Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  She shakes her head. “I already went there.”

  “You know there’s an app for that,” I joke.

  She nods. I barely catch the smirk she gives me. “Can we check your car just to make sure I didn't leave it there? I think it’s dead. It keeps going to voicemail.”

  “You’re wrong but, sure,” I say as I grab my keys and put on my shoes. “You hungry? I was thinking about grabbing something.

  “My fridge is empty,” I lie.

  She scrunches her nose and says, “I could use a coffee.”

  As we walk to the elevator, she tells me, “Charlie forced me to make decaf this morning so she wouldn’t ‘smell caffeine’ in case it’s bad for her kid or whatever. It was gross and sad, let’s leave it at that.”

  “A woman after my own heart,” I declare.

  She nudges me with her elbow, laughing. She laughs even harder when we find her phone in the center console of my car.

  “Told you so,” she says triumphantly.

  “Guess I owe you a real coffee,” I offer.

  “You already owed me that,” she reminds me with an unamused face. “Never play with my caffeine.”

  “Fine,” I concede, “Name your price.”

  She hums looking at me thoughtfully as I turn on the car. Why does she keep doing that? Do I have something on my face?

  “I’ll come up with something,” she says finally.

  13

  Jason

  I take her to this brunch place in the city. It’s your standard, gentrified restaurant with exposed brick and too much industrial metal and random wildflowers. To hipster for my taste. But it does have some great biscuits and some of the best coffee blends.

  She makes a big fuss about their menu.

  “Peach cobbler waffles with ice cream for breakfast,” she says looking at the picture menu. “I regret ordering the double chocolate fudge pancakes.”

  “You like your sweets, don’t you?”

  Eileen smiles at me. She swipes some foam off the top of her latte, lapping it up with a moan. She moans a little louder when she takes her first sip.

  That’s it, she’s trying to kill me. She not only looks beautiful today, but those noises she’s making are making me think all kinds of naughty thoughts. I should keep my thoughts out of the gutter when it comes to her.

  Guilt claws at me when I think about what could happen if we hooked up. She’s about to become part of the family. We are also sort of friends. Eileen is off limits. I have standards, rules, and limits. I can’t be bedding some chick I’ll be seeing at the next family reunion.

  Yet, here we are, eating brunch and hanging out like two people who are getting to know each other — even—flirting. I should stop doing that just about now. Treat her like my sister. I look at her and she’s nothing like June or Jeannette.

  How about Emmeline?

  “I think I’m addicted to caffeine,” she suddenly confesses, and I smile.

  A woman after my own heart. You’re perfect, I think.

  I raise my cup to her. “Guess that makes two of us.”

  She smirks, reaching over the table. What the fuck is she—

  “Here,” she says as she swipes some foam from my cup before sticking it in my face. “I think you’ve—”

  “What are you doing—” I try to dodge her, futilely.

  She gets me right on the lip. My skin is warm from the sizzle of her touch. I have a hard time thinking, and I’m craving more of that warmth.

  “Yeah, see? You’ve got something on your face,” she says with a lopsided grin.

  A fucking foam mustache. Why didn’t I think of that?

  Well, two can play at this game.

  “Oh no, you seem to have something too,” I say as I grab some foam from my cup. “Let me help with that.”

  “Nope, nuh-uh,” she protests lightly as she leans back.

  “I insist,” I say.

  She dodges well enough for me to miss her upper lip but not her forehead. Her breath catches. The sound tightens my chest. And I retrieve my hand out of fear because I want to run my finger across her gorgeous face, trace a line on her long, beautiful neck and follow it with my lips.

  But the playful atmosphere changes radically.

  Eileen is quiet now that she’s sporting a coffee foam unibrow and a scowl. For a second, I’m worried I’ve pushed the wrong button and she’s going to murder me, but for real. She uses her crappy phone camera to get a look at herself.

  “Wow, you got me good,” she says with a laugh. “I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah?” I ask hesitantly, afraid that she can hear my thoughts and guess my needs.

  “Yeah,” she says with a soft smile. “Let’s hope your taste in music is as good as your sense of humor.”

  I think my heart forgets to work for a second. I can’t think straight, so I go with what I know best—that goddamn sense of humor.

  “You wish your taste in music was as good as mine,” I say, waggling my eyebrows suggestively.

  She rolls her eyes with a smile that tells me she gets it. Yep, I can safely say this woman is going to be the death of me if I don’t raise my walls.

  But do I want to do it?

  “So, you like coffee, sugar, and beer,” I conclude. “What else is there to know about Eileen McBean?”

  She’s quiet as the waitress sets up our breakfast. “Would you like another latte?”

  “Another round for both,” I order and thank her as she leaves.

  “It’s not beer,” Eileen says, and then she does it again. Another long moan as she takes the first bite of her pancakes.

  Fuck. If she sounds like that while eating, how does she sound when she’s making love? My dick threatens to break a few rules. My mind is doing the same. A woman like her is priceless. One of a kind and—what would I give to find out more about Eileen? Not just in bed, but…

  Stop, I order myself.

