Sugar Rush

01 | blend | ii

  

0 1

b l e n d

To mix two ingredients thoroughly.

(part ii)

WITHIN TWO WEEKS, I'd familiarised myself with my home. This building was a small place with four floors and six flats. The ground level had been converted into a shared utility room, kitchenette and lobby area for people to sit and talk. The layout of the building had surprised me at first, until I'd found the remaining three residents having breakfast there that weekend.

Over a cup of tea, I'd learnt all their names. The owner of this building lived in 1A, although I hadn't seen her yet, and 1B was empty. There was Ms Pham who lived opposite me in 2B—a widow whose husband had migrated here after the Vietnam war. Parker's neighbours in 3B were Mr and Mrs Singh, a retired couple who had amassed a fortune and hadn't any kids. All of them were rich enough to buy bigger places, but chose Coral for its simple homes and overall peace.

I wondered if Parker felt the same way.

But even if he did, I had no chance to ask. I barely saw him at all that week, what with all my job interviews. When I finally unpacked the last of my boxes, I found the suit jacket that I'd stored all this while. I'd kept it in pristine condition, sent it to the best launderette I knew back in my previous hometown, and sealed it in a garment bag.

I shook it out and stared at it. Jet black, clean-cut and well-stitched. A flash of the wedding surfaced in my mind—where the groom's nephew had tried to drug a bridesmaid, but I'd intercepted just in time.

But on the heels of that ugly memory came something better. Sweeter. A hint of lemon and peppermint, and the realisation that Parker Collins cared enough to lend me his jacket after I'd dirtied my dress.

I let out a slow breath and folded the jacket over one arm. I grabbed my bag and coffee, slipped into my shoes and left the flat. Instead of heading down the stairs, I went up this time. All the way to 3A, which I'd often considered visiting but never actually dared to, and knocked on the door.

No answer.

I bit my lip and knocked again. Was Parker awake? It was seven, after all, but not too early for a weekday morning. Most people got up this time for work anyway. I knocked once more.

Just then, footsteps echoed from the stairwell. I spun round, my eyes wide. "Hey!"

Parker looked in a far worse state than I'd ever seen him before. Dark bags beneath his eyes, a hint of a five o'clock shadow and his tie loose around his neck. He wore a suit that looked no different from the one at the party, and carried a briefcase with him. He stopped when he saw me. "Hi."

"Did you just get back from...?" I trailed off, not really wanting to make any assumptions about him. He might've had work. Or he might've spent the night at someone's place. Who knew?

"Work." He dragged a hand through his hair. "It's been a shite week and I had to pull an all-nighter. I still have more work to do later."

"Are you serious? Surely your boss would let you take a day off."

He shrugged. "Unlikely. It's a big case and my boss needs me with him in court."

I stared at him, impressed. We were almost the same age, but it often felt like we were from two very, very different worlds. I didn't even have a job, while he clearly had a very important one. I blinked at him, almost forgetting the reason I'd come, until he raised his eyebrows at me.

"Did you need something?"

"Oh, right!" I held up the jacket. "This is yours. I'm sorry it took me this long to return it to you, but it's been a crazy few weeks. Months, actually."

"That's okay. Thanks for bringing it back." He took the jacket from me and tossed it over his shoulder. "So how's it going?"

"What?"

"The job hunt."

I tried not to wince. "Not too good," I admitted. "All the chef openings I tried out for didn't want me. I got offers at three places for waitressing, but the pay is pretty minimum and not enough to cover my bank loans. Good thing the Lemon Lounge hired me as a cocktail waitress. I start work there this afternoon, but I'm going in early to learn the ropes."

"Wait." Something in his voice made my smile fade. "The Lemon Lounge?"

"Yes."

"The high-end bar where business people pay ridiculous amounts of money to get in—that Lemon Lounge?"

"Someone seems to know it well enough," I teased, shooting him a playful grin.

Parker didn't look amused. In fact, he looked downright grim. "You won't let me get you a job, but you'd rather work at the Lemon Lounge? If you really need the money, I can lend it to you."

"I told you, I can't owe you anymore. The manager at the Lemon Lounge seems nice, pays well enough and lets me fix my own schedule. Anyway, this isn't my first gig as a cocktail waitress."

His lips flattened in a tight line, but he didn't say anything. It was just as well. My mind had been made up. No matter how much I admired Parker, I wasn't going to let him change my decision.

I flicked a glance down at my watch and sighed when I saw the time. "I'm running late. I should go." I hesitated for a moment, then pushed my coffee cup into his hand. "Here. So you can power through the work your awful boss made you do," I added, smiling when he stared at me. "Don't worry, I haven't drank it yet."

"Thanks," he said quietly. But as I turned to leave, his other hand shot out. His fingers curled around my elbow, a steady heat on my skin. I looked at him in surprise, and he quickly dropped his hand as though he'd touched an open flame. The expression on his face was undecipherable as he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

I knew he meant my new job. "I'm sure."

I moved away and, in my peripheral, I noticed his hand rise again as if to hold me back. This time, he stopped before he could reach me, his fingers curling into a fist as he drew his hand back down to his side.

"Parker," I said softly. His eyes rose to meet mine and I shot him a reassuring smile. "I'll be okay, really."

He stared at me for a moment longer, then sighed and nodded. I smiled at him one more time before I turned to go. As I left, I swore I could feel the heat of his gaze burn into my back.