Maybe Someone Like You

by Stacy Wise

  An hour later, the first six pages of my legal pad are covered in notes, from what to say to potential clients, to what forms we need to familiarize ourselves with, and what rooms in the courthouse we need to be able to get to blindfolded. (She was joking about the blindfold part, of course.)

  Volunteers begin to trickle through the exits, but I hang behind. Who cares if I’m late to the Harold Kroeker event? It’s not like Kenneth has a GPS cuff strapped to my ankle.

  I introduce myself, and she greets me like the sun. She’s a total dynamo. All this time I’ve been trying to squeeze myself into the word—the word Thomas used to describe the kind of person he wanted to hire—but it doesn’t fit. Valentina wears it like a crown.

  “Thanks for joining us today. Are you a law student?”

  “I graduated Loyola in May and have been clerking at Janks and Lowe.”

  “Impressive. They’re a great firm.”

  I nod, wondering if she knows Kenneth. “I’m learning a lot.”

  “You asked some important questions that got everyone thinking—including me. You come across as very legal-minded.”

  Why doesn’t Kenneth see it? She’s the kind of person I want to work for, not him. His words cause the nasty little tendrils of insecurity to creep in and choke me. I can’t ever catch my breath. And Valentina walks in and makes me want to dance. “I really appreciate that, coming from you. Your talk got me thinking. I just helped a friend obtain a TRO, and I can see just from that experience how overwhelming it could be for people. Your work here is so important. Thanks for doing what you do. It really matters.”

  “I think so, too. And I appreciate your words. See you next time, Katie.”

  As I walk to my car, something like hope starts to take root in me. It could be a grass is greener thing, but I get the feeling my volunteer work here is going to fulfill me in a way that Janks and Lowe doesn’t.

  I screech into the self-parking area at the Museum of Contemporary Art and rush to check in at the guest table, surreptitiously scanning the list in hopes of seeing a familiar name, but the woman helping me flips the pages so quickly I can’t read a thing. With a sigh, I turn from the table. A server balancing a silver tray of wineglasses approaches me. “Would you like some wine? Both are from the central coast. The red is a 2011 Zaca Mesa Z Cuvée, and the white is a 2013 Edna Valley Chardonnay.”

  “I’ll try the Z Cuvée. Thanks.” After selecting a glass, I ease into the crowd. Small groups of middle-aged people are dotted around the room. Some attorneys are from my mother’s firm, and I wonder if she’s here. Slipping my phone from my purse, I dial her number and head into the first exhibit room, away from the cacophony of voices. Studying a painting made up of harsh black lines and red splotches, I wait for Mom to answer.

  After the fourth ring, I end the call without leaving a message. A part of me was hoping to tell her about the Holden Center.

  I move to the next painting, a bright-orange block of wood with symmetrical rows of nails hammered into it. It looks like something an art therapy patient with anger issues would create. As much as I don’t like it, I’m pretty sure it was rewarding to make. Pounding nails into the wood like that after a day with Kenneth would be extremely therapeutic. I smile at the thought and startle when I hear my name.

  “Katie Capwell. I was hoping I’d bump into you again one day.”

  “Edward! It’s nice to see you.”

  He looks farther down the exhibit room. “Are you here with a date? Or your mother?” He asks the second question with a trace of hope in his voice.

  “Neither. My boss couldn’t make it tonight, so I’m here in his place.”

  “We’re in the same boat. I didn’t necessarily want to be here, either, but my parents insisted I join them. We’re big supporters of Mr. Kroeker, although I could do without all the fund-raising events I’m expected to attend.”

  He’s wearing a well-cut navy suit with a pressed white shirt and a mustard-colored tie with tiny dots. I steal a closer look and realize they’re actually turkeys. I certainly wouldn’t have pegged Edward as a dotted-tie kind of guy, let alone a holiday one.

  He catches me looking and smiles. “It’s from my grandmother. She’s here tonight, so I figured I should wear it.”

  “That’s sweet. And it’s very seasonally appropriate. You pull it off nicely.”

  “Thanks. I see you already have a drink, or I’d offer you one. Would you like to take in the art with me?”

