The Fallback

by Dietz, Mariah

  “How it looks contributes to how it feels.”

  Levi crinkles his nose and purses his lips, disbelief apparent. “With the right music, lighting, and drinks, you can create any vibe you want.”

  I consider the hundreds of weddings I’ve planned and try to imagine them all being in a single location, only changing the music and lighting. “Yeah … no.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Ten years of planning weddings confirms I don’t.” I look around the empty building once more. “Even with Pearl Jam playing, the only vibe I get from this place is confusion. It doesn’t feel like a bar at all. The lighting makes me think of a diner, and the carpet feels like an office space, and the wood paneling on the walls reminds me of an old accountant’s office.” I dismiss the list of details that contradict the space with a shake of my head. “If you don’t take care of this stuff, then why isn’t your business partner planning the grand opening?”

  “Apparently, getting married was more important.” His face remains stoic for several seconds, and then he smiles.

  Frustration tickles my thoughts. He was able to read my discomfort so easily, and I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or serious, stuck between wanting to believe he’s kidding and afraid he’s not. “Maybe I should reassign this to someone else at the office…”

  Levi stares at me. My comment doesn’t alter his expression at all. “My mom swears you’re her best employee. That you’d be the best fit for the job.”

  “I don’t know anything about restaurants and grand openings,” I confess.

  “Would this change your position on us dating?”

  I shake my head. “We can’t.”

  “Because I’m the son of your boss?”

  I nod.

  “It could work in your favor. Instead of you asking for vacation time, I could. Think about it—she’d never question if I told her you were sick.” Again, his expression remains unaffected.

  Then, he winks.

  I don’t remember it being so difficult to read him at the bar or the game. “There would be a conflict of interest.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “But you’ll work on the grand opening because you know she’ll be disappointed and wouldn’t accept no regardless…”

  The way he assumes this makes me fear he might be just like his mother. “We’re going to need every minute of the next eight weeks,” I tell him rather than admitting he’s right. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to be giving you design advice, but we need to rip out this old carpet, change the lights, and figure out where people are going to sit.” I glance around the outdated space again. “And unless you’re looking for a retro vibe, we need to nix the paneling.”

  Levi grins. “But you’ll let me keep the chandeliers, right?”

  I glance up at the gold-flecked fixtures. “I’ll use them as bargaining chips. If you want to keep them, you have to agree on changing the outside.”

  His lips tip higher. “You really have no faith in my business sense, do you?”

  Over the past decade, the one fact I’ve learned is to avoid insulting clients at all cost. If that requires white lies, accepting misplaced blame, or apologizing even when I’m not in the wrong, I do it. I’ve worked with all personality types on the spectrum from control freaks to those who want zero input—yet I’ve never kissed one of my clients or worked so hard to flirt with them. I’ve never had them send me a text message that inflated my heart and ego with hope. I’m at a complete disadvantage here.

  “You’re Catherine’s son—there’s no chance you don’t have any business sense. It’s your sense of style I have a little concern for.”

  His laughter has me staring at him for too long, admiring those parentheses that stamp into his cheeks near that subtle dimple that makes coherent thoughts wash away. There’s a knock at the door, and we both turn to see a man wearing a pair of jeans and purple polo shirt.

  Levi rubs his palms together. “Rest assured. I’ve brought in some professionals. I’d like for you to stay and offer your feedback. Is that okay? Do you have time?”

  Catherine’s never asked if I have the time to take on more work or help with another emergency. She rarely asks for my input on things—just assumes I’ll get things done. This stark difference between her and Levi is both welcome and unfortunate. I need him to be more like her so I can classify our kiss and these past few days as a mistake rather than a tragedy.

  “Yeah,” I tell him, reaching up to comb a hand through my hair and stopping when I feel the product holding my curls in place. “I set aside a few hours for us to discuss different details we generally cover in the first appointment, but this is fine. We can do that stuff another time.”

  Levi waves the man in and then lifts an arm, directing me toward the door. The gesture reminds me so much of Sunday when he led me to the bar it nearly feels like déjà vu. And like that time, he lightly places his hand against my lower back, though this time when he does it, confusion reigns over me. Perhaps this isn’t an intimate gesture. My own brother will sometimes set his hand on my back when we’re walking together. Granted, it’s usually accompanied by him also trying to shove me or give me a noogie or some other obnoxious accompaniment, but not always.

  Maybe I need to write an open letter on my new blog about how difficult flirting and reading signals is. How hard it’s always been.

  20

  The contractor walks in smiling like he sees a new boat or possibly a small yacht in his near future as his eyes travel across the room, taking in the dated carpets, walls, and fixtures.

