by Katia Rose
“It’ll help build my calf muscles,” he jokes. “Just last night, you were saying how sexy you think my calves are. I have to live up to the hype.”
He laughs, and I force myself to join in. “Ouais. I did say that. They’re very nice.”
I don’t know how to tell him what I’m really afraid of. It’s the thought I’ve pushed to the very back of my head, the one that only comes out at the darkest hours of the night, when the numbers on the clock have blurred and my brain has run around in so many circles I can’t hide from the truth anymore: that maybe I don’t need someone else to pedal.
Maybe what I really need is to grow the hell up and learn to drive my own boat.
I don’t know if I can do that when I’ve always got somebody else in the driver’s seat.
Only it feels so good when he holds me. It feels so good to sit here in his arms with the sun on my face and the wind off the river playing with my hair. It feels good and safe and solid to feel his chest rise and fall when he breathes.
“You’re beautiful.” His eyes roam over my face before he leans in to kiss my forehead.
I grab his face and hold it still before he can pull all the way back, forcing myself to memorize him like a photo I’m about to set on fire. I look at those lips that have brought me so much pleasure and joy, from the things they do and the words they say. I look at his scruffy blond beard that’s so cute and so sexy all at once. I look at the line of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the planes of his cheeks and his forehead. He has a face that was made to be kind, made to be open and honest. It’s a face that could turn anyone’s day around, and it’s been making my days better since the moment I met him.
“Zach.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “You are so, so beautiful.”
I press my lips to his and kiss him hard enough to block everything else out.
Twenty
Zach
THREE-DEEP: slang term for a crowded bar or pub where the amount of patrons waiting to be served at the bar is several rows deep
“You’re part of the Taverne Toulouse family now!”
I pat Paige on the shoulder—once, very lightly—before pulling my hand away as fast as I can.
Instead of glaring at me, she smiles down at the sidewalk as we walk to Taverne Toulouse together. DeeDee badgered Monroe into give Paige a regular monthly DJ night, and considering how big of a crowd Paige draws, it didn’t take much convincing.
My roommate and I have been seeing each other more and more these past few weeks. It now feels like I share an apartment with an actual person rather than a ghost with a penchant for electronic music. Paige and DeeDee have struck up something of a friendship, and she always comes out to say hi when DeeDee and I are watching TV or making dinner. I have never seen Paige chat before, and truth be told, DeeDee does most of the talking, but I still find myself watching the two of them in awe.
There’s something about DeeDee that draws people in, like a patch of sunlight on a stormy day. I know she thinks she does it all on purpose, that it’s her survival strategy to make sure she’s never alone after losing so much, but it’s more than that. I know that even if her past had never happened, her smile would be just as warm. Her laugh would be just as infectious. She’d still have a way of making you feel like the only person in the world when she props her chin in her hands and leans closer to hear you speak.
There’s a joy to DeeDee Beausoleil, one that refuses to be extinguished no matter what life throws her way. There’s a fire in her that’s kept her going through things that would have made so many other people quit.
I just wish she would feel that same fire when she looked at me, when she looked at us. The fear and the flames are warring inside her, and I’m pushing myself to my limits as I wait to see which one will win.
“DeeDee hasn’t been over in a while. How, uh, are you guys?”
I resist the urge to do an actual double-take as Paige and I turn the corner of the street.
“We’re...okay?” I do my best to take the strangeness of having a heart to heart with Paige in stride. “I think?”
“Convincing.”
Sarcasm. This is the Paige I know.
“I just...It’s complicated.”
“Very convincing.” I swear I see the hint of a grin as she says it.
“You’re kind of an asshole, Paige.”
This time I’m sure she smiles.
“That’s me. Look, I get it.” She keeps staring down at the sidewalk, a few troubled creases forming between her eyes. “Relationships are...weird, and there’s a point when you need to know where you’re headed. It’s hard when you don’t.”
“Uh, yeah.” It’s taking all my effort not to stare at her like she’s grown a second head. “Yeah, that’s really true. Have you and DeeDee been, uh, talking about...?”
I trail off, and Paige chuckles.
“You?” she finishes for me. “You think I’m going to break girl code or something?”
“To be honest, Paige, you don’t seem like the ‘girl code’ type.”
She chuckles. “I’m not, and no, we haven’t been talking about you. It’s just clear that you two are like, disgustingly in love, and yet you’re being this whole no labels, casual, see where it goes kind of thing. One of you has to be holding back, and I doubt that it’s you.”
She says the last part like I’m the most predictable person in the world. I put a hand on my chest.
“Hey now. Why do you doubt that it’s me?”
She gives me a pointed stare.
“Okay, it’s not me,” I admit. “DeeDee just...needs time.”
Paige nods, and I start to think she’s reached her maximum conversing capacity. We head down the next block in silence and approach Taverne Toulouse. The sign spelling out the bar’s name in typewriter font is swaying in the slight wind, and the day is warm enough that the garage door-style windows that make up the front of the building have been hiked up a few feet to let the breeze in. Next week, we’ll be setting up the little temporary patio we have a permit for every summer.
