Broken Hero

“Alright,” I say, looking straight at Lucy. “Let’s hear it.”

I think I unnerve her sometimes. Good. She certainly unnerves me too.

She clears her throat. “We don’t want to make it so long that guests get overwhelmed with options, so we settled on eight treatments.”

“Eight?”

She looks up at me. “Yeah. The last spa I worked at had twenty-nine. Eight is a great number for a smaller, family-owned place with only one therapist.”

“Ollie’s never been to a spa,” Sarah interjects, as if covering for me. “Don’t worry about him.”

I don’t like my little sister’s interference. “I thought it sounded like a lot, actually. But by all means, you’re the expert.”

Lucy glances back down at her list. “The first three are all one-hour massages, the classics. Swedish-which is a hot oil massage for relaxation. A deep tissue massage, where clients can request specific areas. It’s more painful but also more effective.” She shrugs. “If the clients work at an office they’ll already know and love this. And finally, a sports massage.”

“Sports?”

“It focuses on the pain caused by exercises. Sore muscles, essentially.”

“Perfect for people who’ve gone trail riding.” Sarah winks at me. “Which is what I’m going to write in the description underneath on the website.”

I nod. I have to admit, it does sound like a recipe for success. But, what do I know?

“What are the other five?”

“Packages,” Lucy responds. “Massage, meditation, facials. A dip in the hot tub. Eighty-minute massage sessions and relaxation. That sort of thing.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

This is far from my comfort zone, but I can see the economic profit in all of this. “This sounds expensive.”

“It can be,” Lucy says, but I can see that that’s not important for her. “Although we should charge significantly less than they do in the big cities.”

“I’ll do some research,” I say. “We can set the prices together tomorrow if you’ve settled on the menu.”

“I’ll be done by then. Should I come to your office?”

I imagine her up there, the door closed behind us. For a second, the image of her across my desk flashes through my mind and my body starts to respond in kind. I push the wild image away. Focus, Oliver. “Yes.”

The sound of loud drilling picks up from inside the building. “Logan still working away?”

Lucy nods. “He has been, all day. A real hard worker.”

I can’t help it-I grin. I imagine him wiring, un-wiring and re-wiring the same section of wall just to drag this job out for as long as possible. All because of Mandy. Such a hard worker.

“He is,” I say.

Her eyes narrow-as if she thinks I’m making fun of her. Before I can say anything else, Sarah gets up. “I have to go and pick up the kids. It’s late.”

“See you tomorrow?”

Sarah smiles. “Of course, Luce. I’ll probably see you in the bakery first. I need some cookies for Sophia’s afterschool ballet class. We’re having a recital.”

She heads past me, rising to her toes to press a quick kiss on my cheek, and I’m left reeling. Luce? They have gotten awfully chummy this past week.

“Bye, Ollie.”

“Bye.”

She disappears. Left on the sunny patch of grass is just me and Lucy and a very bored Austin, who has decided that rolling around on the dusty gravel path is an excellent pastime. Lucy watches his antics and a sweet, soft smile spreads across her lips. She looks peaceful.

“He’s a real treat, isn’t he?”

“He likes you.”

Her smile broadens. “Oh, does he?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He hasn’t said a word to me all day.” She frowns, her eyes playful. “I was wondering if it was something I’d said.”

“He’s just not that talkative,” I say. “But trust me-he wouldn’t be showing off these antics to just anyone.”

“No?”

“No.” Austin chooses that moment to flop down on all four, going completely limp and letting out a massive sigh. He thinks we’re here to stay and he might as well make himself comfortable.

Lucy laughs, and the sound is as enchanting as the first time I heard it. Laughter comes easily to her, and she gives it freely, but each time it seems to genuinely thrill her. It’s never stilted or fake.

“No, now he’s very clearly bored with me, Oliver.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” I say. It comes out much softer than I intended, and she glances up at me in surprise.

I clear my throat. “Staying long today?”

“No. There’s nothing more to do. I’ll finish the treatment list tonight and have it ready for you tomorrow.”

Lucy gets up from the bench and dusts off her shorts. Austin, glad that we seem to be on the move, weaves between her legs. She laughs again, and I’m just as struck as before.

We walk back to the main house.

“So, Logan and you, you go way back?”

I nod. “Years.”

We fall silent again and I can tell she wants me to elaborate. But the story is either one word or ten thousand-there are no in-betweens. I learned a long time ago that when people say they’re there for you, when they say they want to listen, they don’t. They want you to give a few chosen sentences, ones designed to be appropriately sad and appropriately honorable, so they can fit you into their preconceived notions. Too much honesty, and you’ll frighten people away.

It’s partly why I haven’t tried to talk about it in a very long time. But maybe I should try, at the very least.

I clear my throat. “We served together.”