Hold Me Close

by Rosalind James

  Luke glanced at the racks of cheap jewelry. Heart-shaped metal disks that looked like nothing so much as dog tags, ID bracelets, rings in the shape of snakes and skulls for would-be tough guys.

  “Anything you like, engraved right here, right now.” The skinny carnie was talking even faster now at the prospect of a sale. “Aw, man, she’s so worth it. I can get your name right there on her wrist in five minutes. Buy her a present, man. You won’t regret it.”

  “What do you think?” Luke asked Kayla. “You worth it? Would that impress you?”

  All the animation had died out of her face. “No.” She tugged her hand out of his and turned away.

  It took him a couple strides to catch up with her. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re worth a whole lot more than that.”

  She swung around at him, all the gentle laughter, all the sweetness gone. “How much am I worth, then? Two hundred dollars? Eight hundred? Why does jewelry always have to be about buying a woman? That isn’t funny to me. It isn’t cute. I’m not for sale.”

  He stood and groped for something to say, and just like that, he saw the alarm cross her face. She hadn’t meant it to come out so strongly, he could tell. She hadn’t meant it to come out at all. “Wait. I . . . I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to say that. After the bike and everything. I just meant—”

  “No. Don’t be sorry. I want to know how you feel. I hear you, I do. But I think jewelry can be about something else, too. I think there’s more than that. Isn’t there another answer?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Maybe. I don’t know.” The answer was as clear as if she’d said it. No. Except that she didn’t dare say it. She didn’t dare argue.

  He had to stop and think a minute. “How about if it—the jewelry, I mean—was about you?” he finally said. “Instead of about the guy giving it wanting something out of you? Would that make a difference?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

  He needed her to know this. This mattered. It’s a ten-dollar bracelet, he told himself. And it’s worth fifty cents. But he didn’t care.

  “Will you trust me enough to wait for me a second?” he asked. “To let me show you?”

  “I know you’re not—” She was stumbling over the words. “I’m sorry. You’ve done so much already. My bike. Eli. I know you’re not—not that. I just—it’s just—”

  “Hi, Mr. Jackson!”

  He swore inside, closed his eyes, opened them, and said, “Hey. How you doing?” to the group of five or six seniors. He saw them taking in Kayla, nudging each other, and knew he’d be gossip fodder on Monday, that they’d all be asking each other who she was. And he didn’t care.

  “Wait there,” he told Kayla, ignoring the kids. “One minute. Or—all right.” He smiled at her, got the hint of a smile in return. “Maybe five.”

  He turned and went back to the booth, pulled his wallet out of his jeans, and the carnie said, “That’s more like it. Way to impress her, man,” and Luke rolled his eyes.

  He glanced over to where he’d left Kayla and shifted impatiently as the man put the bracelet onto the engraving machine. She wandered over to a ring-toss game, and when the attendant started trying to talk her into it, shook her head and moved along. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose her entirely. Over a bracelet. Over a stupid idea.

  He finally came up behind her again near the target-shooting booth. The group of kids was there, too, cheering on—or jeering at—Mike O’Meara as he aimed and shot and missed, aimed and shot and missed.

  Kayla turned at his touch on her shoulder, and he held out his hand. “This is what I mean.”

  He could tell that she didn’t want to, but she took the cheap metal ID bracelet from him, held it up, and read it in the harsh light.

  “Kayla,” she read, and then, “B & B. Um . . . what’s B & B?”

  He took a breath and put it out there, foolish as he felt. “Kayla, who’s brave and beautiful. Because this one’s about you, not about me. Because sometimes, jewelry is just about a man wanting to please a woman, wanting to show her what she means to him. Wanting to tell her something he can’t say with words, because he’s just a man, and we’re not too good at that. And sometimes, it doesn’t come with strings attached.”

  The lights, the noise, the crowd had faded, and he put his hand around hers, around the bracelet. “I’d love to put this on you,” he told her. “I’d love to know that you believed that. Even though it’s only a ten-dollar bracelet from a carnival. I’d love you to believe that I’m not trying to buy you. I’m trying to show you.”

  Her lips had parted, and he could see her breath coming hard, her chest rising and falling. His own heart galloped as he waited. Three seconds. Five. And then she turned her hand and dropped the bracelet into his palm, and he felt sick. Because he’d screwed up.

  “All right.” It wasn’t much more than a whisper. Her fingers uncurled, and she was standing there, her hand outstretched, and his heart was beating again. No, not beating. Pounding.

  He laid the cheap thing over her slim wrist, turned it so he could fasten it. It fell down low over her hand, and they both looked at it.

  Kayla B & B

  And if you wanted to talk about courage? It had taken all of hers to let him do this, and he knew it. He took her hand in his, felt her pulse racing in time with his own. And then, before he could stop himself, he was lifting her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it, and saying, “Thank you.”

  The voice came before she could answer. “Wow. He totally kissed her hand. Did you see that?”

  “That is so romantic. How come you never kiss my hand, Wesley?”

  “Because I don’t want to look like a total dork, maybe?”

  Kayla smiled, her hand still in his. “You’ve just lost all your street cred.”

