Maybe Someone Like You

by Stacy Wise

  “Clear.” The word snaps from my mouth. My body stiffens, and I clench my fists. If I were a dragon, I wouldn’t be able to hold back the fire but, since I’m a civil human being, I refrain.

  “Very well.” He spins back to his computer screen, and I take that as my cue to leave.

  As I walk to my office, a lump builds in my throat, and I swallow it down. Substandard work? I swear, I bet he didn’t do more than skim it. But if he did and it actually sucked, one would think a good boss would calmly explain what needs improvement. When I reach my door, I stop and turn in the opposite direction. God knows I don’t want Kenneth storming in here with another piece of advice or a new task to complete immediately if not sooner. I might stab him with my letter opener. Maybe a cup of tea will soothe my nerves.

  Craig sits at the large kitchen table, wearing a blank look as he picks the brown M&M’s from the bowl and piles them in front of him.

  “Hi.” I steal another glance at him, wondering if this is what someone looks like when he’s actually lost his mind. “Are you okay?”

  He looks up, nodding. “Twenty-four, twenty-five. There. I was just counting. I’m limiting my intake.”

  “And color, it appears.” I take a mug from the cupboard and select a chamomile tea bag.

  “Food dye. It’s poison.”

  “The brown ones aren’t dyed?” I ask, swallowing my smile. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to hear I think his neuroses are cute, but I do.

  He chews thoughtfully before swallowing. “I guess you’re right. I was hoping the chocolate color is natural. Less hazardous when binge eating.”

  I can’t hold back a laugh. “Why the binge eating?”

  “It helps me think. You know we had a partner meeting this morning.” He drops another M&M into his mouth. “Steven said they aren’t adding any equity partners for the foreseeable future. Gloom and doom. For as many cases as we win, we’re always in the red. To be honest, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “That may explain Kenneth’s foul mood.”

  “It’s likely. The point distribution for the equity partners remains the same. I’m sure he’s pissed.” He rounds the table so he’s next to me, peering over my shoulder. “Are we having tea?”

  “Yeah.” I look at the unused tea bag in my hand. He moves to the sink and fills my cup from the hot water dispenser—something I was quite impressed to find in an office kitchen—then passes it to me. I absently stir in my tea bag.

  “This is very refined. A nice cup of tea in the late afternoon. Healthier than artificial food dye.” He selects an Earl Grey from the array of tea bags, reading the label before filling his own mug with hot water.

  “Yeah, I suppose so. I thought the chamomile would have a calming effect. I don’t really drink tea, but I need something. I wish I had a punching bag in the office. It’s quite therapeutic. You should come with me to my kickboxing gym. It’s the best kind of stress relief.”

  “Sounds exhausting.” He swirls the bag in his mug. “Rough day for you?”

  “Kenneth said the article I wrote was substandard work. Never mind the fact I had one night to do it because I was off doing his shopping. Now I’m writing up a settlement brief for him, and he’s made it crystal clear that it must be perfect. So yeah, rough day.”

  “Wait. Shopping for him?”

  “Humiliating, right?”

  “Next time say no. I’m not kidding. That’s bullshit.” Craig sips his tea and immediately scrunches his face. “This is disgusting.” He takes my mug and ceremoniously dumps the contents of both cups into the sink. “Fuck the tea and the candy. A glass of pinot is the only cure. What do you say?”

  “There’s wine in the office kitchen?”

  Craig rolls his eyes. “No, silly. I mean out of the office. Although, if you want a shot of scotch, just open up the bottom right-hand drawer of pretty much anyone’s desk here, and you’ll find half a bottle. That’s another thing I forgot to tell you—you need an emergency supply kit—keep a stash of nonperishable food and a bottle of strong liquor in one of your drawers.”

  “Noted.”

  He glances at his watch. “It’s almost five. Meet me by the elevators, and we’ll grab a glass of wine at Uncle Charlie’s.”

  I hesitate. Technically, my day ends at five, but it feels irresponsible to leave when I still have work.