  “Hey, Jeff,” Levi says, coming to a stop. “Thanks for coming out so quickly. I want you to meet my friend, Brooke,” he says, looking to me. “Jeff has worked on several renovation projects for me.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  Jeff smiles, accentuating his need to shave. A short, sparse, and wiry beard covers his chin. He pushes his shoulders back and reaches forward to shake my hand, his gaze traveling to Levi every few seconds. He’s uncomfortable—likely feeling inferior. Levi is several inches taller and broader than him, his stomach flatter. He also has a face that looks like it was sculpted from marble and hair that looks effortless and perfect. It’s the first instance in a long time that I can recall watching a guy comparing himself to another man. So often I’m surrounded by women, watching from the front row as they compare themselves to others while gown shopping, venue shopping, shoe shopping, and everything in between.

  “You have a really kind smile,” I blurt out. It’s not even an accurate statement, simply a kneejerk reaction because when my brides are tearing themselves down and apart, I list off their positive attributes, drawing their attention from envy to appreciation.

  Jeff’s smile widens, and his attention stops shifting to Levi, a gloating gleam in his eyes.

  My cheeks heat with discomfort. I release Jeff’s hand and take a step back, standing beside Levi, who’s staring at me, his gaze intent, working to read my comment to Jeff. Likely, he’s accusing me of flirting after telling him I won’t—can’t—date him. I glance over at him and flinch, attempting to express that it was a mistake, an accident, and not intended to be anything personal. Levi raises his eyebrows, looking confused.

  “Well, it looks like we’ve got our work cut out for ourselves, doesn’t it?” Jeff says. “I can’t believe a building in this location has been left untouched for so long.”

  “It’s going to need a lot of work. Floors, Sheetrock, lighting, the bar…” Levi looks to me. “I was thinking of an old, classic feel rather than something new age. What are your thoughts?”

  My lack of knowledge and experience in bars is just one of the million reasons I shouldn’t be tasked with this project. I have nothing to contribute and few things to compare it to, so I simply nod. “That sounds great. With the small space and brick building, I think that’s a good decision.” This faking it until I make it has been the soundtrack of much of my life.

 
Levi nods. “Exactly.” He looks to Jeff. “I figure we can start looking at different products and designs while you get your demo team out here to rip the place up. If you need help getting the right permits, let me know.”

  “You guys found a gem. Having a small parking lot is equivalent to a goldmine in this part of town. I’ll be able to set up a dumpster and several trucks.”

  Levi nods knowingly, and the two go on a small tour, discussing details while I send out a quick note regarding a meeting I have this afternoon. Jeff and Levi conclude their discussion and fall silent as they step beside me. I tuck my phone into my purse and look between the two men. Jeff’s smile tells me he didn’t think my comment was benign, and once more I can’t read Levi’s expression.

  “This is exciting,” I say. “It will be fun to see the final project.” I push my shoulders back and smile. “It was nice meeting you, Jeff, and Levi, I’ll be in touch with you so we can work out some of the details.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around,” Jeff says with another wide smile.

  I want to tell him that I hope I won’t, but I work to keep my smile firmly in place.

  Traffic makes me more anxious. The unfamiliar streets and route combined with masses of pedestrians, an entire lane of semitrucks, and how unusually warm and stuffy the interior of my car is make my thoughts roll and stumble as I work to focus on the present and not on Levi. Not on how my stomach is aching. Or why my eyes keep misting over.

  “Aunt Books is home!” Felicity cries as I step into the oversized foyer. The kids cheer with happiness, running toward me with Matchbox cars clutched tightly in their fists. At least twice a week, I wake up to one or more of the toy cars in my bed. They grab onto my legs, pulling me toward the living room, where Felicity is seated on the floor, a mess of cardboard and duct tape littering the space around her. Homemade race tracks and parking lots are scattered around. I shift my attention from them to my best friend, whose chin rises, her shoulders squaring as she stares at me, a silent inquiry passing between us. It’s futile to pretend I’m okay, though I try.

  “Why don’t you guys do a couple more races while Aunt Books and I start making dinner.” She stands and gives each kid a kiss on the top of their head before looking at me again. She doesn’t look at me though—she looks through me, recognizing my distress and confusion. She links her arm with mine and leads us to the kitchen, where she stops at the pantry and stands on her tiptoes. Felicity moves a large canister of instant oatmeal to one side and pulls down a small paper bag. I know the contents are dark chocolates filled with caramel and peanut butter. She’s been hiding similar chocolates since we were kids.

  “Why do you hide the candy on the top shelf? Your kids are only two feet tall.”

  “It’s Dan I’m hiding it all from. Well … the kids, too.” She shrugs shamelessly, letting the minor distraction pass. “What happened? Did you see Gabe?”

  I sigh heavily, reaching into the bag and withdrawing several foil-wrapped squares. “Actually, I saw Levi…”

  Felicity’s head teeters forward, the intensity and focus behind her stare increasing by the second. “On a date? A booty call? What happened? I thought your date was tomorrow.”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t planned. I went to a meeting with a client … and it turned out to be him.” I unwrap a chocolate.

  “He’s a groom?” Outrage is visible with her widened eyes and raised voice.

  “Worse. He’s the owner of the bar I’m planning the grand opening for.”

  Her brow furrows with confusion, prompting me to continue. “He’s Catherine’s son.”

