“Ask me why I’m smiling,” I said, changing gears, not wanting to talk about his intern and focusing on the reason I was there.
“Okay, why are you smiling?”
“You’re looking at a new runway model!” I shrieked.
“That’s awesome, love.” He beamed. “We should celebrate.”
“When … now?” I leisurely slouched farther into the chair, letting it roll.
“Yeah, why not. Do you have plans?”
“I do.” My voice came out playfully.
“What kind of plans?” His eyebrows knit together. I thought I might have hit a nerve, or at least I hoped I had.
“I’ve got … plans, date plans.” I smiled more than I should have. My fingers played with the zipper pull of my jacket.
“With who?” He stopped what he was doing and slowly walked over. The hard lines on his face were more pronounced, revealing that he was more sensitive to his feelings than I had thought. I liked it.
“With someone I met,” I pressed on, giving him my best poker face. He grabbed the arms of my chair, pulling it toward him, pinning me to his body and the seat.
“Break your plans.” His face was inches away from mine. I could feel his warm breath on my skin. I guessed the label in the back of my down-insulated coat was right. It claimed to trap heat to keep you warm even when the temperature dropped. But now I knew what happened when the temperature rose.
Good grief.
“I can’t.” I swallowed hard and looked up into his eyes, anticipating what might happen next.
“I don’t care, you’re coming home with me. I’m cooking dinner tonight.” The way Simon looked at me, all my senses seem to slip away. “Mable.”
“Hmm.” Kiss me already.
“Tell him something came up … Say your cat got sick and you need to bring her to the vet.” He smiled like he’d won a match. Then, with a gentle push, my chair rolled back, adding space between us.
What just happened?
“You know about the cats?” I laughed.
“What cats?”
I read his face with no signs of confusion. I continued to watch him put his equipment away on the shelves across the room when he stopped and looked up. “I highly doubt you’ll remain a spinster with sixty cats. With legs like yours, love, someone is bound to sweep you off your feet.”
I broke my plans with Mr. Nonexistent and took up Simon’s offer to cook me dinner. I know, I’m knee-deep in turmoil, but I got this. If Simon can be a professional, so can I.
An hour later, we arrived at Simon’s one-bedroom apartment in Central Park South. The building had all the amenities, with a concierge at the front desk. I wondered for a minute what people in this building could possibly request. I could only imagine sending him to pick me up a mushroom burger with extra fries at the Shake Shack.
“I have to warn you, though, there’s a possibility my apartment is all over the place like a madwoman’s breakfast,” he said, putting the key in the lock.
“A … what?” I laughed, not familiar with his slang.
“A complete mess. I wasn’t planning on having company tonight.” He grinned.
“So why invite me?”
“Because I wanted you over,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I promise I won’t pass judgment either way,” I said. “Unless you have a pull-up bar in the doorway; then it will be full-on scrutiny.” Simon opened the door, allowing me to walk into his studio.
“Why would that be a deal breaker?” Simon said, walking into his galley-style kitchen, setting the grocery bags on the dark granite counter.
“I can’t be friends with a conceited man.”
He laughed. “Well, wouldn’t you feel silly if I did.”
I took a quick glance around; satisfied, I returned to Simon in the kitchen.
“Are we still friends?”
“Perfectly,” I smiled.
Overall, his apartment was like everything else in New York: compact and crazy expensive. The way he managed his studio, it wasn’t much of a surprise to find his home spotless.
“Huh, your apartment doesn’t look like a madwoman’s anything.” I playfully frowned.
“I said that because I thought the concierge wouldn’t have a housekeeper come and clean this place up while we were at the supermarket,” he said.
“A maid, too?” Can I live here?
“Yeah. I work a lot, and the place can get pretty messy after a while.” He peeled off his jacket, then took mine and placed them on a black chair in the living room. I felt something rub against my leg, and I looked down.
“There you are, old mate. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since the last time Lena cleaned up the place.” He walked past me, disappearing into the kitchen.
“You have a cat?” I lowered my hand, allowing it to run through the soft gray fur. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.
“Yes, I’m a man with a cat. Is there something wrong with that?” He laughed a little. The sound of chopping on a wooden board had begun.
“No, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just I never pictured you with a cat. What’s his name?”
“It’s a she, and her name is Captain.”
“Captain? That’s a very boyish name.” I walked toward the opening of the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe.
“Don’t be sexist, love. Captain is a perfectly good name for a feline, whatever the gender.” He smirked, emptying the grocery bags.
“What made you want to get a cat?”
“She was gifted by my sister Jennifer. She thought it would be nice if I had something to come home to, especially after …” His voice trailed. “White or red?” He bent down, removing a bottle from his wine fridge.
Did I miss something?
“Uh, red is fine,” I said. “After what?”
“Yeah … She thinks I’m lonely.” He walked toward me, holding out a glass of red wine.
“Are you?”
“I’m not sure. I keep myself too busy to notice.” He smiled. “Cheers, love. Here’s to you, me, and the night we met.” His eyes grew darker, as deep as they could.