  As if reading my mind, he says, “It’s Friday. Take the brain break. They’re essential to maintaining a certain level of sanity.”

  My eyes adjust to the dim lighting of Uncle Charlie’s. An eclectic mix of plush velvety sofas and intimate tables and chairs fill the room, creating an elegant but warm feel. I follow Craig to a cozy corner where I sink into the sofa.

  “What a great place.”

  “The food’s delicious. I’ve had everything on the menu at least once.”

  “Really? I can’t name one restaurant where I’ve tried everything on the menu. Do you eat out a lot?”

  “All the time. I detest doing anything in the kitchen.”

  “Me, too. Although I really want to learn. I should learn.” I can almost hear Mom’s voice saying, Yes, you really should, dear. I’ll sign you up for a class.

  He waves a hand. “Too much work. Do you like buttermilk biscuits?”

  I laugh. “Yeah. Who doesn’t?”

  He considers my question. “Health nuts, for one. Those who are lactose intolerant, of course.”

  “I’m neither.”

  “Good. I’m ordering us the cheddar buttermilk biscuits to start. They’re the epitome of comfort food.”

  The server comes to our table, and Craig orders. He leans toward me when she leaves. “My impression is you’re not as much of a hard-ass as your mom. Am I right?”

  I purse my lips, thinking. “It’s tough calling my mom a hard-ass. I’ll just say she’s intense.”

  “Proof positive that she’s the hard-ass in the family.”

  “Is that something I should aspire to?”

  He frowns, tilting his head. “No. I wouldn’t say so. I like you how you are.”

  Ten minutes later, the server swings by the table with a tray, barely pausing to land our wineglasses and the basket of biscuits on the table. Craig raises his glass to mine, and we clink.

  “So how long have you worked at the firm?”

  “Coming up on six years.” He tears off a hunk of biscuit and pops it into his mouth. “These should be illegal.” He finishes chewing and says, “We could talk about the firm all night, but let’s not. Tell me what you do for fun.”

  I shrug. “The typical stuff, I guess. Hang out with friends. What do you do for fun?”

  “We’re not moving on to me yet. We’re talking about you. Your answer was vague and incomplete.”

  “And you sound every bit the attorney.”

  “Deflected again.” His face brightens. “I see how you are. So let’s get right to the good stuff. Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No. Next question.” My pulse quickens, but I maintain a blasé look. Treading into my private life makes this suddenly seem like a date. But not. It doesn’t feel like he’s hitting on me, but what if I’m wrong? The last thing I need is a complicated work situation.

  “Oh,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “I can see I’ve touched on a sensitive topic. Explain.”

  As much as I should probably be freaked out by Craig’s line of questioning, I laugh. There is something so genuine and funny about him, he’s hard not to like.

  “Fine. He dumped me a month and a half ago because of summer.”

  “Summer’s the other woman?” he asks.

  “No, the season.”

  He slaps the table, his eyes wide. “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”

  “Yeah. It’s all he could come up with, I guess. Well, that, and I was apparently too stressed because of studying for the bar and then my job offer being rescinded—”

  “Wait. What offer?”

  “Bradshaw, Burke and Doyl
e had offered me a clerk position before I took the job with Janks and Lowe, but they entered into a merger with the Moreno Firm and were no longer in a position to hire me.”

  “That sucks. And your ex sounds like an ass.” He polishes off the last bite of biscuit and says, “That was it? Was there a hot rebound affair to soften the breakup blow?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. He did not just ask me that. An image of Ryan attacking the bag floats into my head, but I shake it away. I clear my throat and say, “No hot affair. I don’t have it in me to go out with anyone right now. It’s too soon.”

  Craig coughs down his wine and pulls a napkin to his mouth. “You haven’t been on a date in over a month? Are you kidding?”

  “Give or take. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Dear God in heaven.” He touches his forehead to the table, banging it lightly before looking back at me. “What’s wrong with that is you’re putting limits on yourself. He should take a time-out, not you.”

  “Huh. I guess I didn’t think of it that way. So are you dating anyone?”