  She shoots over a smile and says, “You haven’t touched your food.”

  I stare at her like a teenager crushing for the first time.

  Be strong, Spearman.

  The fear of doing something stupid, like throw caution to the wind, makes me dig deep into the memories. Because I know this story. It starts as fun and games, but in the end, one of us will be waiting for something that’ll never happened.

  Hell if I’ll let that happen to me again.

  14

  Eileen

  Is he actively trying to ruin my life?

  Okay, he’s hot, I get it. Tall, mind-blowing body and handsome as fuck. And he isn’t a soulless, rich demon like Charlie made him out to be.

  But does he have to be funny?

  Why can’t he be a boring, awkward nerd?

  The fact that he can listen to me talking with attention is making it ridiculously hard to breathe sometimes. If not every second I’m with him. Sorting through my thoughts is close to impossible.

  We’re organizing a wedding. As much as I’m trying to suppress romantic thoughts for this guy I barely know, they keep popping out from left and right. I try to keep the mood light, but now it’s up to auditioning bands.

  What am I going to do if they play a slow, cheesy song?

  I try to keep the mood light, but now it’s up to auditioning bands. What am I going to do if they play a slow, cheesy song?

  Where did he even get bands and DJs to audition?

  “What do you do for a living?” I ask as he parks in front of the hotel.

  “Does it matter?” he asks before opening his door.

  No, but where do the luxury cars come from? Last Saturday was a Ferrari. Then, on Sunday a Bugatti, and today we’re riding in a fancy Audi which model I’ve never seen before. Now he has this place set within short notice.

  Who are you?

  The valet opens my door and helps me down, but in seconds Jason is next to him taking away my hand from the man. Great, now he’s going to see what a sweaty idiot I can be.

  “Not really,” I
answer. “Just asking because you somehow have a place ready with bands who are willing to audition for you.”

  “For us,” he clarifies. “Plus, DJs too.”

  “Okay, but bands and DJs on such short notice?”

  He shrugs. “I wish I could take credit for the setup, but it was Emmeline.”

  Well, that’s new. That little piece of information takes care of any romantic thoughts I might be harboring. He has a significant other.

  I flash him a questioning look. “Your girlfriend?” Wife, partner… this proves that all the good ones are taken.

  “Fuck no, my oldest brother’s girlfriend,” he says emphatically.

  Somehow the revelation eases the tension in my back. Why do I care if he’s otherwise occupied by a beautiful woman? It’s none of my business.

  But he’s so funny, and thoughtful, and smart. That goofy personality that he keeps hidden underneath the serious guy is breathtaking.

  Easy there, girl. He’s just an acquaintance helping me with Charlie’s latest ‘emergency’.

  “So, I assume we don’t like Emmeline.”

  “She’s... good for Jack,” he states a little thoughtfully. “Kind of a fucking busy body, but she gets shit done and doesn’t take shit from him.”

  I snort. “You don’t know anything about her.”

  “Do too,” he says.

  “Name one thing you like about her personally.”

  “Easy, she makes a mean espresso,” he says. “But she’s a pain in my ass, and her cats are demons.”

  “What’s wrong with cats?” I say defensively.

  “Nothing, I love cats,” he says. “Hers just ruined my brother’s sweet decor.”

  “Ah, personal vendetta,” I joke, but glance at him wondering how their relationship affected his own. “Let me guess, she took away your brother’s attention.”

  He bumps my hip lightly with his, giving me a tight smile. Ding, ding. I hit the jackpot. “The spot for best friend is open, in case…” He goes silent, and I love his bashfulness.

  I think about Camilla and how it’d be to lose our time together because she finds love. That brings me to thinking about Jason and how much I enjoy being with him. I glance at him again, wondering if in another life where there are no shotgun weddings and I was a little more put together, we could’ve been something else.

  Thankfully he doesn’t look my way, or he’d see how hard I’m blushing.

  As we enter the ballroom, there’s a small stage where instruments are already set up. In front of the stage, there are two chairs with a small table between them.

  “We’ll have dinner served for two while we enjoy the music,” he says.

  This wasn’t a part of my schedule. “Part of the catering selection?”

  “No, just dinner,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind. I just order bites.”

  “Bites?”

  “Appetizers. You know, pretzels, nachos, hummus, pita, and beer, of course.”

  “Oh, bar food,” I say excitedly. “Sure, that’s like my comfort food.”

  “What?” He does a double take.

  His brows crease. It makes me want to smooth out his face with my thumb.

  “My dad’s Irish, remember?” I explain. “He owned a pub with one of his brothers while I was growing up, and I ate a lot of bar food.”

  “What happened to it?” he asks.

  “They sold it and then Dad decided to become an electrician. He says it pays better. I wouldn’t know.”

  “Doing what you love doesn’t always pay well,” he says thoughtfully.

  “Preaching to the choir, pal,” I say.

  He starts to reach over with his hand, but the server comes out with two beers. I’m relieved because it looked like he was trying to reach over and squeeze my arm. But I’m disappointed because it looked like he was trying to reach over and squeeze my arm.