“What can I do to help?” I said, feeling it was my obligation to change the conversation. If he kept looking at me like that, we would need to redefine our relationship, and platonic was not the word I’d use.
“Nothing. I’m better when I work alone—in the kitchen, anyway.” He winked, placed his wineglass down, and continued chopping. I had never had a guy cook me dinner before. The man wants to feed me; there’s nothing sexier than that.
“You have an impeccable home.” I allowed myself the liberty to venture into his living room, just off the kitchen. A Moroccan rug lay over a natural-colored floor that creaked as I walked on it. The furniture was mostly tan or black, modern, and masculine. Pictures of his travels hung on every inch of the walls.
“I can’t take credit for the décor. My sister is the interior decorator. Everything in here is her doing.” He bobbed his head through a small opening in the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. I took a sip of my wine before turning to head back to the kitchen, but I stopped to look at the family pictures that hung on the wall. My eyes came to a dead stop. Now I found myself more confused than ever.
In the middle of all the framed photographs was a picture of a happy couple. It looked like it was might have been their wedding day. I choked, nearly spilling the wine out of my mouth.
“Are you okay?” Simon asked behind the wall.
I cleared my throat. “Oh … yeah … I’m all right.” My voice went high-pitched at the end.
I’m fucking fantastic.
Simon and Vanessa … married? Newly divorced? There’s something very messed up about this. I mean, would anyone keep a picture of someone they had divorced hanging on the wall? From what I had witnessed, they were not on good terms. Is she the one he’s been disappearing to? Then another unlikable thought came to mind. What if they were still married? Simon didn’
t wear a wedding band, but that meant nothing … And Noah had said they never dated. This had my head spinning.
I had a lot of questions, but did I have a right to the answers? Probably not, because it wasn’t my business. So I chose to be silent—for now, anyway.
“If you’d like, you can keep me company while I cook,” Simon called out.
“Sure,” I said, already making my way back. I leaned in the doorway so I wouldn’t get in Simon’s way. He was already cooking up a storm.
“I feel awful standing here watching you.”
“I want you to relax. Let’s get to know each other more.” He tossed a dishcloth over his shoulder. Sounds like a great idea, because I want to know about Vanessa.
“You could ask me anything you want,” he said naturally.
Okay, focus on Simon … your wife … Vanessa? Nope, he’s not a mind reader.
“So what made you want to be a photographer?” I asked. Seriously, I’m such a coward.
“Well, my parents wanted me to be a doctor or a dentist like them, but I never had it in me.” He threw the chopped vegetables into the hot skillet that simmered over the gas stove. “When I was younger, I was more artistic than anything else. I wrote music and played in a garage band.”
“Really?” I could picture Simon as a rock star. He had a look for it. “So what changed?”
“Well, one summer I came to visit my sister in New York, and that’s where I met other artists. I felt more at home in Manhattan, and it sort of clicked.” Simon took a sip of his wine. “I took up photography as a hobby until I wanted to take it up full time.” He added herbs and spices to the pan and, with a quick wrist move, flipped the food in the skillet.
“So, against my parents’ wishes, I came to live in New York. I thought it would be a good place to start. Seven years later, here I am.” He took a peek in the oven, then reached for two plates from the cabinet above. I didn’t know what he was making, but it smelled delicious.
“You seem to know your way around the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I only enjoy cooking when I’m doing it for someone else.”
Like Vanessa?
“Just curious, how many women have you cooked dinner for?” I brought the glass to my lips.
“Usually it’s breakfast, never dinner.” He grinned mischievously. “Nah, to be honest, you’re my first in a very long time.”
His eyes went soft.
“I hope you’re hungry.” He slid the plates in his hands.
“Famished.” I smiled, but I was not entirely sure what I was starving for.
After dinner, we sat in the living area. I curled up in Simon’s club chair with Captain in my lap while Simon sat across from us on his couch. The room was beautiful at night, surrounded by tall framed windows, revealing the night sky and the lights below in Central Park. We talked about my mother and his sister, his childhood in Australia, mine in Canada. Here we were, two expats, in pursuit of a dream, in a city that might deliver. But it was our dreams that had brought us here. If it wasn’t for our passion, we might never have met.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a blue notebook with the words Lyrical Lights scribbled across the front cover. It rested on the clear vinyl coffee table in front of me. “Do you write your songs in there?” I asked, but Simon snatched it up before I could get my hands on it.
“Hold on—this is top secret. I let no one read my stuff.” Simon smiled, but his neck turned a light shade of red.
“Oh, come on. I spent an hour pouring my heart out, talking about how I practically starved myself in the name of fashion.” I never bared my soul like I did with Simon. “You owe me.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Fair enough. Okay, but I have a condition.” He set the copybook aside and passed his hand through his hair. “We have to know each other at least … two years tops before I allow you to read my poems.”
“Ohh … poems.” I smiled, raising my eyebrows at him.
