Evan's Wish: A Romantic Comedy

by Robin Stone

  “Stand up straight and relax your shoulders, please,” the man said.

  I endured the measuring tape being tugged all over my body. Julia’s phone rang again.

  “Turner Real Estate, how can I help you?” she said. “No, I’m sorry, she’s not here at the moment, can I take a message?” She took out a small notebook and a pen and took a message.

  The salesman brought me over to a rack of shirts, asking what material I liked. I touched the shirts, each one softer than the next. I was terrible at picking out colors.

  “How about white?” I asked.

  “Sure. Can I recommend this blue as well?”

  He took out a blue shirt and held it up to me.

  “Okay,” I said, grateful he didn’t select a pink one. I’d seen guys wear pink dress shirts, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.

  “I have a few different jackets I’d like you to try on.”

  He carried some clothes into a changing room and left so I could try things on. I tried on a dark grey suit with a white shirt first. When I came out of the dressing room, Julia was off the phone.

  “Oh, nice!” she said approvingly. “Jacket arms are a little long.”

  “We can take the sleeves up,” the salesman said.

  I held still while he marked the sleeve with pins.

  “Why don’t you try on the navy jacket, Mr. Handler? I’d like to see how that one looks on you.”

  “Okay,” I said, glancing at Julia.

  She grinned and looked back down at her phone. I strode into the waiting room smiling. I wasn’t used to being called Mr. Handler.

  I tried on a few more jackets and pants. Julia gave me a thumbs-up, and shook her head a couple of times. In total, I chose a dark grey suit, the navy suit, four shirts, and four ties.

  “Excellent,” Julia said.

  At the register, I was relieved to have enough cash to pay the total. I had to leave the suits since the pants and jacket sleeves had to be hemmed, but left carrying a bag with the shirts and ties.

  We left the store, and Julia slipped on her sunglasses again.

  “Thanks, Julia,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Glad to help. Let me give you my card, just in case you need anything else.”

  She dug a card out of her purse and handed it to me. I stuffed it into my shirt pocket.

  “Do you need a ride back?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Have a good evening, Evan.”

  “You, too.”

  I walked back to my truck, wondering just what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

  Eight

  It was three o’clock the next day before my phone buzzed with a text from Brooke.

  Can you pick me up at 6:30 at the hotel tonight?

  I had impure thoughts about what she’d look like beneath her dressy clothes. I was willing to bet money she wore sexy underthings—lacy and see-through, soft in my hands. Almost as soft as her skin.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts and quickly texted back that I’d pick her up at six-thirty.

  Grabbing my ladder, I headed to the elevator to fix a light on the third floor. The short ladder I needed was hanging by a hook on the back wall of the supply room. I carried it down the hall to the elevator. Mrs. Wilson, an old woman who lived on three, was trying to push the elevator button while juggling some shopping bags.

  “I can help you with that, Mrs. Wilson.”

  She looked up at me and grinned. “Oh, thank you, dear.”

  I pushed the button, then grabbed a few of her shopping bags with my free hand. When the elevator door opened, we went inside.

  “I live on the third floor, dearie.”

  “I know, I’ve helped you with your bags before.”

  She patted my arm. “Oh, that’s right. I remember now. How’s your wife?”

  “I’m not married, Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have you confused with someone else.”

  “That’s okay.”

  We rode the elevator up. When it reached the third floor, I left my ladder in the hall beside the elevator and brought Mrs. Wilson’s groceries to her door.

  She tried to press some bills into my hand, but I shook my head.

  “We’re not allowed to accept tips.”

  “Oh, alright. Thank you, then.”

  I checked the hall light that was reported to be blinking on and off. Taking off the glass cover, I checked the wires and connections. One of the wires was loose, and one of the bulbs had a crack in it. After going into a supply closet for tools and a bulb, I fixed it and went back downstairs to drop off the ladder.

  The lobby was quiet except for a man in a pin-striped suit and shiny black shoes, pacing back and forth and muttering. When he heard my footsteps approach, he looked up.

  “You,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You, there.”

  I bristled, since I hated when someone snapped their fingers at me.

  I pointed to the name tag on my shirt. “I’m Evan.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I’m looking for a package. Where do you put packages when they’re delivered?”

  “I work in maintenance, I don’t deal with packages,” I said, trying to keep contempt out of my voice. “Why don’t you—”

  “Jesus, everyone here is incompetent. Incompetent!”

  Oh, this was rich. He paced back and forth again. I crossed my arms and sighed.

  “I was about to say, why don’t you check at the desk with Carly? She’s the one who holds packages.”

  “I was just at the desk, and no one was there.”

  That was odd. Frowning, I walked toward the desk area, which was behind a partition. Carly was standing there, talking on the phone. She smiled and wiggled her fingers at me. I walked back toward the asshole.

  “Well, she’s there now.”

  “Oh, great,” he said. “Finally.”

  He stalked off toward the desk, but I hovered, waiting to see how he acted with Carly. She greeted him, and he asked for his package. She found it and handed it over. He took it and stalked out of the building. I went over to the desk.