  “And, see,” he said, smiling right back at her, “I don’t even care.”

  They met up with Eli again, and Luke drove home with Eli sitting up between him and Kayla, talking about what he’d done and what he’d eaten with a lack of reserve that would have been impossible a month ago.

  “We went on the Hammer three times,” he told Luke. “It was awesome. You should have heard the girls scream! They did it on the roller coaster, too. I wouldn’t want to go on rides with girls. Did you go on any rides?”

  “Yep. Took your mom on the Ferris wheel and the Tilt-a-Whirl and the merry-go-round.”

  “Mom,” Eli said. “Those are baby rides!”

  “Hey,” Kayla said. “It was fun, wasn’t it, Luke?”

  “Oh, yeah. It had its moments.”

  He hopped out of the truck with them when they reached her apartment. “You don’t have to get out,” Kayla protested.

  “Nah. Walk you to your door.” He followed the two of them up the sidewalk to her door, where she took her keys out of her purse . . . and handed them to Eli.

  “Be right in, sweetie,” she told him.

  He hesitated, his eyes going between her and Luke, the caution right back again. Kids might be resilient, but that didn’t mean they forgot.

  “It’s all right,” Luke told him. “She’s safe out here with me. You have my word.”

  Eli looked at him for more long seconds, then went inside, and Kayla pulled the door closed.

  “He believed you,” she said. “That’s not easy for him.”

  “A man’s word is his bond. His dad said that, so he believes it.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yep. And since I happen to agree with his dad, I guess we understand each other.”

  “He worries about me,” she said, almost under her breath.

  “I see that. He’s probably got his reasons. But he doesn’t have to worry about me.”

  “So it’s true? I’m safe with you? Nothing’s going to happen to me out he
re?” And just like that, something had shifted between them again, because that was surely a teasing light in her eyes.

  “Nothing you don’t want.” His hand went to the side of her face, the backs of his fingers brushing across her soft cheek, the same way they had in the boys’ bathroom. But this time, there was no mop bucket between them, and this was a whole new ball game. “Soon as you don’t want to be quite so safe—well, you just let me know, and we’ll go there.”

  “Mm.” It was almost a purr, and her eyes had drifted shut as his hand continued its slow caress, until he turned it, ran his palm into her hair, and held her there.

  “I love your little curls,” he told her. “And if I haven’t said it . . . you’re so pretty.”

  “You haven’t said it.” Her eyes had drifted open again, and he was drowning in those pools of gray, luminous in the dim illumination provided by the single overhead bulb.

  “I’m saying it now. And when I look at you . . . I’m saying it. Always.”

  Her lips had parted a bit, that sweet sinner’s mouth was beckoning to him, and he was falling. He bent and kissed her, because there was no other choice. Still softly, just a brush of his lips, but the heat kindled all the same. Her hand went to his shoulder. He heard the faint clink of his bracelet sliding down her wrist, and for some reason, that turned the fire up a little bit more. His own hand was at her waist, where he’d held her earlier, that delicious indentation that was all woman, and he kissed her again, just because he had to. Soft and slow and so sweet. And her mouth still tasted like sugar.

  He lifted his head at last and sighed. “Whoa.”

  Her hand smoothed once over his shoulder, as if she wanted to touch him some more, as if she were finding it as hard to let go as he was, and then she was stepping back. “Boy,” she said, sounding a little shaky. “I didn’t know I was going to do that.”

  “Well, to be fair, I think I’m the one who did it.”

  “Yes. You did.” Her smile was so sweet. “Because I wanted you to.”

  He groaned. “Kayla. You’re going to kill me. I’m trying to hold back here.” He smoothed his hand over her hair again all the same. “And you make it so hard.” Which was no more than the truth. A couple little kisses, and he was aching.

  “I’m going to say good night, then,” she said. “And . . . thanks. I had fun. I haven’t had fun like that in a long, long time, but I had it tonight. I had it with you.”

  After that, he had to kiss her one more time, didn’t he? Both hands around her head this time, holding her for him, but gently, because she needed it gentle. And then he stood back again when everything in him wanted to pull her close and said, “You’d better say that good night. If you want to. If you have to.”

  “I . . . I have to. But I’ll . . . see you soon.”

  He should have asked her out again. Idiot. “You know,” he said, thinking fast, “you’ve cooked for me. It’s my turn, isn’t it? How about coming over tomorrow night, you and Eli, and I’ll do the cooking? We can watch a movie, maybe. All three of us.”

  “I thought you were a lousy cook.”

  “What—” And then he remembered. “Oh. I may have exaggerated. Hey,” he protested when she laughed, “it was all that came to me at the moment.”

  “Mm-hm. And a movie? So you don’t watch Sunday Night Football like Cal? You surprise me. I’d have thought you’d have played. That boy I knew, he was pretty athletic.”

  “I may have been a running back, once upon a time,” he conceded. “And I might watch a little football. Doesn’t mean I have to do it tomorrow night.”

  “Actually, I like football. My hu—” She stopped, her expressive face giving away her confusion.

  “It’s OK. You can say it. Your husband was a fan.”

