Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

Rhonda

On Thursday, Rhonda stepped out of her car and walked up the sidewalk to Penny and Brett's house, her heels clicking on the concrete. Burnt orange and brown leaves collected along the path, nestled into every nook and cranny of the yard like they were huddling together for warmth.

She ascended the freshly stained porch steps and took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell, her stomach doing a little flip of nerves. As she waited, Rhonda inspected the porch swing and the welcome mat. It was a beautiful house. Penny and Brett had bought it together in the spring, and every time she stopped by, it looked a little more like they’d lived there forever.

The door swung open, and Penny, wearing a mustard yellow sweater and tight black jeans, grinned at her. "Hey, you made it!"

Rhonda raised an eyebrow as she stepped in and hugged Penny. “Did you think I was going to bail?”

“I gave it a twenty percent chance.”

“I said thirty!” Brett called from somewhere deeper in the house.

In summer, the place had been light and airy, with large windows that let the sunlight pour in like liquid gold. Now that it was dark by five o’clock and Penny had put up window treatments, the house had transformed into something cozy. The walls were painted a soft, soothing grey, and the furniture was a mix of modern and eclectic pieces that screamed Penny. It was all clean lines and pops of colour.

Rhonda slipped off her shoes and followed Penny down the hall and into the newly remodelled kitchen where Brett was loading the dishwasher. “You’ve got him trained.”

Penny grinned. “Yeah, he’s a keeper.” She slapped his butt as she walked by.

Rhonda sighed. “If only my date were here, I could offer him the same greeting.”

Penny laughed. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Water?” She pulled a glass from the cabinet. Rhonda nodded and sat on one of the barstools at the counter. “So, Aaron should be here any minute.”

“Did you tell me his name was Aaron? Or was it just ‘masculine, non-committal contractor.’” Rhonda took the glass of water Penny handed over the counter.

Brett closed the dishwasher. “I took that straight from his dating profile.”

“Mmm. Nice. Great hook.” Rhonda set her glass on the counter. “If he only added his favourite sexual position, he’d fit right in with the others.”

“Do you spend time on those apps?” Penny asked.

Rhonda shrugged. “Sometimes. When I’m out of town. So far, no murderers.”

Penny gave her a look that said Plan on every three months for that safety lecture , but before Rhonda could assure her she always shared her location and the information of said dates with someone—usually Anne—the doorbell rang.

Penny jumped and grabbed her purse. Rhonda took another drink, then leaned over and set her glass in the sink. They walked together behind Brett and watched as he opened the door.

"Sorry I'm late, I got held up at the site.” His voice was deep, but Rhonda couldn’t get a good look with Brett standing in the way.

Aaron stepped through the doorway, and suddenly, the room felt smaller. He was tall, with dark hair that was still damp from his shower. Without permission, an image of Jordan standing in his hotel room popped into her head. No, thank you. Rhonda stood a little taller, willing herself to focus on the man in front of her. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and a very nice lopsided smile.

“Hey, I’m Aaron.” He put out a hand, and Rhonda shook it. His fingers were rough, his eyes a deep, rich brown. He wore a simple button-down shirt and jeans. Yeah, he would do. He would do nicely.

Rhonda slipped back into her heels and the four of them walked out to the driveway. Brett pulled his truck out of the garage, and she slid into the back seat with Aaron, the scent of the leather seats mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from a travel mug in the cupholder.

Another flash. Jordan’s hand behind her head as he lowered her to her back, her feet pressing against the door as he?—

“So what do you do?” Aaron asked.

Rhonda swallowed hard. She hadn’t thought about Jordan in weeks, and tonight was the night her brain decided to take a trip down memory lane? “I’m a pharmaceutical rep. I work for Cantra.”

“She doesn’t just work for them,” Penny added. “She’s their top sales rep in the Calgary region.”

Rhonda grinned. “Thank you for that.”

“It’s true!”

It was true, but her experience was that most men didn’t love hearing about her accomplishments right off the bat. They wanted to know she was successful but only to a point. Especially when they worked in corporate sales.

Aaron shifted on the seat, and their legs brushed. “That’s impressive.” Rhonda was about to smile and shrug it off when Aaron asked, “Are you happy in that role or do you want to move up?”