  He takes a long sip of wine before answering. “I’ve been on a few dates with Blake. And should you be wondering, Blake isn’t a hipster name for a female.”

  Oh. Oh. I realize I’m not surprised he’s gay. I knew deep down he wasn’t hitting on me. I was just being extra alert and cautious.

  “Anyway, you should get out there. Jump back into the dating pool with both feet. Go out with the next guy who asks. Or better yet, ask out the next interesting guy you meet. It’s about having fun.”

  “You seem like the kind of person who has fun no matter what you’re doing or who you’re with.”

  “Thank you, Katie. That is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  “It’s true.”

  He grins again. “Any and all flattery is always welcome. I eat it up with a spoon.”

  We drink our wine and devour our high-caloric buttermilk bits of heaven. I’m not sure if it’s the wine or the decadent food or Craig, but my confidence is lifted. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I will ask someone out. It’s about having fun.

  It’s only eight when I reach my parking spot outside of my apartment, just a half hour past the time of Ryan’s soiree at the Shell Room. I shouldn’t be so curious. The best course of action would be to turn off my engine and walk up to my apartment. Which I’ll do in just a moment. But first, I need to know what the Shell Room is—and where it is.

  I take my phone from my purse and type the name into the search bar. A definition about a room on a boat pops up, but that’s not what I want. Scrolling down, I see it. The Shell Room is a room in the La Playa Community Center. I search through the events calendar, but nothing in the Shell Room is displayed. Strange. I scroll further, looking for more information, and discover that an Environmental Impact Meeting just started in the Gull Room. I toss my phone into my purse and back out of my parking spot. It’s time I become a more active member of my community.

  I climb the stairs to the second floor and assess the layout. The Shell Room lies directly to my left, and the Gull Room is three doors down to the right. Hoisting my briefcase onto my shoulder, making it look like I have some serious environmental business to deal with, I turn left.

  My heels click against the tile floors, echoing in the open corridor. I stride past the Shell Room, not daring to peek in the windows, but from my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of women—lots of them. What the hell? I reach the adjacent room and next to the door is a sheet of paper with a monthly events schedule. I run my finger down the page until I reach the evening classes. In the box next to Fridays at seven thirty are the words: Women’s Self-Defense. Instructor: Ryan Brincatt, Fourth-Degree Black Belt.

  Questions collide, but one buzzes louder than the others. Why do I want to believe he’s a player? He’s not trolling the city for mermaids—he’s a community helper. The box of doubts I was prepared to fill slams shut, empty.

  The scuffle of tennis shoes draws my attention to two women who’ve just reached the top of the stairs. One shouts down to me. “Are you looking for the meeting?”

  They both look my way, waiting for an answer. Shoot. I wish they hadn’t shouted. It’s not helping my covert operation. “Yes, thanks,” I say in a loud whisper.

  “It’s just down there in the Gull Room,” she says, waving a hand in the opposite direction. “Third door.”

  “Be right there!” I grit my teeth and head toward them, turning my face as I pass the Shell Room. As I clear the first door, Ryan shouts from inside. “Break time! You have five minutes.” God, for a second I thought he was talking to me. I pick up my pace as women stream from both exits, but suddenly I’m surrounded by a sea of colorful spandex, hindering my quick escape. As I near the second door, Ryan rolls out slowly, deep in conversation with a tall woman, her reckless Afro partially tamed behind a stretchy hot-pink headband. She touches his arm as if emphasizing a point and leaves it there. Right there on the angel—the same spot I once touched. I consider running, but if he looks up, he’ll see me, and it would be weird of me not to say hi.

  In a voice that’s probably more fitting for a crowded party, I say, “Ryan!”

  His eyes dart toward me. “Katie?”

  “Hi.” I offer a small wave and try to maintain a normal stance.

  He says something softly to the girl, and she releases her grasp on his arm and heads to the water fountain. She looks like she could’ve jumped off the pages of Vogue with her exotic hair and angular features. I wonder if he thinks so, too.