  “Carly, you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “What an asshole.”

  “What’s his name? I think he lives on six.”

  She ran her hand through her curly brown hair. “His name is Brad Jacobs. I went to grab something in the supply closet for thirty seconds, and I must have missed him. He’s always like that.”

  “I’ll steer clear of him. There’s no need to act like that.”

  “Right?” she said. “I hate it when they treat us like their servants.”

  “No kidding. Gotta get back to work.”

  “Talk to you later, Evan.”

  I started walking away, then I thought of something and turned around.

  “Carly, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  I felt a little silly, but I needed a woman’s perspective.

  “I’m going out with my… girlfriend tonight. We’re going to her boss’ house for dinner.”

  “Ew,” Carly said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Yeah, not my idea of fun. Should I bring something?”

  “Yes, definitely bring something. A bottle of wine? Flowers are always nice.”

  “Okay, thanks, Carly.”

  The rest of the day passed quickly, and I forgot about the asshole in the pin-striped suit. After work, I stopped by the grocery store to check out flowers. There were so many kinds, I didn’t know what to choose. I reached for a bunch, but I hesitated. Would they be able to tell I bought them at a grocery store? Probably not.

  I chose a colorful bouquet with pink, yellow, and purple flowers and started to walk away. What about Brooke? I didn’t want to show up with flowers for someone else and not have any flowers for her.

  Damn.

  I turned back, grabbed a second bouquet, and took them up to the register.

  When I got home, I killed some
time until taking a shower. I put on my dress pants and one of my new shirts. Liam texted that he’d gone with some of the guys to Cooper’s. I smiled, knowing I was missing out on some fun with the guys, but a job was a job.

  Besides, I was looking forward to getting to know Brooke more.

  Brooke had sent me her floor and room number, so when I got to the hotel, I headed to the elevator. I went up to the fifth floor, shifting from foot to foot.

  When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into the hall and found Brooke’s door. My heartbeat sped up as I knocked. A few seconds later, Brooke opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said.

  I stepped in and handed her the flowers. “Hey. You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lifting the flowers to her nose, she breathed in deep. She wore a short-sleeved black dress that hugged her curves and stopped just above her knees.

  “Thanks for the flowers. I haven’t gotten flowers in a long time.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She stepped to the small kitchen area, opened a cupboard, and took out a tall glass.

  I looked around the suite while she filled the glass with water. A laptop sat on a small table with two chairs. The living room had a couch and chairs, covered in dark fabric that looked expensive. Two paintings hung on the wall above the couch. A closed door led to what I assumed was the bedroom.

  “This is really nice,” I said, wondering just how much a suite like this cost.

  Brooke came over to me, looking me up and down.

  “Very handsome.”

  Pulling her close, I put my arms around her waist. She smiled and looked up at me.

  “You seem shorter today,” I said.

  She laughed. “That’s because I don’t have my heels on.”

  I looked down at her bare feet. Her toenails were painted pink. I loved how small she felt, resting her hand on my chest. The top of her head was just below my nose. Her dress was soft, and I could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric. I pulled her tight against me, enjoying the sensation of her body against mine. Bending over, I caught a whiff of her flowery scent and pressed my lips to hers.

  Her arms slid around my neck as we had some unhurried kisses. Finally, no interruptions. Brooke sighed into my mouth.

  The tip of her tongue touched mine, sending a jolt through every nerve ending in my body. She took a halting step back, and I went with her until her hip banged into a chair.

  “Oh!” she said.

  “Sorry. Got a little too enthusiastic.”

  I released her, and she smoothed the fabric on her dress.

  “I’d really like to continue this,” she said. “But we really need to get to this dinner.”

  “Sure. This is all new to me. I’m not really sure what to do.”

  “I understand. Just so you know, I’ve never done this, either. Hired a… hired a man to come to events with me.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering why you hired me. You could get a guy that was a lawyer or someone brainy like that. Someone with a better job. Why me?”

  “Well, I like you, and you don’t have to be a lawyer to be smart. I can tell you’re smart, Evan. And I don’t need any romantic drama the next couple of weeks.”

  My stomach sank. Maybe I was reading too much into her glances, her kisses. She saw this as a business transaction—period. I could get behind that.

  “Right, got it. Let’s head out. My truck is parked on the street outside, it’s not too far.”

  “Why don’t we take my car? You can drive.” She handed me a set of keys, then slipped on some low heels.

  “Really? You want me to drive?”

  “Sure.” She picked up a bottle of wine.

  “Oh, I should’ve told you, I bought flowers for your boss.”

  “Oh, you didn’t have to do that! But thank you, Diane will appreciate it. I’ll still bring the wine because I told her I would.” She winked at me, and we headed out.

  When we got out to the street, Brooke waited by her car while I grabbed the flowers from my truck. Brooke’s car was neat as a pin and smelled like fresh leather. I pulled on my seatbelt and ran my hands over the steering wheel.

  “Very nice,” I said. “I’d love to have leather seats someday.”