It was a simple question, but Rhonda had never once been asked that by a member of the opposite sex. Usually when they heard about her work, they jumped into stories about their own job, levelling the playing field a bit.

Rhonda paused, not sure if she should answer honestly or say something safe. What the hell, right? Reason number one hundred why not getting into a serious relationship was less stressful. She could say whatever she wanted, and if Aaron didn’t like it, he could move along.

“I want the regional sales manager position. I’m hoping to hit some sales goals by the end of the quarter that should solidify my application.” Rhonda watched him for his reaction.

Aaron nodded. “Would that be better pay or a better work-life balance?”

Okay, so this guy was good. She caught Penny’s eye and noticed her friend already grinning. “Both, actually. It would mean less travel. I could manage a team mostly remotely, and the pay wouldn’t necessarily be more, but it would be similar and guaranteed, not totally commission-based.”

Aaron leaned back in his seat. “Guaranteed income. What would that be like?”

Brett laughed from the driver’s seat. “Don’t give me that. You like the risk.”

“When it pays off.” Aaron grinned.

Brett pulled into a parking spot outside the restaurant, and they all climbed out of the truck. Part of her wanted to pull Aaron aside and ask if he wanted to skip the whole date thing and just head back to her place, but that was also something men didn’t like. They wanted to feel like they’d earned something—like they’d put in the effort and won. They didn’t want to feel like they were the ones being used, and Rhonda had gotten good at playing the game their way.

Aaron held the door for her, and they entered the restaurant, the rich aroma of spices and grilled meat enveloping them. They were seated at a table near the back, and Rhonda slid into the booth next to Penny. Aaron sat across from her, and Brett took the seat next to him. The waiter handed them menus, and Rhonda scanned the options, her stomach growling.

"I think I found my happy place.” Penny sank into the booth.

“It smells really good,” Rhonda agreed.

Brett looked pleased. "You haven't even tasted the food yet." He leaned back in the booth, stretching out his legs as he looked over the menu. “So, Canucks game tonight. You think they’ve got a shot this season?” he asked Aaron, who was still shrugging off his jacket.

Aaron snorted, shaking his head. “They’ve got a shot, sure, but it’s probably not a great one. New coach, new system—it’ll take a few more months to settle into anything that looks good.” He slid a hand over his arm as he leaned over the table. Tight T-shirt. Tattoo sleeve.

She was back in that sports bar in Okotoks. What. The. Hell. “I’m going to the washroom. I’ll be right back.” Rhonda flashed a smile as she slid out of the booth and walked toward the only obvious hall at the side of the restaurant.

All of these flashes of memories were probably just because she was meeting someone new. She’d been slammed with work and had spent as many nights in hotels as she had her own bed in the past two months. Her body remembered him. That was normal, and of course, she was excited at the prospect of connection.

She loved the game, the chase. It was a rush, and she hadn’t made time for any of it as of late. While she didn’t want to admit Penny had been right, she would eventually thank her and admit she clearly needed a break.

She pushed open the door to the washroom and found herself in a small, well-decorated space with two stalls and a large mirror above a stone sink. There were fresh flowers on the counter, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. Rhonda stood in front of the mirror for a moment then washed her hands and reached into her pocket for her lip gloss.

As she fished for it, her fingers brushed against something else. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. Rhonda frowned and pulled out a folded napkin. She stared at it for a moment, trying to remember where it had come from. Then it hit her. These were the same pants she'd worn to the Dusty Rose. She hadn't washed them.

She laughed out loud. First because she’d put them back in her closet after sitting on sticky barstools, and second because now the night made perfect sense. That napkin had been crying out from her pocket for hours, throwing itself back into her life like a bad penny.

Rhonda held it up to the light, half-worn numbers scrawled in Jordan’s handwriting. Why hadn’t she thrown it away like she’d planned to? She’d completely forgotten about it. But she always washed her jeans after a night out. Had she really not worn this pair since the summer?

That was strange. All of this was outside her normal routine, and that made her skin start to buzz. She believed in this kind of thing—energy and all that cosmic mumbo jumbo. She’d had too many experiences in her life to write it off.