Paige turns to me just before pulling open the front door.
“I know you didn’t ask for my advice, but if she needs time, maybe you need to ask yourself how much time you’ve got.”
She heads inside before I can come up with a reply.
We’re early for the general staff meeting that’s been called to start off the night. With the weather so gorgeous and the universities all done exams, we’re expecting an even bigger crowd than Paige’s last set, and Monroe wants to prep the troops for battle herself tonight.
“Zach! My man!”
Dylan calls out to me the second I step in the room, pulling my thoughts away from the mystery of Paige.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. “Employees only, sir!”
“What are you gonna do? Kick me out?” He steps away from the bar, where he seems to have been talking with Renee. “As the former kitchen manager, I’m giving myself permission to crash the staff meeting.”
The two of us do the one-armed-hug-slap-each-other-on-the-back thing. I turn to introduce him to Paige, but she’s already over at the DJ booth, messing around with the equipment.
“You’re not going to get trashed again this time, are you?” I ask in a fake scolding voice. “You know you can’t keep up with the kids like you used to.”
“Very funny, Zachy Zach. Speaking of...” His eyes light up with that signature Dylan spark. “You’re not gonna bring DeeDee home again, are you?”
I deliver a punch to his arm. “Keep it down, man.”
“Are you?” he urges, lowering his voice. “Please tell me you finally made a move.”
“We—”
I get interrupted by the sight of DeeDee herself emerging from the kitchen and slipping behind the bar with a few empty pitchers in hand. She says something to Renee before throwing her head back to laugh, still grinning ear to ear as she starts stuffing the pitchers onto their shelf.
&n
bsp; Her May Flowers crown has made a return. It’s the official theme of the night, and all the staff have flower accessories on. I’ve got a wedding-style boutonniere I picked up from a flower shop tucked into the chest pocket of my flannel, and Renee is wearing a few leis around her neck. Dylan is of course rocking a corsage worn on his wrist like a girl heading off to prom.
DeeDee and her crown still steal the show.
Dylan’s eyes follow my gaze, and he lets out a low whistle.
“You did make a move, didn’t you?”
“What? No,” I deny.
“Dude, I’ve watched you stare at DeeDee like she’s a distant oasis in the Sahara desert for years. Now you look at her like you’ve had your cake and eaten it too.”
I punch him again. “Shut up.”
“Fine, fine. Whatever you say.” He makes a zipper motion over his lips. “But I’m getting the details later.”
I have a few things to take care of, so I leave him to continue distracting Renee as I head over to make sure all the sound equipment is functional. DeeDee’s been so focused on getting the bar set up that she hasn’t noticed me yet, and I don’t interrupt her. We haven’t seen each other outside of work all week, and the longer the distance stretches between us, the more I can’t help feeling like I’m tip-toeing around a bomb. All I want to do is run behind the bar and pull her into my arms before kissing her senseless in front of everyone, but there’s a threat of detonation in the air that stops me from even saying hello.
She’s just busy.
Even my thoughts don’t sound convincing.
Paige needs help tracking down a few cables, but other than that, we’re good to go. That leaves me with a fair amount of time before the meeting, so I head into the kitchen to see if anyone needs help. We’re opening later than usual tonight to get prepped for the event, so the kitchen is fairly quiet, and there’s nothing for me to help with. I turn back to the hall just as DeeDee starts heading down it from the other side. She freezes.
“Oh, hey.” I give her a stupid little wave before letting my hand drop to my side.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were here!”
There’s no way she didn’t notice me before this. I’ve been traipsing around the bar for twenty minutes.
“You seemed busy.” I take a few steps closer. “I like the crown.”
She adjusts it on her head, the tension in her body relaxing a little. “Merci! I’m glad I got to wear it again.”
“You can wear it for me whenever you want.” I get close enough to reach out and brush my fingers along her arm. She tenses up again as soon as I touch her.
“Zach!” she whisper-yells. “We’re at work.”
“I know, I just...You look really pretty.” I let my hand fall away. “I’ve missed you this week.”
Her face softens even as her posture stays rigid. “I’ve missed you too.”
I know it’s not the time or place for this conversation. In fact, I can’t think of a worse time or place, but I can’t stop myself from asking.
“Are we...Are you...okay?”
I don’t miss her sharp intake of breath, even with the din of the bar echoing around us.
“I’m fine.” She forces another smile.
As Paige would say with some withering sarcasm in her voice: convincing.
“You wanna help me get lemons?” she asks.
The tension doesn’t leave the air, but we both grin a little at the memory that brings up.
“Of course. Just don’t try to lock me in the fridge again. I know your tricks now.”
She sashays past me into the kitchen and leads the way to the walk-in. We sort through the towering shelves of cartons and crates to find what we need. The door cuts off the sounds of the kitchen, the only noise in the room besides the ones we’re making coming from the humming of the bare light bulb overhead.
“What were you thinking about that day?” she asks me in the midst of our debate about how many lemons we’ll need.