  “Well, yes. He was. I like it, and so does Eli. We don’t have a TV, so that would be fun. And we could cook together. How about that?”

  “You could do the dessert, maybe. I’m not so good at that.”

  “You like the sweet stuff?” Her smile was a little wicked, and yes, she was teasing again.

  “You know I do. And if you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to get kissed again.”

  “So what time?”

  “Hm?” He wasn’t paying too much attention.

  “What time do you want us to come over?”

  “Oh. Uh—four thirty? We’ll put the game on; we’ll fix some dinner; we’ll eat on the couch.”

  “You going to hold my hand?”

  “You know what?” He laughed, pulled her toward him with a hand on her waist, and dropped another kiss on her pink lips. “I’ll bet I am.”

  He let go of her then, and she opened her door and stepped inside, looked around it as it was closing, smiled, and whispered, “Good night.” And he stood there a moment longer and wished that she’d come back.

  THE BREAKFAST SPOT

  Luke had chosen his moment well. It was the following afternoon, nearly three o’clock on Sunday. A few late lunchers lingered in The Breakfast Spot’s leatherette booths, but the atmosphere was decidedly sleepy today. The fans turned lazily overhead, dust motes danced in a beam of sunlight, and there was about as much activity in the restaurant as on the sidewalks outside.

  “Hey, Luke.” Carla Phelps, the co-owner, was standing behind the hostess’ desk at the front of the restaurant. She grabbed a big laminated menu off the stack. “You got ten minutes left to order before the kitchen closes. Everyone wants to get on down to the last night of the fair.”

  “I’ll make it easy, then,” he said as he followed her over to a booth and slid in. “Just coffee.”

  “Aw, come on. You going to take up space, make it worth my while. Got a huckleberry pie over there in the case, baked right this morning. Your favorite. Warm it up, put a little vanilla ice cream on there, and you’ll be sitting up and seeing Jesus.”

  “Carla, you’re going to get me fat.”

  “You? Nah. Not running all over town every morning the way you do.”

  “You been watching? Is this the start of a beautiful friendship? I’d better look out for Rick, then. He’s got some mighty big knives back in that kitchen. I’m getting a little nervous.”

  “Nope. Not me. I’ve got better things to do. I’m not naming any names, but let’s say you’ve been noticed and leave it at that. You should get some shorts that are a little longer, though. I’m just saying. That’s cruel and unusual.”

  He laughed. “You going to sweet-talk me like that, you know I’m going to have to get the pie.”

  “Coming right up.”

  When she brought it back, he said, “How about sitting down here with me and having a cup of coffee yourself? Got something I’d like to talk with you about, if you’ve got five minutes.”

  The alarm was right there to see in her comfortable face. “Something with Stacy? Something wrong? Should I get Rick?”

  “Nope. It’s not that. I’ve never heard another word. I’d say we got her scared straight, between us.” Rick and Carla’s daughter had been caught cheating on a final in tenth grade, but she’d paid the price, and as far as Luke knew, that was all good.

  Carla looked at him warily, but sat down. “Sure I can’t buy you a coffee?” he asked her. “Piece of pie?”

  “Nope. Spit it out.”

  “It’s not Stacy,” he said again. “I’m just wondering if you’re planning on hiring anytime soon.”

  “Well, yeah. Looking for a couple girls right now. Why?”

  “I’ve got one for you.”

  “I don’t want a high school girl.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Or somebody who just graduated, either, some project of yours with a sad story. No way. Not enough experience, and way too much drama. They’re late; they’re sick; they won’t work the early shift . . . no.”

  “Now, isn’t that
lucky? The person I have in mind is . . . oh, she must be about thirty. I know for a fact that she’s got a whole bunch of waitress experience, and that she’s a real hard worker, too.”

  “Uh-huh. If she’s so good, why doesn’t she have a job already? What do you have to do with it?”

  He sighed. “Damn, you’re tough.” When she kept squinting at him, he said, “All right. She’s new in town. Working swing shift now, cleaning offices. Cleaning the high school, too. That’s how I know her. Well, that and she’s a friend of the family.”

  “So why can’t she come down her herself and ask me?”

  “She did. Month or so ago. She didn’t have references then, and now she does. She’s got me.”

  “You. You going to tell me that she’s real good at serving you breakfast?”

  “No.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. “I’m not, because I don’t know. She’s a friend, that’s all. And somebody who could use a break right now.”

  She sighed. “You know I like you, Luke. I’d even say I owe you. But I can’t hire out of charity. I’d be out of business in a heartbeat.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Like I said, I know she’s a hard worker. Been cleaning the boys’ bathrooms up at the school. You’ve never been in those, and I have. Trust me, it takes a strong stomach and a will of iron to do that. Plus, she’s real pretty. You can’t tell me that won’t be a bonus. Put her on the early shift with the farmers, and you’ve struck gold. She’ll be willing to do it, too. Early shifts, weekends, whatever. But how good a waitress she is?” He shrugged. “No idea. So here’s the deal. You get her in here and talk to her. You think there’s a possibility, give her a couple of shifts and see how she does. She’ll be glad to make the money.”

  “And if she doesn’t work out? She going to be on my ass about that? Are you?”