Chapter 3

Emilia

T his past month, since moving into my own place has been… exhilarating, to say the least. The Monday after I moved in, Mr. Stephens brought a potential new customer around.

Paul Brewster.

While I can't see him, the other women say he's very good looking, with wavy blond hair, muscles that come from hard work and not just from utilizing the equipment at the gym, and a well-trimmed beard. What makes things so interesting is he asked me out!

Before the accident, I had my secret crush on one of the sophomores, but sadly, afterward, I pulled into a shell and refused to think about dating. What could I possibly do besides go out to eat? I can't bowl, throw axes, play arcade games, watch a movie; all things that most people think of when it comes to going out with another person.

Yet Paul doesn't care that I'm blind. We've gone on a few picnics after hiking the various trails and he's been nothing but a gentleman so far. A few head kisses, holding my hand, that sort of thing, but nothing too out there.

Part of me wishes he would take things further, but I appreciate that he's going slow and not moving at warp speed since all of this is new to me.

"Emilia, are you busy?"

I turn toward Mr. Stephens, thankful that his voice is somewhat distinct. "Not really, can I help you with something, Mr. Stephens?" I ask.

"Now, I've told you to call me Adam, child. I've known you all your life."

I giggle then say, "I do when we're not at work, sir. I don't want anyone to think I'm asking for any special consideration."

"Pssh," he says, and in my mind, I visualize him waving his hands through the air, swiping away my concern as if it's an errant gnat. "It's my company and you're one helluva asset, Emi. I was wondering if you'd show me how you process an order."

"Sure, just pull up a chair and I'll show you what I do. It's not hard and I know that Edwin rechecks my figures to make sure I don't miss anything."

I hear a chair slide next to mine, and feel his hand touch my arm to let me know he's sitting. "I want to say, I'm impressed at how advanced technology is these days. I know when everything first happened, your mother was so worried that you'd never find something you could do."

Sighing, I nod as I reach over to my inbox. "I'm grateful that you gave me a job."

"How could I not? You were here as much as my kids when you were younger."

"I love this place," I murmur. "The smell of the freshly cut trees is invigorating, even the sawdust that seems to float everywhere brings back good memories from when I was a kid."

"How do you like Brewster? Your mom says you two have been on a few dates."

"He's nice."

I don't express some of my concerns, however. Sometimes, Paul is a bit… acerbic when he speaks to me. He'll usually try and cover it up by saying he was only joking, but it does hurt. It's not like I want to be blind, and while there are no physical reasons behind it, right now I've accepted that this is my lot in life. Should my sight return someday, well, that will be a bonus as far as I'm concerned, but I have a good life.

"Well, he better treat my honorary niece like the queen she is," he replies, sounding huffy. "Now, show me what you do. I've been fascinated with all this equipment the school provided and wanted to see you in action for a long time now."

Smiling, I hold up the form I picked up from my inbox. "So, I take this and run it through the scanner, which is able to read all the products, as well as the quantities requested. Wait, first I open up a new order form on the computer, then I put the sheet through the scanner. Those quantities are put into the order form, along with the customer information. I then save the form before sending it over to accounts receivable for billing purposes. Like I said, Edwin rechecks the order form against the original sheet to make sure nothing was missed. He's able to correct any errors, then one of the girls does the billing."

"He says you've got an error rate of under one percent, which is phenomenal, Emilia," Mr. Stephens says, complimenting me. "In fact, after talking to quite a few of your coworkers, I've decided you need a substantial raise. You do the work of three people and should be compensated accordingly."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stephens! I enjoy what I do and if I'm able to help the other girls with some tasks, I don't mind doing so."

Since I have my system down pat, I often help the other departments with their order processing. It takes me a little bit longer, but I know that with me helping, the company continues to be one of the best along the eastern seaboard. We ship lumber all over the country, and the so-called scraps are given to a local woodworker, who takes them and creates one-of-a-kind items, from shelves to bookcases to headboards.

"Well, I say it is and I'm the boss, after all. You're a valuable asset to our company and your hard work hasn't gone unnoticed."

"Thank you, very much," I reply.

"Get with HR so you can change any contributions you need. I know your parents insisted you start a 401k when you started, so now would be a good time to bump up what you're putting into yours. That way, you can retire young."

I start giggling, because I'm close to the max already since I lived at home for so long with no real expenses. Even now, living on my own, my costs are still relatively low. Over Aunt Della's and Uncle Bud's objections, I am giving them money to cover my electric and water usage. Plus, I give Aunt Della money for gas because she drives me to and from work, even though she protests, arguing that she's already going in that direction.

"You guys just want me to be set for life, don't you?" I ask.

"Sweetheart, there may come a time when you'll be able to see again, and your parents, as well as me and Virginia, want you to be able to have the world. Speaking of, how are those two little rascals of yours?"

"I'm so glad you thought of me when you found them," I whisper. "Bonita takes videos of them because like you, she says someday I'll be able to see again, and she wants me to see them when they were little. They've slowly gotten used to the new place, but just like the first night I got them, they end up on the top of my pillow."

"I know your mother was worried, but you seem to be a good cat mom," he teases. "Virginia wants to know when you can come for dinner."

I think about my schedule and realize that Paul hasn't mentioned any plans involving the two of us for the weekend, so I say, "I'm free Friday night or Saturday night. Aunt Della and I usually do our meal prep on Sundays, then I eat with them."

In a rare display of affection, I feel his arms come around me and squeeze me tight. "I'll see if Friday works, Emi."