Like the time in college when she’d been dead set on skipping her friend Maya’s engagement party because she was in one of those Don’t talk to me, I’m moody and existential phases. She’d tried three times to leave the house that night, but each time, something pulled her back. She lost her keys, couldn’t find her phone, and then realized her car battery was dead. Finally, she threw her hands up and went out in defeat, only to bump into a woman in the living room—a total stranger—who gave her the exact piece of advice she hadn’t realized she’d needed about her job. That stranger had rattled off an entire pep talk, like the universe had sent her an undercover angel who just happened to be sipping a gin and tonic.

Then there was that time she actually lost her phone for an entire week—vanished without a trace. She’d been tearing her place apart, fuming, annoyed at the cosmic unfairness of it all. It finally turned up in the fridge, of all places, when she went for the almond milk. But by then, she’d spent days unplugged–forced to go out in the world, read an actual book, talk to her mom for an hour without “checking” anything.

That whole week had made her feel like she was living someone else’s life for a change—and she’d liked it. She’d taken it as the universe telling her to unplug, to stop rushing for once. Now when she saw a pattern of “out of the ordinary” occurrences, she was immediately skeptical.

Rhonda stared at the napkin, her heart speeding in her chest. Texting Jordan would be a terrible idea. He worked strange magic when she was around him, and now that she knew he was on Pucks Deep?

No. She couldn’t risk betraying the only family she had in this city just because his hands were capable of things that were borderline otherworldly.

The door to the washroom slammed open, and Rhonda jumped, shoving the napkin back in her pocket and thrusting her hands under the faucet for a second time.

_____

Rhonda walked back to the table and sat down next to Penny who was saying, “Oh, he’s tough on the ice. Not so much when my dad’s grilling him about grandkids.”

“Wait, what is this?” Rhonda reached out for a piece of papadam.

Penny rolled her eyes. “My parents at Thanksgiving.”

“Ooh, did you get the whole ‘what are your intentions with my daughter’ talk?” Rhonda dipped the cracker in tamarind sauce.

Brett scoffed. “That happens over text at least every couple months.”

Rhonda laughed. “Sounds like lectures run in the family.”

Penny rolled her eyes. “So what are we getting, family style?” she asked, looking over the options.

“Definitely need the butter chicken,” Aaron suggested. “And maybe a couple orders of naan?”

“Vegetable biryani, too,” Rhonda added.

“And let’s do the lamb vindaloo,” Brett said, folding his menu. “Spicy enough to make sure we’ll all regret it tonight.”

The waiter approached, and Rhonda gave their order. Brett specified half garlic naan, and Penny ordered a mango lassi. Brett and Aaron talked about work, they all joked about the American election coming up—so much fodder it was almost depressing but also sadistically entertaining since it took the spotlight off their own political woes.

When the food showed up, Rhonda’s stomach was grumbling. The colours were vibrant, the aromas intoxicating. She couldn't wait to dig in. They passed the basmati rice around the table, followed by the dishes they’d ordered.

She and Aaron took their first bites at the same time, and Rhonda held back a sigh.

"Good?" He grinned at her from across the table.

Rhonda nodded, her mouth full. She reached for a piece of naan and tried the butter chicken. “So good. Great choice, Brett.”

He puffed out his chest and started to say something, but Rhonda didn’t hear it. Her stomach dropped when she felt a familiar irritation at the back of her throat. She frowned and took a sip of her water.

"Something wrong?" Penny asked.

Rhonda shook her head. "No, just—" She cleared her throat. Indian food didn’t use peanuts. She’d eaten it a hundred times and never had an issue. But she knew this feeling, and it was getting progressively worse.

"Is there any chance there are peanuts in this?" She asked as the waiter passed by their table.

The waiter looked puzzled. "Peanuts? No, ma'am.”

Rhonda's throat felt like it was closing in on itself. She tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like she was inhaling through a straw. "I don't think?—"

Penny's eyes widened. "Rhonda, are you okay?"

Rhonda's mind raced. She always had her EpiPen with her, but she'd switched purses before she left the house. "I need my EpiPen. I think I'm having a reaction."

Aaron stood up, dropping his napkin. "Where is it?"

Rhonda shook her head, her hands trembling as she dug through her purse. "I don't have it. I—" She couldn't focus. Her heart was pounding, and her vision started to blur at the edges.

Brett was already pulling out his phone to dial an ambulance, but Rhonda shook her head. "No, we can't wait. I don't think I can wait."