  “She gives away free purses and created Levi. We might have to reconsider her level of evilness…”

  I work to find the words to describe how I’m more upset with Catherine now than I’ve ever been before, though I know it’s neither fair nor logical, when I remember the date Levi and I have planned for tomorrow. I drop my face into my hands and remind Felicity.

  “I’m not saying you should, but what’s the worst that would happen if you decided to go? I mean, really, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “The worst?” I ask.

  Felicity nods.

  “She could fire me and destroy my personal reputation so I can never get another job in this city.”

  “You have a point … but maybe she’d be happy. She likes you.”

  “She tolerates me, and besides, what if he’s just like her? Could you imagine?”

  “That’s a more valid point.” Felicity slides onto the chair beside me, looking glum. “I had such high hopes for him.”

  “I know. Me, too. But I do have one positive piece of news.”

  “Does it involve chocolate or me taking a nap?”

  “Even better. I discovered a type of yoga that was made for us. Buti yoga, and yes, it really is pronounced like the body part, and yes, I am planning to sing every song with ‘booty’ in the lyrics out of obligation.”

  “You’re lying.”

  I shake my head, a smile creeping across my features. “They have a class on Monday. I’m going to stay with Grammy this weekend, give you guys a little break, and then we can go Monday after Dan gets home, if you’re interested.”

  “You don’t need to give us a break. This is your home.”

  “You guys are my home, but this is not. This is a nice extended-vacation spot.” I reach for another chocolate and pause before it reaches my lips. “How come you aren’t eating any? I’m sure you’ll burn off all the calories when we do our Buti yoga.”

  Felicity laughs. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t sound good.”

  I stare at my best friend, working to recall a time she’s ever turned down any type of dessert—even ones she doesn’t like she eats. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” I say, inspecting her more closely.

  “Tell you what?”

  I glance to the foyer to ensure the kids are still playing. “That you’re pregnant!”

  “I’m not…” she starts, her brow scrunched with indignation.

  “You’ve been sleeping in and going to bed early, you want to eat carbs all day, and you just turned down chocolate.” I tick off the clues.

  Felicity pales. “I did miss my period last month, but I thought it was just hormones. You know, since Theo was born, my period has been so inconsistent.” She raises both hands, dropping them on her head. “My life is finally getting easier. We just started sleeping all night. Dan’s finally able to touch my boobs again without milk leaking.”

  I scrunch my face to let her know she’s shared too much.

  She slides a hand down the front of her face. “Could I really be?”

  I reach forward and take her free hand. “I’d explain where babies come from, but I’m pretty sure you know…”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  I lean forward, hugging her. “Deep breaths. You know how this works.”

  “I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.”

  “The only times you’ve ever turned away chocolate were when you were pregnant,” I remind her.

  “It’s probably a cold or something.”

  “Okay. You keep telling yourself that.”

  She sighs heavily as I turn toward the foyer.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “To cancel my date.”

  My heart is tap-dancing against my ribs. It’s a new routine, a rhythm that began last Friday when I first met Levi and has resumed each time I think of or see him. I’m tempted to be a coward and text him, but the knowledge of how that will only compound the unease of working with him has me calling him.

  It rings twice before he answers. His voice has that same smoothness, like an expensive glass of red wine.

  “H-hi,” I stumble over the single word, a small part of me surprised he answered. I take a deep breath, the tap dance my heart’s been beating quickly becoming a faster version of the rain dance. “I’m calling about tomorrow. Since we realized we should only see e
ach other professionally…”

  “We?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure you made that decision on your own.”

  His bluntness trips up my thoughts and the words I’d rehearsed about canceling our date. “It’s the right decision though, which is why I’m calling. I think it’s best we cancel the museum tomorrow.”

  “What if we don’t? What if we meet and allow it to begin our professional relationship? We can do the tourist thing while I tell you more about the bar and what Jeff and I had discussed.”

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “It would add complications.”

  “Or simplify things and break the tension.”

  I’m equal parts giddy and resentful that he mentions there’s tension between us. I’d felt it until I hit the outskirts of the city. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You want to believe it’s a terrible idea, but you also think it might be a very good idea.”

  I pause because I do. “You don’t think it will be awkward?”

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  I scoff.

  “At least for the first hour or so it will be, but the way I see it, it’s better to get that out of the way before we’re discussing what color to paint the walls or what you recommend I do for the announcement.”

  “Okay.” I’m reluctant but agree. He’s right. This is going to be awkward regardless, and the sooner we can overcome that and move past the tension, the easier this will be.

  “Okay?” There’s the hint of a question in Levi’s tone, revealing his surprise.

  “I’ll meet you at two?”

  “At two,” he confirms.

  21

  “Brooke,” Catherine says my name as she streams into my office. Her hair is styled to perfection, and her dress is the shade of rubies. In her arms is a large Victoria’s Secret bag she sets down with a thump behind my desk. “Those are the purses you wanted. I found a few more while I was cleaning out another closet and a few other things that really aren’t my style.”