"That sounds good to me. Do I need to bring anything?"

"Your appetite. Now, I'll let you get back to work while I see how the crews are doing. I know Brewster's been taking you out hiking. Please be careful, some of the crews have seen evidence of fire damage."

Appalled by such a thing, I ask, "Fire damage?"

A fire would be devastating. Not just to the company, but for all the wildlife and families who live in the area. Most of the town's citizens are employed by the sawmill or the corporate offices.

"Yeah, it's quite strange because while we've had rain, we haven't had many storms involving lightning. Just… be careful, okay?"

"I will. Thank you again for the raise."

Whistling, he suggests, "Go buy your babies a cat tree or something."

With that, I hear him walking toward the door, chuckling.

After my door closes, I get back to work. These orders aren't going to input themselves.

My anger flares up, and I struggle to keep my face calm. Shortly after Mr. Stephens left me, my phone rang and when I answered it, Paul was on the other line asking if we could have dinner that evening.

Sitting here now, I regret saying yes. I'm steaming mad. He's been rude to the waitress, making snarky comments when she attempted to go over the daily specials. I can hear the tremor in her voice and want to smack him for his unkindness. Especially since she sounds somewhat young.

"Paul, I'm good with a grilled chicken salad, balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side," I insist.

He wants me to have a full-blown meal, but I'm not that hungry. I typically don't eat heavily at night; partially because I hate feeling bloated, but also because I try to remember that I have a sedentary job which isn't kind to overeating. Aunt Della and Uncle Bud have an inground pool that's heated, and since our area is warm most of the year, I swim laps every night while Aunt Della floats around with a frosty beverage. Sometimes, I have one after I'm done, but most of the time, I drink water instead.

"You should eat a full entree, Emilia," he replies, his tone condescending. "A salad is hardly filling, which means you'll want to snack later on and then you'll be complaining about gaining weight."

After the accident, when I was so immobile for so long, my weight actually dropped to below one hundred pounds. Despite being a little over five feet tall, I was nearly skeletal, and it took several years to get back to a healthy weight. While I no longer count calories per se, I'm well aware of what I need to eat in order to maintain my physique and stamina. I resent the fact that he's implying I will get pissy if I gain a few pounds!

"I'm not willing to waste food, which is what will happen if I order a full entree," I retort, a slight bite to my tone.

"Fine, fine," he replies, once again in a condescending manner. "Get her what she wants, I'll have the steak and chicken entree, medium rare on the steak, a loaded baked potato, a house salad with ranch dressing, grilled asparagus, and an order of corn."

"Anything else, sir?" the waitress asks.

"That'll be all for now. Oh, wait. Bring the lady a water with lemon."

"Can you put that lemon on the side, please?" I ask.

"Certainly. I'll put your order in and bring your drinks back shortly."

"Thank you," I state, while Paul remains silent.

Once she leaves, I realize how angry he is when he grabs my hand and squeezes it so hard, I whimper. "Paul, what are you doing?" I hiss out between clenched teeth.

"Never embarrass me that way again, Emilia," he retorts, sounding as if he's scolding me for acting like an aberrant child.

I automatically open my mouth to apologize, then close it without saying a word. As far as I'm concerned, I did nothing wrong and he's overreacting. In my opinion, he's the one who's acting childish. I need to talk to Bonita, because I think I'm in over my head where he's concerned. Right now, I'm glad I haven't done anything with him that would indicate that I want to take things further between us because I don't like his surly attitude. I try to treat others the way I want to be treated, with kindness and respect. Paul, however, runs roughshod over people, belying the image he presents to those he's trying to impress.

Like Mr. Stephens. While he didn't say as much, I think Paul's behavior around the sawmill has Mr. Stephens thinking things. I still don't know why Paul's in town if I'm being wholly honest with myself. He claims he's planning to open his own sawmill in the Midwest, and since ours is known nationally, and is highly reputable, he wants to learn from the best in the business.

"Thank God that's done," I grumble as I close and lock the door, having heard Paul's car peel away.

Two furry bodies rub against my leg, and I lean down to pet Phantom and Shadow. "Are my babies hungry?" I ask, cooing at them.

I giggle when they both meow, then activate my alarm before I take off my shoes and put them on the rug next to the door. Walking confidently, I make my way to the kitchen where their food is stored, grab a can of wet food and a plate I use especially for them, open it, and barely get it on the floor before I hear the unmistakable sounds of them eating.

"Let's put this day to bed, shall we?" I murmur, walking over to the refrigerator. I grab a bottle of water then head to my bedroom so I can change into my nightclothes.

After taking care of my nightly tasks, such as washing and moisturizing my face, I slip between my covers and reach out to plug my phone into the charger. I hear the beep that signifies it's now charging and grab my e-reader so I can continue with the latest book I'm listening to, a motorcycle club romance. I love the fact that it's set up to read the stories to me, so I don't miss out on the latest releases from my favorite authors. Right now, I'm on the third book of the series, and so invested that I have to set an alarm, so I don't stay up all night long.

Right before it's time for me to put things away, I feel the movement of the bed as both kittens jump up and make their way to me so they can get ready to sleep. As they settle in, purring their heads off, I put my ereader aside, reach over to determine if my lamp is on or off and when I feel it's lit, I turn it off, then slide fully under the covers and curl on my side.

"Night, babies," I mumble, sleep already trying to claim me. "I hope the next time I talk to Paul he's in a much better mood."