Finally, I nudge the turtle with my pinky over to the corner of my desk and turn it so that it’s looking away from me, at the wall of my cubicle. There—that’s better.
It’s almost noon and Dawn still hasn’t shown up at work. I’ve called her two more times. Sent yet another text message. I don’t know what to do. She mentioned her mother lives out in Beverly, but I don’t know how to contact her. Steve in HR probably has the number. I don’t know if he’s allowed to give it out, but I’m sure I could charm him into handing it over. But am I overreacting? Dawn is a few hours late to work. But there was that urgent email from her yesterday—she was upset enough about something to contact both me and her boss about “a matter of great importance.” And then that strange phone call…
Help me.
At the time, I thought she sounded hysterical. But now that several hours have passed, I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe Dawn is fine. Maybe it was just a customer on the phone. And she’s got that meeting with Seth at two, so I’m sure she’ll turn up by then.
Anyway, I can’t think about this right now. I’ve got a podcast interview in fifteen minutes that I’ve been preparing for all week.
After I hang up with Carmen, I grab my personal laptop that I brought with me to work this morning and head for the conference room. Just as I’m exiting my cubicle, I run smack into Caleb McCullough, who was coming to see me.
“Hey, Nat. Lunch?”
Caleb is his usual slightly rumpled but incredibly cute self. Caleb never wears a tie, and I don’t think that white dress shirt has ever seen the hot end of an iron, but it’s not like he’s in sales and has to deal with people. Seth hired Caleb a few months ago to work on updating our website and setting it up to drive sales through the website itself. He comes to the office a couple of days a week and usually works in an empty cubicle.
Also, we’ve been dating for nearly two months.
“I’m kind of busy.” I smile apologetically. “I’ve got that podcast interview in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, right.” Caleb nods. “Good luck with that. You’ll be great.”
He smiles at me when he wishes me good luck. Caleb is just slightly above average in looks—tall and lanky with baggy eyes—but when he smiles, it transforms him. He is movie star-level handsome when he smiles. The first time he smiled at me, I was gone.
But in the last (almost) two months, I have discovered a lot of other qualities about Caleb that I adore, besides his dazzling smile. He’s a hard worker, a whiz at computers, funny as hell, and most importantly, he’s a good guy. Whatever else you can fake, it’s hard to fake being a genuinely kind person. It’s also exceedingly rare.
Although what I like best about Caleb is the way he looks at me. Like he can’t quite believe his luck.
I’ve dated a lot of guys in my life. Too many, probably. And my last relationship was a complete disaster that made me seriously worry for my safety. But for the first time in thirty years, I feel like I might have met The One. We’ve only been together for a short time, but sometimes you don’t need long to know. My grandparents dated for only one month before getting engaged. And they were married for sixty years.
Not that Caleb and I are getting engaged any time soon. I mean, we haven’t even slept together yet. But I could see it happening. I could see myself spending my life with this man. And I’m ready to make that kind of commitment. Caleb is ready too. His father died when he was young, and it’s made him eager to start a family. He told me he’s just waiting for the right woman—hint, hint.
So I allow Caleb to pull me closer to him, pressing his lips against mine under the flickering fluorescent lights. It’s an office kiss, but it’s enough to make me tingle down to my toes. Sometimes the most chaste kisses are the sexiest ones.
“I had a great time last night,” I murmur.
He beams at me. “Me too. You have no idea…”
Caleb came over for dinner last night at my place. I ordered in Chinese food, and then we had a pretty steamy make-out session. But he was a total gentleman and didn’t push me to go further or spend the night. Which was pretty classy, considering I absolutely would have said yes if he did. Caleb is respectful. It’s another rare quality.
Even though I was a little sad when he went home at only 9:30.
“Hey,” I say to him. “You haven’t seen Dawn today, have you?”
“Who?”
“The woman in the cubicle next to mine.” He’s still looking at me blankly, so I add, “The one with the really short hair—like a military cut? Really into turtles?”
“Oh.” He snaps his fingers—everybody knows about Dawn and her turtles. “Right. No, I haven’t. Why?”
I consider telling him about Dawn being late this morning and the strange phone call. But I’m trying to show him my best side at this point in our relationship, and I don’t want him to think I’m a worrywart. Plus I’m going to be late for my podcast interview.
“Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”
He reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through mine. Then he gives me a squeeze. “Knock ‘em dead on the podcast, Nat.”
“I’ll do my best.” Before I forget, I reach into the box of T-shirts and pull out an extra large that I earmarked for him. “Here’s your T-shirt for Saturday, by the way.”
I hold it up against his chest, to make sure it’s the right size. Caleb is tall, but it doesn’t look like the shirt will be too short on him. It looks perfect.
“Appreciate it,” he says. “I can’t wait to run circles around you.”
I smack him playfully on the shoulder. “You wish. I’ve been training.”
“And I’m just naturally great at running.”
I laugh, and he winks at me as he tugs the T-shirt out of my grip and then returns to his workstation. I truly wish I could go to lunch with him today. I’ve been feeling strung out all morning after that strange phone call, and it would be nice to go out for a bit and forget my troubles. But I’ve got to do this interview. It’s really important.
When I get to the conference room, I take out my compact from my purse and give myself a once-over before starting the interview. I realize it’s ridiculous to worry about how I look for a podcast interview, but I always feel more confident when I know that I look good. Sure enough, my lipstick is still intact from this morning, my mascara isn’t caked in the corner of my eye, and my skin looks pinker and healthier than this morning.
I angle the compact to get a quick look at my hair—my roots are starting to show. For my entire childhood, I had perfect golden blond hair, then sometime during my early twenties, it evolved into this washed-out dirty blond color. But it’s nothing a trip to the salon won’t fix—Magda works wonders. I hope I have time to go before the race on Saturday.
Just as I’m shoving my compact back in my purse, the call pops up on my laptop. The name flashing on the screen is Sherri Bell. I connect the call and plaster a smile on my face, even though Sherri can’t see me. Again, it doesn’t matter. When you’re smiling, people can hear it in your voice. I always smile during my sales calls—smile before you dial.