“Well, I guess you could call them poems; it’s just stuff I jot down.” He leaned his head on the back of his sofa.
I thought about it. Two years is a long time—what the hell was in there? Who was he, the CIA? “Do you think this friendship will last that long?” I looked down at Captain, afraid of disclosing something in my eyes.
“Well, that depends on you.”
“Me? Well, Gloria doesn’t believe we could be friends.”
“She may be right, and I thought so too at first … especially if you continue to whisper stuff in my ear,” he said, and I smiled, not sure if I should take it as a challenge. “You’re a hell of a package, Mable. Any man would be proud to have you by his side, but I make a lousy boyfriend.”
I wondered if he made a horrible husband too.
“But now I feel we’re in a place—I like you … in a figurative way, and I respect you. I enjoy your company, and I think sex would just ruin things, you know?”
He looked up. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or me. In other words, he appreciated me enough not to get involved. Shit, those are the things any girl with a mad crush loves to hear. To say I was disappointed was putting it mildly, but I had to accept it.
“Sweet mercy, what a romantic. Who’s talking about sleeping together? I meant Gloria was speaking about having feelings for one another.”
“Well, that’s generally what comes next, hopefully.”
“Next? What, you’re saying you could sleep with someone and not have any feelings for them?” Where are you going with this, Mable?
“No, no. I mean the sex is just better when you love someone or at least care about them, right?”
Where is Simon going with this? “Well, I’m not much of a romantic, but I always thought there was something magical in believing you’re only meant for one person,” I told him.
“Huh. I used to think that once, but not anymore.” He looked away.
When Captain leaped off my lap, I got up and walked over to a black bookcase across the room. Each shelf was crammed with pictures and mementos of the trips he had taken in the past.
“Have you been to all these places?” I allowed my fingers to slide across the bindings of the travel books.
“Yeah, some for work, some for pleasure,” he said. I could feel his eyes watching me, but I didn’t dare to look in his direction.
“What was your favorite place you’ve visited?”
“My first trip alone … just before I turned twenty, I packed my bags, my camera and set off for Asia.”
“Were you there long?”
“About four months, but three weeks in I was in a motorcycle accident.” He shifted his glass in his hands. “I was pushed off the road by a crazy driver and ran straight into a tree.”
“Yikes, were you seriously hurt?”
“I was lucky. I got off with minor cuts and bruises.” He swallowed. “When I left the hospital, I decided I was done—time to pack my shit and head home. But on my bus ride to the hotel, I met a girl.”
“A girl?” I turned. His arms sprawled against the backrest of the sofa, in one hand, holding a glass of scotch.
“An American. A jewelry designer who was there on holiday. I stayed three weeks more than I’d originally planned, because of her.” He nodded.
“She must have been pretty to get you to stay.”
A shadow crossed his eyes, and I felt the pain. “Yes, she was.” He took a moment to answer. “She changed everything.”
It made me realize that Simon, too, must have lost something crucial. Perhaps he didn’t have much more luck with love than I did.
“What about these?” I looked back at the unmatched frames lined up on his counsel table. “Where were they taken?”
“In Ethiopia.” He pointed at the photographs.
“They’re wonderful. Does everyone allow you to take pictures of them?”
“Not always. If I do, I either compensate them with money or send the portrait.”
“Oh, so you must speak ot
her languages?” I brought the frame closer.
“I try to learn a couple of words here and there. It’s important for me to connect with the locals, and often people want to interact with you. I visit those places not only to snap pictures to fill my portfolio but to take the time to get to know them—to learn.”
“Hmm. Sounds like you’ve been doing a little soul-searching.” I came around and sat next to him on the plush navy sofa. He watched me in a way that caused a deep tickle in my stomach. He was really attractive right now.
“Maybe, but being an artist also means you have to be someone who observes the world around them. That’s why most places I choose to travel are consumed with poverty. But I never put myself above those people. They are very proud of what they have, and I always say to them it’s great … because it truly is. The human condition is a remarkable thing.”
“Wow, quite an experience, traveling, love. So what’s next?” I asked, taking another sip from my glass.
“I don’t know, but all my life I’ve taken the offbeat path. I’m the first to admit it’s a marked life, a lonely road to follow.” He looked at his glass. “I’m planning to go back someday. Most likely I’ll be going alone.”
I thought to myself how deep and clear his eyes were, wishing I could dive right in.
An hour later, Simon helped me flag down a yellow cab.
“So when will you be back?” I asked. He had mentioned before that he’d be away working on a project in Las Vegas.
“In two weeks,”
“Well, thanks for dinner. It was fun.” I wanted him to kiss me. The way he was looking at me, I thought he did, too.
“You’re welcome. But remind me why I’m not driving you home?” he asked.
I believed he didn’t want the night to end, but it was already two in the morning.
“I don’t want Gloria to know I was here.” Gloria was under the pretense I was out with friends.
“How will she know I drove you home?”
“Oh, you don’t know Gloria. She’s at the window waiting in the dark as we speak.”
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