“What day?”
“The one where you thought I locked you in here.”
“Right.” I feel my face getting hot. “Well, to be honest, I was, uh, trying really hard not to look at your boobs.”
She bursts out laughing. “Mon dieu! No way!”
“It’s true,” I insist. “You were wearing a shirt just like that, and when you crossed your arms, it was...it was a very distracting situation.”
“What, like this?” She leans against one of the shelves and crosses her arms over her chest, giving her boobs a little extra lift with her forearms.
I lift my eyes to the ceiling. “Yes. Like that.”
“Good thing you can look at them now.”
I drop my gaze back to her cleavage. “You really do have amazing tits.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m standing with my hips pressed to hers, hands grabbing her waist as she drops her arms and looks up at me. I recognize the desire in her eyes, paired with a flash of apprehension about getting caught in the fridge together, but there’s more there. A dozen emotions I can’t read flit across her features as we stand locked in place.
“DeeDee.” I speak slowly enough to let her know I really mean it this time. “Are you okay?”
“I just...I want to be normal, okay? I hate feeling like this.” Tears start gathering at the corners of her eyes even as her face creases with anger. “I just...I get so close, and then...Like the other day, when Monroe said you might be changing jobs, I—”
“DeeDee.” I lift my hands to cup her cheeks with my palms, forcing her to look at me. “DeeDee, you know I’m not leaving.”
“I know. I know it’s not a big deal. It’s really, really not, but as soon as I heard your name and ‘leaving’ in the same maudit sentence, I started freaking out like a crazy person. I’m not normal.”
“You are,” I urge. “There is nothing wrong with you. You’ve been through so much. You’ve lost a lot of people, and every day I’m amazed at how hard you fight, at what you’re still capable of after all that.”
The tears start falling now. Her lip trembles, and when she finally speaks again, it’s barely more than a whisper.
“So why can’t I do this?”
Six words. Six damn words said so quietly I had to lean in to hear them, and yet they have enough force to shake the very floor I’m standing on. My throat feels like it’s closing up, and I squeeze my hands into fists as cold dread shoots up my spine.
“Are you saying you—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. The door of the fridge gets thrown wide open, and one of the trainees freezes mid-step when he sees us.
“Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”
“Is that DeeDee and Zach?”
That’s when I notice the entire staff of the bar gathered behind him, about to kick the meeting off. I’m suddenly very aware of all the places DeeDee’s body is touching mine.
“It is! Finally!” someone calls out.
It only takes a couple seconds before everyone in the kitchen is cheering. I look back at DeeDee with panic rising in my chest. She tugs my hands away from her face and swipes at the tears running down her cheeks. On instinct, I shift so my body is blocking her from everyone’s view, protecting her from the eyes and voices and questions and shouts.
But we can’t stay here forever.
“Câlice de criss,” she curses before stepping around me and out of the fridge.
Someone is singing ‘Zach and DeeDee sitting in a tree.’ I don’t consider myself a violent guy, but I’m about point five seconds away from punching them in the face. Drawing in a deep breath, I follow after DeeDee into the melee of congratulatory back-slapping and hugs.
It’s hell. It’s pure, unadulterated hell to stand there beside her and wave off the questions, being told we’re ‘sooo cute’ over and over again as those six fucking words ring out so loud in my head I can hardly hear what anyone is saying. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest.
Is this over? Is she ending it? Wha
t the hell did that even mean?
She doesn’t give me any clues, just stands with her spine unnaturally stiff and her eyes looking anywhere but at me. Somehow, Monroe gets everyone to settle down enough to carry out the meeting. I don’t have any idea what she talks about, but I think it’s some sort of pump up speech to get us prepped for one of the busiest nights in Taverne Toulouse history. It ends with people cheering and traipsing off to their stations, most of them making sure to stop and tell DeeDee and I how happy they are for us.
When we’re the last ones left, I can’t take it anymore and move so I’m standing in front of her. Dread makes my stomach churn.
“DeeDee, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She won’t look at me.
“I know that’s the exact opposite of the way you wanted people to find out about us.”
She barks out a laugh. “That’s true.”
The silence stretches, every question I can’t bring myself to ask getting lodged in my throat as the seconds tick by. I’m choking on this, on the feeling of being so close to her and still miles and miles away.
“Can we...talk?”
She draws in a shuddering breath before shaking her head. “Where? How? This is...Je ne peux pas...”
She looks like she’s about to either scream or start crying again, and I know neither of us can face walking out into the bar.
“Come with me.” I grab her hand and pull her to the kitchen’s back door, the one that leads out to the alley where we share a dumpster with the neighbouring businesses—not the world’s most pleasant location, but it’s the only spot around here where we stand a hope of being alone for a few minutes.
All I need is a few minutes. All I need is to hear something from her that will make me feel like we’re not falling apart.
A couple of the staff members hoot at us as we leave, but neither DeeDee nor I look back. As soon as we step into the alley, she drops my hand and turns her back to me.
I just go ahead and spit it out. “Are you breaking up with me?”