  “I’d love to.”

  We stroll to the next piece. Edward examines it, a hand on his chin. “I love the way the artist conveys feeling in the piece. Do you like it?”

  “Honestly? I can appreciate it, but I wouldn’t want it hanging in my house. It’s like it’s shouting.”

  “Huh. I see what you mean. It’s tough with art, like we’re supposed to be in awe of it, but sometimes it looks like a toddler threw paint at the wall.”

  “I guess it just goes to show there’s something for everyone.”

  He smiles at me. “Good point. It’s in line with the idea that there’s someone for everyone, too. At least, I’d like to think there is.”

  I’m not sure what to say, so I move ahead to the next piece. I wonder if six months from now, I’ll remind him of his comment and we’ll laugh at the irony because it turned out we were each other’s someone. The thought surprises me.

  We gaze at Number 3, 1948, by Jackson Pollack in silence. I feel guilty that I don’t love it. Whatever Edward is thinking he keeps to himself. He turns to me. “I’m not sure I need to see anymore. Would you like to grab a drink?”

  Before running into him, my plan was to make an appearance and leave early so I could go home to bed. But something is urging me to go with Edward. I meet his earnest blue eyes and say yes.

  “The Omni Hotel is walking distance. Shall we go to the bar there?”

  “Sure.” I haven’t been to the Omni, but Craig went just last week and said it was wonderful.

  The lobby is beautiful—gleaming marble floors, tons of windows, and a floral display fit for a palace. I’ve been to plenty of events at luxury hotels with my mother, and stayed at them, too, of course, but I haven’t been to one with a guy. Edward keeps his hand on my arm as we arrive at the bar. It’s chilly, but we decide to sit outside, since there are plenty of outdoor heaters, and the tables have fire pits built in.

  Edward sits close to me on the small patio sofa. “This is great. Much better than some political event.”

  The sofa feels heavenly, and I curl into it. “So much better.” I take in the expansive view of the city. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s beautiful.”

  He clasps his hand over mine. “You’re beautiful.”

  Whoa. I certainly didn’t expect that. “Thanks.”

  A server appears with two menus. After skimming one quickly, Edward orders a variety of small dishes for us to share.

  She smiles, revealing one dimple in her cheek. “Anything to drink with that?”

  He turns to me. “Are you a fan of sparkling wine?”

  “Yes. That sounds nice.” I can’t deny that Edward has great taste and is a perfect gentleman. It makes me feel safe, which is something I didn’t know I needed until the disastrous date with Lachlan. He orders two glasses of the Le Grand Courtâge Grand Cuvée, and once again, I’m impressed.

  The server leaves our table, and Edward tilts his head, looking at me. “When I first met you, I got the feeling you couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  My face burns. “No! That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t know my mom was having a party, and I just wasn’t in the mood to be there with all those people. I’m sorry if I was rude.”

  “You weren’t.”

  “Good.” I move my hands over the fire, warming them. “So how’s life at Benner and Benner?”

  “It’s busy, as always. I got a great verdict on a tough case a few weeks ago,” he says with a wide smile. “One more win under my belt.”

  “Con
grats. That’s exciting.”

  “Yeah.” He grins. “I’m pumped.”

  The waitress brings our drinks along with a warm basket of bread. “Try the truffle butter with the bread. It’s amazing.”

  Edward lifts his glass in a toast as she leaves. “Here’s to a fortuitous turn of events.”

  We clink our glasses. The bubbles tickle my throat as I sip, and I can’t help but think I could get used to this. The hotel is lovely. Edward is smart and nice. Even the weather is cooperating. “It was fortuitous, wasn’t it? I was having a rough day, but to end it with this? It’s perfect.”

  We leisurely make our way through the small plates, discussing the flavors and gushing over the truffle butter. Edward gives me a play-by-play of the trial he won, and I have to say, it’s very interesting—kind of like listening to one of my favorite law school professors. I almost feel like I should be taking notes. It’s obvious he loves his job.