Penny grabbed her purse and reached for Rhonda's hand. "Let's go. We’ll find?—”

“There's an urgent care clinic just a few blocks from here." Rhonda coughed. She had it mapped for a potential sales visit in the new year.

Rhonda’s face flushed as she stood. She felt sluggish, like she was moving through molasses. She could barely focus on anything. Brett called something to the waiter as they rushed out of the restaurant and into Brett's truck.

Rhonda was legitimately starting to freak out as she stumbled into the back seat, Aaron's arm steadying her as her legs felt like Jell-O. So embarrassing.

She’d never had a reaction like this when she wasn’t prepared. Why had she left her EpiPen at home? What the hell was she reacting to?

She fought to stay calm, breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth, forcing herself not to think about the fact that she was starting to wheeze. In. Out.

Brett revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. It was fine. If she died here, at least someone would know about it instead of her choking on a piece of steak in her living room or something.

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, and she gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry in front of this masculine, noncommittal contractor she’d barely met. Hey, you wanted a fun night out? How about holding my hand while my face blows up until I look like one of the Muppets. Wasn’t one of them named Rhonda? She squeezed Aaron’s hand. No, it wasn’t Rhonda. It was Janice. The one with blond hair and big lips.

Damn it, she was getting weird. Soon, she’d be full-on hallucinating. Her heart pounded in her chest as Brett swerved onto Macleod Trail. Rhonda's vision blurred, the streetlights and storefronts blending into a kaleidoscope of colour.

"We're almost there," Brett said, his voice strained. Rhonda nodded, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. Her lips were tingling. She probably already looked at least partially like Will Smith in Hitch.

Aaron rubbed her back. "It’ll be okay," he soothed, his voice barely audible over the thrum of the engine. The fact that he was trying to comfort her only made her cry harder.

This was what her friends were talking about. Someday she was going to be sitting in her hotel room, and she was going to have to stab her own thigh with an EpiPen and phone her own ambulance and lie alone in a hospital bed, and nobody was going to be rubbing her back and telling her it would be okay.

“Rhonda, you need to calm down.” Penny turned in her seat, her eyes wide.

Rhonda tried to answer, but her throat was constricting, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was right. She was always right, and Rhonda was an idiot. A sad, pathetic idiot with an allergy to a freaking nut that was currently trying to kill her. She gripped Aaron's hand harder and shook her head.

They pulled into the parking lot of the urgent care clinic, and Brett didn't bother finding a spot. He parked right in front of the entrance, and Aaron and Penny helped her out of the truck. Her legs wobbled as they hurried inside.

She couldn’t smell anything. Could barely suck in a full lungful of air. Rhonda's eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lights as she stumbled up to the intake desk. A nurse with a tight bun and dark circles under her eyes looked up from her computer.

"She’s having a reaction," Brett snapped. "Peanut allergy."

The nurse's eyes widened. She motioned for another nurse, and Rhonda fumbled to pull her Universal Health Coverage card out of her purse. Penny reached over and took it, handing it to the nurse as Rhonda's hands started to shake.

"You’re Rhonda Hart?" the nurse asked, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Penny nodded for her, and the nurse typed it in, then handed the card back. "We'll get you in right away."

Brett looked like he was about to bash through the doors, and Penny put a hand on his arm. “They’re coming. It’s okay.” She turned to find them all a place to sit, but a nurse appeared and motioned for Rhonda and Aaron to follow her.

“Can we—” Brett started, but the nurse shook her head.

“One person only.”

Rhonda glanced at Penny, wishing she could come with instead of this guy she barely knew, but the nurse was already walking. They strode through the doors and down a sterile hallway.

It felt like she was sucking air through a cocktail straw. The nurse led them to a room, motioned for her to sit on the paper-covered lounger, and immediately started prepping something at the side counter.

Aaron stood next to her, shifting back to leave space for the nurse. The door creaked open, and when Rhonda looked up, her heart stopped in her chest. A man walked in. Tall with dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, a five o'clock shadow that added to his rugged charm, and a full tattoo sleeve on his left arm.

Jordan held a clipboard in his hand. He set it on the counter and said something to the nurse before turning around and looking at her.

Her lips were swollen, her face flushed, and still, he stopped dead. Jordan blinked, then looked up at Aaron.

She should’ve thrown out the damn napkin.