Talk This Way. Dakota Cassidy

even a little.”

      “Ditto. So, a game of checkers?”

      Since that day, they’d found a contentment with one another, a morning banter Cat looked forward to, so much so that she woke with a smile of anticipation, knowing Landon would be in the rec room each morning while her mother was in therapy. He’d sit at the same table in the corner by the big picture window, and smile that same engaging smile.

      More importantly, their mornings together reminded her decent people still existed. And Landon was surely a front-runner in that category.

      Landon’s specialty was kindness, and his genuine love of people. He’d sometimes sit for hours, chatting with the other patients or just watching people pass by the window on their way to some part of the facility. Didn’t matter what walk of life you came from, Landon wanted to know you.

      He listened to the family members of the patients—complete strangers. Really listened, to everyone from tired mothers visiting sick relatives, who rocked crying babies in strollers, and whose only form of adult conversation all day might be the words they had with him, right down to Hans, the janitor who was earnestly trying to learn to speak English. Landon spent two hours with Hans every week, tutoring him so he could pass his citizenship test.

      Landon’s benevolence at Oakdale was legend.

      He donated not only large amounts of money to the chemotherapy wing, but also an extravagant amount of his time reading to the patients, playing the piano, strolling with them, pushing their wheelchairs when he’d grown strong enough and sharing meals with them.

      Rumor also had it, he was filthy rich and just a little eclectic—or off his rocker if you listened to some of the meaner gossip at Oakdale. Judging by his clothes and Sanjeev, the man he called his “faithful friend in service,” who brought Landon’s visitors to see him in a shiny limousine each day, money wasn’t a hurdle Landon had to jump.

      But Cat never paid any attention to the rumors swirling around Landon—his soul was warm and deeper than the deepest well. His gobs of money were unimportant to her.

      Money wasn’t everything. Though today, it was something. It was something she needed buckets of if she hoped to continue to give her mother the best care in the state of Georgia.

      “Move it on over, lady,” he teased, dragging her back to her current predicament with a swish of a finger at the place beside her on the bench.

      Cat slid an inch or so on the cool stone, leaving the long curtain of her hair to hide the profile of her tearstained face. “So how’re you feelin’, Landon Wells? Stronger these days, I’d suppose from the looks of that handsome face of yours.”

      He did look stronger, fuller in the face, and the color in his cheeks had returned.

      Landon lifted his face to the sunshine and sighed. “I feel good, Kit-Cat. Life’s good. So good. How you feelin’? How’s your mama?”

      About to be put out on the street? “She’s mending. Seems like it takes such a long time with her diabetes in the mix, but you know Mama. She’s a real trooper. So what’re you doin’ back here? I thought you were sprung last week?”

      They’d thrown him a big party when he finished his last dose of chemo—Cat had blown up balloons and made a cake with the help of the staff and patients.

      “Just a quick checkup to be sure all my parts are in workin’ order.”

      She wrapped her arm around him and gave him a squeeze. “I never doubted we couldn’t get rid o’ the likes a you, Mr. Wells. I’m so glad you’re stickin’ around.”

      “So, I stopped by the coffee shop to get some of my Kit-Cat love, but you weren’t there, and that Arlo was cowering in the corner while a big, gorgeous man gave him what for. Somethin’ about you being fired. What gives?” he asked.

      A gorgeous man yelling at Arlo? Huh.

      Landon nudged her shoulder when she remained silent, the clean scent of his cologne drifting to her nose on the warm air. “Do you want to talk about it?”

      She swallowed hard, so angry with herself. “Nope.”

      The crisp material of his suit rustled against his skin. Landon always wore suits and ascots in every color of the rainbow—even on the hottest of Atlanta days. “Surely, you don’t think I’d leave a damsel in distress, do you? It’s obvious you’ve been cryin’, Cat and I can’t have my favorite barista cryin’—so out with it.”

      “I’m not your barista anymore.”

      “Oh?”

      “You heard me right. I managed to get myself fired.”

      Landon put his hands to his heart with a dramatic gesture and a comical pouty face. “Say it isn’t so.”

      “I wish I could.” It was very much so. What was she going to do? At one of the most crucial points in her life, where it was imperative she have a steady job, she’d still managed to dig herself a hole.

      “Care to explain why?”

      “My big mouth.” There was no use sugaring it up. It was the truth. She could have let Arlo lie about her to Flynn McGrady. Surely her pride was nothing compared to how important it was to keep a steady income for her mother right now.

      “Bah! You? A big mouth? I won’t hear it. Your mouth is pretty as a picture and hardly big. It’s just right for your face.”

      That made her smile for a moment. She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked over at him with eyes that teased. “Are you sure you’re gay?”

      “As sure as I am Liberace and I was somehow gypped out of an enduring, lifelong union by some insane mad scientist and his attempts at frozen embryonic separation.”

      Cat let her head fall back on her shoulders when she laughed. “Dream big or go home, I always say.” She patted his arm and smiled her gratitude. “Thank you for making me feel better, kind sir. I want you to know, you always bring a ray of sunshine to my day. I’ll always remember that.”

      Landon grabbed her hand, leaving a cool imprint on her palm, and tucked it under his arm. “Oh, no. You’re not gettin’ away that easy. We’re friends. I never leave my friends cryin’. Besides, now that I’m sprung, what’s gonna happen to me if you don’t make my cinnamon latte at the coffee shop every mornin’? Nothing, and I do mean, nothing, will ever be the same for me. And don’t you tell me that heathen Arlo will make ’em. He couldn’t make a cup of coffee if Juan Valdez taught him himself. How will I ever go on?”

      “Call Juan Valdez?” she teased, closing her eyes and allowing the warm breeze of early spring in Georgia soothe her.

      “That’s a brilliant idea. I’m sure I must know someone somewhere who knows him. Until then, what shall we do about your unemployment?”

      His question startled her. “We? We don’t have to do anything. I have to get online and start lookin’ for work.” Dread filled the pit of her stomach.

      How was she ever going to find a job with her employment history? She’d hung on tooth and nail to her job with Arlo. She’d bitten her tongue more times than she cared to count, except when it really counted.

      “What if I told you I can help?”

      “I’d tell you to keep your bags o’ money to yourself. Now, let’s not kid each other here, Landon. I know you’re rich. And if I didn’t know, Sanjeev dropping by your room every day, driving a slick limo and bringin’ the finest linen napkins my eyes have ever seen for you to wipe your mouth on, or all that fancy food you had flown in from Bobby Flay’s personal kitchen when you were at the hospital, would have been a sure clue.”

      She didn’t begrudge Landon his money or his fineries, but it wasn’t as though she couldn’t see with her own eyes he had plenty to spare.

      People