  After he pays the bill, we head back to the lobby. “Thanks for dinner. I really enjoyed it. Being at a hotel made me feel like we were on vacation. It was a nice break from the real world.”

  He pauses before we step outside. “So when we’re back in the real world, will I get to see you again?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “I’d like that, too. Saturday night?”

  I pull my phone from my purse to check my calendar. The words on the screen make me catch my breath. Ryan Brincatt. Missed call and voicemail. What’s that all about? My wishful mind says he wanted to hear my voice. I quickly shift to my calendar, scanning it. Hannah is coming down on Friday to finalize wedding things, but she has to leave Saturday afternoon. “Saturday looks perfect.”

  He kisses my cheek. “Until then.”

  Curiosity nips at me as I walk to my car, but Ryan probably just called to pass me Javier’s number. I don’t need the disappointment.

  Tucking my phone into the center console, I start the drive home. Visions of the evening flicker in my mind as I blaze down the freeway. Tonight was lovely. Edward is easy to be around. He’s pleasant and predictable. It’s a good sign. A little voice tries to tell me something else, but I shush it and turn up the radio.

  When I pull into my parking spot, I take my time gathering my briefcase and purse. I stare at the center console like it’s Pandora’s box. If I open it and take out my phone, I’ll listen to the message. Because it might not be about Javier. My fingers grip the latch, and I yank it open.

  I tap my voicemail and hit play. “Hey, Katie.” The way my name sounds on his lips makes me melt. “I was hoping to talk to you, but I guess you’re not there. Anyway, Javier can do tomorrow at six. Does that work for you? Call me. Bye.”

  So I was right. Nonetheless, I play it from the beginning again and again until I’ve memorized every word and intonation. My finger hovers over the delete button, but I can’t do it. Listening to his voice may become a sick obsession.

  Before I change my mind, I text a response. There’s no way I can call. Sure. Tell him I’ll be there.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Javier greets me at the door like we’re old friends. “Glad you could finally make it in, Katie.” He smiles, revealing bright-white teeth. “I hear you’ve got a killer left hook.”

  “Thanks.” I set my bag on the bench like always and take out my wraps and gloves just like I used to, but only a shadow of me is here. The rest of me is drifting across the mats, peering behind bags and around corners, searching for Ryan. Maybe he’s in the locker room, putting on a fresh shirt before his next client.

  Javier watches as I unpack, tapping his foot. “Let’s get your warm-up going. Start with ten bear crawls across the mat—each way counts as one—and we’ll follow that up with the duck walk.”

  I start to tell him that Ryan typically has me do animal walks as part of my conditioning, not my warm-up, but it doesn’t matter. A new trainer means new things. I swallow back the lump of sorrow and begin crossing the mats like a bear.

  When I finish the first lap close to the mirrors, I sneak an upward glance. There’s Ryan, standing by the cubbies with his client. He’s wearing his “Fit Happens” T-shirt. Flipping a turn, I crawl in his direction, wishing I could channel an actual bear and growl at the envy that’s clinging to me.

  As I inch closer, I can see his client has a brownish pixie cut with blond tips. She wears an oversize Aerosmith concert T-shirt with shiny hot-pink exercise leggings. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her early thirties. She could be anyone—someone in front of me in line at Starbucks, someone I pass on the sidewalk outside my building, someone I’d barely give a second glance. But now that she has Ryan’s undivided attention, she’s fascinating. Does he like her blond tips? Have they had a conversation about their favorite Aerosmith songs? Maybe he thinks she’s really cool for wearing a concert shirt.

  Before I reach the end of the mat, I make a turn. There’s no way I can land next to them. Javier is talking to Jasmine, so it’s not like he’ll catch me cheating. When I reach the far wall again, Ryan and his client are heading to the treadmills. I wish I could trade places with her. Will he ask her about her day and listen with interest? I study them, watching for signs that they’re having a little too much fun. As if feeling the pull of my stare, he flicks a look in my direction. It does crazy things to my pulse, leaving me breathless. Our eyes lock, but I force myself to look away before I devour him with my gaze. Turning back to the mat, I plod along like a good little bear.

