sudden, irrational anger bloomed in his chest that he wasn’t the one who’d elicited her laughter.
“That is so sweet of you guys,” she said warmly. “And you weren’t being weird. I was just being socially awkward.”
“No, I was definitely being weird.” Pete chuckled, sounding relieved. “Let me go put these away before I embarrass myself further. I hope we can chat more later.”
Frederick ripped his attention away at last and set the platter down at the place of honor in the center of the dining table. Bethany busied herself, taking off the aluminum foil to reveal a golden-brown turkey surrounded by orange and lemon slices, sprigs of fresh herbs, and fresh cranberries.
“Wow.” His eyes widened. “That looks like something out of a food magazine.”
“I’m really happy with how it turned out,” Bethany said with a proud smile. “I took an astronomical number of pictures.”
“Yeah, it was annoying the hell out of me.” Coraline grinned at her sister, joining them by the table. “Hey, Frederick. How are you doing?”
“Good,” he answered automatically, even though he felt tense and jittery from having Anne so close. The effort of not looking at her was draining, which was ridiculous since she’d been here for less than ten minutes. “I heard you two were taking a different direction with the wedding colors.”
Bethany groaned theatrically, and Coraline playfully jabbed an elbow in her sister’s side. “If by ‘you two’ you mean ‘me’ and by ‘taking a different direction’ you mean ‘I changed my mind again,’ then yes. Yes, we are.”
“Thank goodness the wedding is far off enough that we bridesmaids don’t have our dresses yet.” Bethany wagged an admonishing finger at her older sister. “I refuse to get a new dress every time you change your mind.”
“Speaking of dresses—” Coraline began.
“Come get your turkey,” Katie bellowed loudly enough to stop all conversation in the kitchen.
The crew members who’d been helping set the table had all drifted away to various corners of the kitchen, but she once again commanded their full attention.
“Remember this is B Shift you’re dealing with.
If you snooze, there won’t even be any gravy left to scrape out of the bowl. ”
Katie watched the stampede to the table with a satisfied smile. She was the wife of a battalion chief—this was hardly her first Thanksgiving at the station—and it showed. The woman knew exactly what she was doing, and everyone loved her for it.
Busy enjoying the spectacle as well, Frederick missed his chance to pick a seat. Now there were only two remaining chairs—one by Bethany and another one by Anne. Sitting with Bethany was bound to give Joe false hope about his matchmaking efforts. His gaze drifted toward Anne. Sitting with her was…
Anne suddenly glanced up, and their eyes collided. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to lock his suddenly weak knees in case they buckled. She was so fucking beautiful—even more so than he’d remembered. How was that even possible?
If he sat next to her, would their legs touch under the table?
Would their arms brush against each other?
He could close his hand over hers if they reached for the same roll at the exact same time.
Was her skin as soft as he remembered? She used to make these breathless little sounds when he dragged his lips across her silken skin…
His blood rushed south so fast that the room tilted on its axis. As soon as the room righted itself, he scrambled into the seat next to Bethany, who shot him a startled glance. He coughed into his fist and mumbled, “I didn’t want to miss out on your turkey.”
“Oh.” A shy, pleased smile lit up Bethany’s face, and Joe winked at him from the other side of the table.
Well, shit. At least Frederick wouldn’t spend the entire dinner fighting the urge to “accidentally” touch his ex like a fucking creep.
With some effort, he focused enough to catch the latter half of what Bethany was saying.
She either hated canned cranberry sauce or loved it.
Personally, he was a gravy man. Even so, he smiled and nodded at her, grateful for the distraction.
Frederick would have to burst Joe’s matchmaking bubble later.
For the time being, he needed to focus on keeping his head on straight with Anne in the same room.
He stole a glimpse of her. She sat sandwiched between Nick and Sandy near the end of the other side of the table.
He couldn’t “accidentally” touch her even if he slid down his chair and stretched his leg all the way out.
It felt like a safe distance, but he couldn’t risk looking at her. He would take it in one-minute increments. If he didn’t look at her for a whole minute, he would take it as a win.
He stole another glance at Anne. Goddammit. She held out a plate of candied yams to Sandy, encouraging her to take some first. He blew out a long breath, dismayed that he didn’t last ten seconds, much less one minute.
Would anyone notice if he ate with his eyes closed? No, he could do this. Frederick could survive one lousy evening with Anne. Thanksgiving dinner couldn’t last forever.