  A half grin emerges, revealing that overlapping incisor. “Hey, Katie.” His eyes skim my body. “I’m not used to seeing you in your work clothes. What are you doing here?”

  “Um, there’s an important environmental impact meeting I’m heading to, but I got turned around. How about you? Yoga class?”

  An easy laugh flows from his lips. He’d really have a good chuckle if he knew what I was up to. “I teach self-defense classes here.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  A woman with a water bottle in hand walks over to Ryan. “Great class today.” She sneaks a look at me but quickly turns back to him. “Are we going to do any floor work, because if we are, I might need some modifications. My hip has been bothering me.”

  He gives her a friendly pat on the back. “No prob. I’ll work with you when we start up again.” She smiles and looks from Ryan to me, clearly wanting to stay and talk. Ryan lays a hand on my arm. “I’ve gotta talk to Katie for a sec here. I’ll see you back inside in a minute, Ellen.”

  He takes my arm and leads me down the hall, away from the crowd. “Sorry,” he whispers. “If we stayed there we would’ve continued to get interrupted.”

  My heart flutters as I come up with a million reasons why he doesn’t want to be interrupted. We ease to a stop, and he says, “I meant to text you last night. You left your gloves at the gym. I’ve got them in my locker.”

  Not what I was hoping for. “Thanks. I didn’t realize.”

  He nods. “No prob. So, uh, do you go to these environmental meetings every week?”

  “No.” I swallow. “This is my first one. I’m trying to become more community-minded, and my roommate is an environmental attorney, so, you know,” I stumble, “I’m interested for that reason, too.”

  “That’s awesome. If you’re free this time next week, it’d be cool if you wanted to come try one of my classes. They’re free.”

  Yes! I’d love to spend extra time with you. “That’s really nice of you to volunteer.”

  He shrugs, suddenly humble. “It’s only an hour, and if it gives even one woman the tools she needs to get out of a dicey situation, it’s worth it.”

  Meeting his eyes, I say, “You’re a good guy.”

  He scrubs a hand down his face. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll kill my reputation.”

  I playfully punch his arm, and he grabs my wrist, smiling. “The lawyer girl can even throw a punch wearing a s
uit.” He releases his grip and checks his watch. “I’ve gotta get back in there.” Walking backward he says, “By the way, we’re going for a run tomorrow if you want to join us.”

  “The whole class?”

  He laughs. “No, not these guys. Some of my clients from the gym.”

  “Right.” The vision I had of him surrounded by a flurry of spandex-clad women bursts into beautiful flames. “I can’t. We’re going to an exhibition of my dad’s photography.”

  He stops. “No kidding. Where is it?”

  “The Hauser-Ford Gallery in Santa Monica.”

  “Great venue. Is it open to the public?”

  “Yep. It starts at eleven, if you want to stop by.” My heart races. I can’t believe I just invited him to something so important.

  “Cool. I’d love to check it out. Maybe I’ll bring a friend.” With that, he turns to jog back to his class.

  My racing heart freezes in my chest. Just when I thought… Never mind. He’s not into me.

  But then he spins to face me. “Good to see you, Katie.” He lifts his hand in a wave before heading back inside.

  Good to see you, too. I bite my lip, wishing I could magically change my clothes so I could join his class.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My mother stands at a podium in the center of the gallery. She wears a pale-blue suit—Armani from the looks of it—accessorized with a statement necklace and gold knot earrings. Her short blond hair is curled perfectly at her chin, adding softness to her usually stern appearance. “Danny Capwell made the ordinary seem extraordinary through his photography,” she begins, her tone commanding our attention. “He had the eye of an artist and the soul of a poet.” Her voice catches, and I straighten with surprise. “Sorry,” she utters, glancing at the crowd. “Seeing all these photographs in one room is bittersweet. I’ve avoided looking at his work for years, though I’m arguably his biggest fan.” She hesitates and inhales quietly. “He was a rare talent and the love of my life. To say I miss him is a grave understatement. Please join me in celebrating the photography that embodies his spirit.” A tear spills down her cheek, and I dab my own eyes.