  Brooke pulled on her seatbelt. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and opened her window a little. I opened mine, inhaling the fresh spring air, and the metallic scent of rain.

  “Smells like rain,” I said, pulling onto the street.

  “Yes, it’s supposed to rain later.”

  “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “Greenbriar Street. It’s on the other side of town.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  The car was a really smooth ride. We drove through downtown and headed across town down a long country road. The trees on this road grew denser, and the houses were more spread out.

  “Take a right onto this road, this is Greenbriar,” she said.

  I turned on my signal and took a right into a development with enormous houses—large brick homes with three stories and white clapboard homes with circular driveways and three-car garages.

  “Nice street,” I said.

  “Isn’t it? I sold that yellow house last year.”

  Cripes. The commission on that house alone was probably half my yearly salary…or more.

  “Hers is in the cul-de-sac,” she said. “The one with the black mailbox. You can pull into the driveway and park there.”

  I slowed down, turned into the driveway, and let out a low whistle.

  “I know, it’s amazing. Wait until you see the inside.”

  A large stone house rose up at the end of the driveway, six, seven, eight windows across the front, and a three-car garage. The front of the house had granite steps and a double front door with cast iron hardware.

  I grabbed the flowers, and we headed up the driveway, passing other cars. Brooke took my hand again.

  “Oh, I said you were an architect,” she said in a low voice. “I hope that’s okay.”

  A flush crept up my neck. She couldn’t tell anyone I was a maintenance guy who mopped floors.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said as she rang the doorbell.

  “Oh, and I didn’t say how we met because I didn’t want to make up an elaborate story. We can figure out something on the fly.”

  “Sure,” I said, bracing myself for whatever came next.

  Nine

  “Hello! Oh, flowers. Thank you!” Diane greeted us as she opened the door.

  “Evan Handler.” I handed them to her. “We met at the reception.”

  “Yes, that’s right! Evan. So nice to see you again. Pretty dress, Brooke. Come on in.”

  Brooke’s heels clicked on the tile as we followed Diane down a hall lined with photos into an enormous kitchen. Several people were gathered around a large island with a marble top.

  “Everyone, Brooke’s here.”

  “Hey, Brooke.”

  “Oooh, pretty dress.”

  “She brought wine!”

  Brooke set the wine bottle down and greeted everyone.

  “This is my boyfriend, Evan.”

  Boyfriend, I liked the sound of that better than friend. I shook hands and nodded, trying to remember their names. I noticed everyone was paired up with someone. Maybe Brooke just hated going to parties and dinners alone. I didn’t blame her.

  One of the men opened Brooke’s wine and poured some into glasses. I wasn’t a big fan of wine, but I accepted a glass of sparkling water.

  “Help yourself,” Diane said, pointing to two trays of food. “We have falafel-spiced cucumber bites and pancetta crisps with goat cheese. I don’t know why we’re congregating in the kitchen. Let’s bring everything into the living room, shall we, Martha?”

  Martha wore a black shirt and black pants, like a uniform. She was standing at the sink preparing salads.

  “Sure,” Martha said. “Take your drinks in, and I’ll be right there.”


  As we followed Diane to the living room, I peeked into the dining room and saw two more women clad in black, setting napkins on the table and lighting candles.

  “Wow, catering?” I whispered to Brooke.

  “Mmm-hmm. Believe me, you don’t want Diane to cook,” she murmured.

  The living room had a vaulted ceiling with wood beams. Two plush couches and chairs offered ample seating, and long drapes framed enormous windows. Potted plants decorated one corner, and large works of contemporary art filled the walls.

  I took a seat next to Brooke on a couch. Martha followed us in with the trays of appetizers. As everyone chatted, I put my arm across the back of the couch, and Brooke shifted closer to me, resting her hand on my thigh. I grinned—we had to make it look good.

  They talked about houses they’d sold—with swimming pools, acreage, and guest houses.

  “Enough shop talk!” Diane said, waving her hand. “We’re boring Evan.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

  “Brooke says you’re an architect,” she said, crossing her legs. “Commercial or residential?”

  “Residential,” I blurted, hoping she wasn’t about to quiz me on architecture.

  “What kind of homes do you design?” she asked.

  “Now, now,” Brooke said. “You just said we weren’t supposed to talk shop.”

  “Oh, alright,” Diane said.

  The talk turned to current movies. I lifted my arm from the back of the couch and squeezed Brooke’s shoulder. Her cheek lifted in a small smile, and she snuggled deeper against my side. I liked the feel of her body so close to mine.

  A short time later, Martha called us into the dining room. I saw one of the guys pull out a chair for his wife, so I did the same for Brooke. Sitting beside her, I looked at a small card on my plate that listed the night’s menu—chestnut fennel soup, wilted spinach salad with warm apple cider and bacon dressing. Butternut squash gnocchi with sage brown butter, pork tenderloins with caramelized pears in a pear-brandy cream sauce. Root vegetable purée, and bourbon cheesecake.

  I didn’t even know what some of this food was, but I was an open-minded eater, and I didn’t mind trying the food. But one thing really got my attention.