To Have and To Hold

Chapitre Quatorze

I got home from the workday around ten o'clock, and I could feel a slight headache coming on. My fingers were cramping and eyes sore from staring at the computer for so long. Budgets and clients and dog names were stamped into my brain and mine was throbbing. The house keys jangled in my hand as I unlocked the front door, trying to be as quiet was possible as I slipped through the doorway and locked it behind me. The kitchen and living room were dark, but Jasmine's room was depositing a faint glow of yellow from her cracked door. I kicked my shoes off on the mat, set my keys down on the dining room table, and walked over to it.

I pressed my hand against the wood of her door, easing it open slightly. I could immediately hear noises coming from within. "Jasmine?"

Here was the thing about the apartment: we had rules. Rule number one, don't leave the empty milk carton in the fridge. Rule two, wash your own dishes. Rule three, no getting hot and heavy with boys in the apartment.

Since Annabeth was over a lot, she was involved in those rules. She had a bad habit of breaking rules number one and two; Jasmine always was breaking rule number three.

Like right now. I slapped a hand on the door, shoving it open. "Hi, honey," I said with energy. "I'm home."

Lincoln tore himself off Jasmine as if she were on fire, falling off the edge of the bed and looking at me with wide, scared eyes. He ripped one of the pillows from underneath Jazz's head and placed it strategically over his lap.

Jasmine was right about the black bra she bought last week—it would look pretty with her skin tone. It did, because I could see it in full glory as her shirt was discarded at Lincoln's feet. She pushed herself up and onto her elbows, glaring at me. "Seriously?"

I smiled sweetly. This wasn't the first time I'd come barging. "I thought you'd wonder where I was. I was working. Did you miss me?"

"Y'know, I didn't really notice you were gone."

Lincoln raised a feeble hand. "I did."

I gave the puppy-faced pillow in his lap a pointed look. "I bet you did."

His cheeks pinked.

Jasmine, now arrested to the fact that she wasn't getting any more action, sat up fully, running her fingers through her hair. "Annabeth told me she sent you the number. So, did you call the place?"

"No," I sighed, walking over to her bed and sitting on it. Lincoln rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I didn't have time."

"You're a receptionist," Jasmine said. "You should've just pretended it was a related call."

"She's not good at lying," Lincoln pointed out.

I kicked him in the leg.

"Are you going to do it tomorrow?"

I nodded, and felt the trepidation jolt through my veins. "After class I will. I'm nervous."

"Well yeah," Jazz said. "I'm nervous for you. But it'll be great. Be a woman."

"How am I supposed to ask for Jeremiah, though? He's an apprentice. He shouldn't be getting his own phone calls, should he?"

Lincoln piped up. "Tell him it's his fiancée on the phone and you need to talk to him urgently. About the baby."

I kicked him again, harder. He tucked his knees closer to his chest. "Not helpful."

"Just tell whoever answers the phone that you were recommended Jeremiah, and didn't know how to contact him." Jasmine shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. If someone says anything, like calling you out, just say that you're a friend of his. It's not a lie."

Right. That made sense. But the idea of calling his boss made my insides twist into a bundle of nerves. I wasn't like Annabeth or Jasmine, bold and outgoing. But this was fate. Fate brought him into my life, and now I just needed to chase after him.

Right?

My head and heart were pounding in time with each other, both a wicked rhythm that practically halted my train of thought. Pacing around the room didn't help, sitting down on my bed didn't help. My toes kept tapping against the concrete floor, my socks flexing with the movement. The tips of my fingers were white from gripping my cell phone tightly, my wrists trembling with anxiety.

It took me what felt like years to press the call button, and each ring that echoed in my ear sounded dooming.

"Baylor's Photography, this is Jon Baylor."

Mr. Ponytail. I could've thrown up. I really could've. "Hi, J-Jon," I stuttered, and then I forced myself to stop. To breathe. To exhale. "I'm calling to inquire more about your services?" It sounded too professional for the situation, but I kept my mouth shut.

There was a very long, silent pause, and I wondered if Jon had hung up. I wondered if I had the right number. I wondered if what I was doing was the right thing. I wondered if fate was even real. "Well?" he asked, voice hardened from his semi-pleasant greeting.

Oh, he was waiting on me. Be a woman. Think smart. "I mean—I was given the name of one of your apprentices, Jeremiah—what was his last name again?"

But Jon wasn't tricked into saying his last name, which would've made things so much easier, but I wasn't surprised. I sounded more nervous than confident. More girl than woman. No one would give out private information to a nervous girl. "Jeremiah quit about a week ago, if that's who you're trying to get to take your pictures."

My heart stopped beating altogether. "He quit?"

"Yep," Jon said, sounding miffed. "Wanted to go in his own direction, or whatever. Didn't need some teenager on my crew anyway."

"He's twenty."

Jon made a rude noise, as if insulted that I'd corrected him. "Close enough."

Now my breathing started getting shallow, because I was watching the idea of Jeremiah slip through my fingers. "C-Could you, maybe, give me his last contact information? So I could call him about his pictures?"

Jon hung up on me.

I slowly pulled my phone away from my ear, staring at my door. He quit? Why had he quit? Didn't he know that that was my last resort, my only option as to finding him? And of course his snotty boss wouldn't give me any personal information, not if he'd quit. Why would he be handing me to the competition?

For some reason, I wasn't feeling surprised. My luck with boys was deplorable, horrendous, and just because this sweet, nice guy I'd met showed a little interest didn't mean that he was the one. Even if something in me thought that he was.

And, oh my God, did I really just call his last place of employment looking for him? Was I really so desperate? My chest burned with an ache that I didn't recognize right at first; shame made my lungs felt heavy. Embarrassment made my face feel like fire. I had to let it go. He was out there, he wasn't coming to find me.

Maybe wedding cake magic didn't exist. Maybe fate didn't exist. Maybe he'd just happened across me by coincidence, and everything that followed was by chance. Not 'fate', not 'destiny'. No Cake Gods involved.

Maybe none of it mattered anyway. I needed to let him go.