  By the time I finish my laps, I’m exhausted. Javier stands next to me, watching as I wrap my left hand. When I move to the right, he takes the wrap impatiently. “I’ll do this one.” He stretches the fabric through my fingers and across my knuckles with the efficiency of a nurse swaddling a baby. It almost feels like he’s timing himself.

  After my gloves are on, he holds up his pads. “I want to see you do just the jab. Keep your arms up and eyes on the target.” His eyes are so dark it’s nearly impossible to see his pupils. “Go.”

  As I do the punch, it strikes me that we’re completely invading each other’s personal space. Punching feels good, because it creates space. Funny how I never noticed the close proximity with Ryan. I was too caught up in breathing his air. Javier nods as I finish and has me do it again, reminding me to punch with the first two knuckles. “You’re doing great. Ryan’s taught you well.”

  “Thanks.” I want to ask if they trade off clients regularly, but something won’t let me. Ryan’s right there across the mats, wrapping Ms. Concert Shirt’s hands. Does she like the feel of his touch, so gentle compared to the tugging and pulling I just experienced? I want to think he was extra careful with me, but it was probably just something I created in my mind to fit my own desires.

  “Get your hands up. Watch for which pad I hold up. If it’s my left, give me a jab, and if it’s my right, a cross. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I leave it up, you’ll do a double.”

  When he holds up his right pad, I throw my shoulder into the punch and fire a cross at him.

  “Damn, girl. Fists of fury. I like it.”

  Well good, because every time I look at Ryan I feel a little fury. No, not fury. If I’m being honest, I want to rip off my gloves and rush into his arms. I want him to hug me and kiss me and push the hair from my face so he can look into my eyes and ugh! It’s all too hard. Javier holds up his pad again, and I connect with the center of it. Again and again I punch. I hope Ryan looks over here and sees how great I’m doing. Will he wish he was holding the pads, or is he breathing a sigh of relief that he’s rid of me?

  Javier pats my shoulder after my last squat jump. “Nicely done. You should come to one of my classes. I think you’d do great. Do you have the schedule?”

  “I do, thanks.”

  “Cool. I’ve gotta run, but I’ll text you to set up another training session. And go talk to Jasmine. She wanted me to send you her way when we finished.”

  Oh, man. What if R
yan told her we kissed? She gives me a pensive look when I reach her desk. “You’ll never guess what happened.”

  “What?”

  “Roland was waiting for me outside the smoothie place where I always get my lunch. He got all weepy and started asking why I was trying to hurt him.”

  Any thoughts of jealousy vanish, replaced by concern. “Oh my God. What’d you do?”

  “Hauled ass back to the gym and called 911. He followed and was begging for me to talk to him. The police showed up in minutes.”

  “Did they arrest him?”

  She nods. “They found a knife strapped to his leg. And when they searched his car, they found a bag with zip ties and duct tape.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “Are you serious? You must’ve been terrified.”

  “It happened so fast I didn’t have time to really think about it. I convinced myself the stuff in the bag wasn’t for me, but in my heart, I know it was.”

  I pull her into a hug. “I’m so sorry that happened, but I’m glad you’re okay.” I step back. “You’ll have to testify against him in court.”

  “I know. But it’s going to be okay. The police have been so helpful. And I have a ton of support here. These guys are my family.”

  “I’m here, too, if you need anything. I’ve started volunteering at a place that helps victims. By the time you go to court, I’ll have all the info we need.”

  “You’re gonna make me cry. Seriously, you’ve been amazing. Thank you. And Ryan’s been so awesome, too. I guess I don’t have to tell you that.”

  No, you really don’t. “You’re welcome.” As I walk to the cubbies, it chills me to think the outcome could’ve been drastically different. If she hadn’t run, or if he hadn’t followed her, allowing the police to catch him…but it turned out okay. I shouldn’t worry about what didn’t happen. But how many women are out there just like Jasmine? What if they’re scared and don’t know where to go? I want to help them all. Gran’s face makes a hazy appearance in my mind, telling me about dreams: Gather them in your heart and save them, she says. The most important ones will stay with you, pounding along with the beat of your heart until you act on them.