  “So, what kind of music does the bride and the groom want to listen to during their big day?” he asks instead.

  “I have a list of songs that my parents would like the band to play, but most of the stuff it's just, you know, commercial pop that Charlie wants.”

  His nose moves slightly. It’s not a scrunch, but I can tell he isn’t thrilled about the music selection.

  “Well, what would you prefer to listen to? Heavy metal in the middle of your wedding reception?”

  “Jazz,” he says. “I’ll take some Post-Bop or smooth jazz but, I don’t know, weddings seem like the best time for a swing band. You know what I mean?”

  I perk up, dumbfounded. Charlie always called me a weirdo for caring about Jazz.

  “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I honestly couldn’t agree more. Although it would probably be easier to find a band that does Retro Swing covers of pop music. Keep the theatricality and sound of Swing but make the music selection more recent and accessible. That way everyone would be happy.”

  Jason gets this goofy grin every so often. Like he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s just so excited about something. It’s adorable. It makes me excited to be around him and whatever’s making him so happy.

  He has seven bands and eight DJs lined up. The DJs perform first because it's easier to spot the best one. When the bands start playing, there are some really good performances and others … let’s just say I’m hoping for this last number to be over.

  Once they finish, the next band begins to play Jazz. Jason rises from his seat, he extends his hand and says, “May I have this dance?”

  Without thinking, I accept enthusiastically. I have no idea how this will turn out. He moves at a perfect pace. He’s so graceful and dashing. His eyes pierce me. A rush of heat sweeps down my chest as we move around the dance floor.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” he says, lightening the intensity of the moment with a chuckle.

  “You’re not too bad yourself, sir,” I say playfully.

  He turns to the band, “Do you take requests?”

  The singer of the band nods. Jason looks at me mischievously before he walks up to the stage and whispers something into her ear. The singer says something to the band and counts them in. They start playing an all too familiar hook.

  “Fuck no,” I say.

  “Come on, Eileen,” he sings, offering me his hand with a shit eating grin.

  “Nope,” I say stubbornly.

  “Come on, Eileen, you know you want to,” he says.

  “You’re awful,” I say as I take his hand.

  His dancing should be illegal. He’s sweeping me off my feet, literally. He picks me up so smoothly for a turn.

  “Come on, Eileen,” he sings in harmony with the band’s singer.

  I laugh. “Don’t think I’m enjoying this.”

  He dips me.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

  I get lost in the way he leads us around the dance floor.

  “Come on, Eileen,” he sings along with the band and as much as I’m trying to be upset this is so much fun.

  He dips me again. His face is so close to mine, I could just lean up and kiss him.

  I blush, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest. “You skipped a few lines.”

  “Admit it,” he says, ignoring me as he takes me out of the dip. “You’ve always wanted to have a big party, just for you.”

  How does he know this shit about me?

  “Middle child, remember?” he says sadly.

  I wish he didn’t get me. It would make pushing him away easier. It would make keeping all of this casual, professional, easy.

  “I admit that I wanted to experience something like this. With a better dress, of course, and maybe a few more guests. You know, like in those teen movies.”

  “Didn’t they have live music during your school dances?” he asks.

  “Once, during my senior prom. But I didn’t go.”

  “How come you didn’t?”

  I shrug. “It was my birthday.”

  “You must have done somet
hing pretty fun instead of going to a boring school dance.”

  I laugh, maybe a bit hysterically. “Not really.”

  15

  Eileen

  Nine Years Ago: Eileen’s Eighteenth Birthday

  I set my pen down on the paper as the teacher says, “Your time is up.” My hand is shaking too much, but I think I got everything right. I inhale a few calming breaths, attempting to calm my nerves.

  “It’s over,” I remind myself internally. “Your last AP test ever.”

  I pick up the test and hand it over to the teacher as she walks through the desks collecting the tests.

  Another teacher barges in, saying, “Eileen McBean, report to the office with your things. Your parents are waiting for you.”

  Camilla turns to look at me and frowns. We’re supposed to go to her house after school. Since my parents are busy today, I’m celebrating my birthday with her and her family.

  Tomorrow, we’re getting mani-pedis, and then we’re going to prom. At least, that’s the plan. I shrug as I glance at her and grab my things. When I arrive at the principal's office, my parents are waiting for me. What is this?

  “What happened?”

  “We’ve decided to take a trip to Los Angeles,” my mother says with a tight smile.

  I pinch myself. This must be a dream. My parents are usually too busy to celebrate my birthday, let alone take me on a trip.

  “You’re kidding? This is really happening?” I say excitedly.

  Best surprise birthday present ever!

  I throw myself at Mom and hug her tight. “We’re really going on that trip for my birthday just like you promised?”

  When I look up at them, I notice that they look at each other slightly confused. But immediately they both say, “Of course, your birthday trip.”

  Things start crumbling as soon as we pick up Sam from school. My brother insists we eat at the Shack before we go to the airport, but there’s not enough time for that. Mom promises to grab something before we board the plane.

  After going through airport security, we head to one of the restaurants that serves seafood. Sam insists on getting the shrimp and scallops ultimate plate.