Love's Second Chance

by Patty H Scott

  The night wraps up with all the guests lining the walkway as the couple exits through our archway of sparklers. It’s a really romantic scene. I’d love to have a photo of it, but, again, no wedding photography for this girl. I end up standing next to Jack while my cousin Sandy and her new husband Mark run past us and off to their honeymoon.

  Jack turns to me “When is your next trip?”

  “I’m actually leaving the day after tomorrow for a trip to England to photograph some landmarks, hotels, and restaurants for a piece in a travel magazine.” He looks more impressed than he should be. Suddenly he turns to me and says, “If you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, how about we spend some time in Santa Monica before you head out?”

  Would I like to? Um yes. But no. Of course not. No. I can’t go to the beach with a man. Then again, this is just Jack, and we’re not dating. This is only going to a beach. I do love the ocean. I haven’t been in a while – not since Cambria – and I won’t get to go again until after Europe. “Sure. The beach sounds great. I haven’t been in a while.”

  Jack smiles. “I live in Westchester. Are you anywhere near there?”

  “No, I’m in Pasadena – I guess that’s about a half-hour north of you.”

  He thinks for a minute and then asks, “Do you want to meet at the beach? Do you know where Philz Coffee is on Santa Monica Boulevard? We could meet there around ten.”

  “I do. I can meet you there. Ten sounds good.”

  Jack offers to walk me out to my car. The night is crisp and there’s a breeze coming across the parking lot. Jack holds my door open as I slip into the driver’s seat. “Goodnight, Katrina. … Katrina, what? I never got your last name. I’m Jack Anders, so now you know mine.”

  “Bradshaw. Katrina Bradshaw. Goodnight Jack Anders. See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I sleep like I’m wrestling crocodiles in a vat of honey. When I wake up, I’m wrapped in my sheets like Pharaoh’s deceased wife. My hair resembles a tumbleweed. Coffee. I need coffee. IV would be preferred, but I’ll go for a cup from my coffeemaker since I don’t have a setup for intravenous caffeine here at home. I grab a mug from the kitchen cabinet and pop a pod into the coffee maker. I could smooch the guy who invented one-cup brewing. Except, he’s a man, so no. No men, Kat. No men. Even if they did invent the coffee maker of your dreams.

  I call Patrice while I take the flavored creamer out of the fridge. I’m guessing a woman invented flavored creamer. Either that or some guy who wanted to romance a woman. I’m going with the female entrepreneur on this one, and I’ll send her flowers if I ever discover who she is. I mean there’s coffee, and then there’s coffee that tastes like a Girl Scout Thin Mint. What’s not to love? Definitely a woman was behind this culinary genius.

  Katrina: Hey girlfriend. What are you doing today?

  Patrice: Nothing thrilling. What has you up this “early”?

  Katrina: Don’t mock. It’s ungodly – like 8:00am. I’m not a super-hero like you, up at dark-o-thirty every morning.

  Patrice: Well, what gives? You should be sleeping in – as usual.

  Katrina: I’ve got this thing today and I’m trying to decide what to wear.

  Patrice: For work?

  Katrina: Well, no, it’s not for work. It’s a guy.

  Patrice: What? Aren’t you still on a man fast? Not judging … just asking.

  Katrina: Yeah, I know. And yes. That’s still my mantra and my life’s mission. The thing is, this is the truck stop guy.

  Patrice: Jack?

  Katrina: Yeah, Jack. The craziest thing happened. He and I both happened to be at Sandy’s wedding last night. Turns out he lives here in L.A. He asked me to go to Santa Monica for the day.

  Patrice: So, a beach date?

  Katrina: No, Patrice. I’m telling you. It’s a friend thing. Though, he can dance like I don’t know what … That’s why I’m texting you. I need to figure out what to wear that says even though you are amazing and hot, and I find myself thinking of you when I’m not with you, we’re just friends and we’re here as friends.

  Patrice: So, you want to impress your hot “friend” on your “date” that isn’t a date? Do I have that right so far? ;) lol

  Katrina: Yes. In my usual pathetic style, I don’t know what I want. That’s why I need you stat. I’m serious, though. Just friends. I need to stick to my resolve. You know that better than most people in my life. So, what do you think? Can you come help me figure out if I even own anything that says all that?

  Patrice: I’ll be right over. Should I bring coffee?

  Katrina: You need to ask?

  Where was my resolve? What happened to my determination to steer clear of men when Jack came near? I know, this is technically just a day in Santa Monica. It’s not an actual date. He didn’t say it was a date, did he? No. That’s right. He actually said, “Katrina, if you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, how about we spend the day in Santa Monica?” Not a date at all. He might as well be one of my girlfriends— a tall, muscular, chiseled, version of a girlfriend. Wait, what? Well, yes. That works. We’re going as girlfriends. Except Jack is very much a man. And men are danger.

  While I wait for Patrice, I stare into my closet like a ravenous teen boy examining the contents of the fridge after grocery day. And my expression is the same. There’s nothing in here! Well, that’s not actually true. I have tons of clothes. I love my own style and when I am home in L.A. between shoots, I sometimes hit thrift shops to find some unique pieces. The problem is how to dress for a date that’s not a date. Maybe Maria had the right idea running off to that convent in The Sound of Music. She wore the same habit every day except when she sewed those god-awful outfits out of curtains.

  I hopelessly stare at my closet, feeling like my feet will grow roots and someone will have to come excavate me from this spot. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door. I look out to see Patrice’s tightly coiled dark hair and beautiful smile looking back at me.

  “Hey, girl” I take one of the to-go cups from Patrice’s hands. She gives me a hug.

  “You are the lifesaver of all time. You know that, right?” I raise my cup to her.

  “So I’ve been told. But, anything for you, girl. Plus, I haven’t seen you since Africa and I want to hear all about your trip. What time are you meeting Prince Charming?”

  “Not Prince Charming. Friend Charming. Though, good night, he’s dreamy. But Thomas was cute, right? And he is pond scum. He is the barf that comes out of fish who eat pond scum. So, who’s to say Jack isn’t the same? I have zero discernment when it comes to men.”

  “He sounded pretty dreamy from the first description you gave after he saved the day at the truck stop.” She looks at me expectantly.

  “Yes. He is so very, very dreamy. Last night he even saved me from the bouquet toss … and the way he held me when we were dancing … What am I doing? I don’t need this temptation.” I huff out a resigned sigh.

  “Hey, look at me, Kat. You are a delightful, engaging, beautiful woman. Crazy as the most recent admit to the mental hospital, but amazing besides that. You deserve a good man. Jack sounds great. Have a day with him. What can it hurt? You’re not getting into a relationship. Anyway, you’re off to England next, right? No time to settle down right now even if he is perfect.” She folds her arms as if to settle the matter.

  “Mental hospital, huh? And you are my best friend?” We laugh.

  We move into my bedroom and I start grabbing things from my closet to consider for our review while Patrice sits cross-legged on my bed drinking her coffee.

  I hold up option number one, “This bohemian top looks too whimsical.” She nods.

  “The white tee with jeans shows off my curves, so it may not send enough of a this-is-totally-not-a-date vibe. Clearly, I want to show him we’re friends. I just don’t want to look like I’m representing the local Amish community. Do Amish people even live near L.A.? I don’t think so.”

  Patrice busts out a laugh and almost spews coffee
across my bedspread. “No Kitty Kat, I’m pretty sure the Amish are on the East Coast, not near Hollywood. Keep trying. I know we’ll find something.”

  I throw my hands up. “I’m a basket case. Look at me. I can’t even get dressed.”

  “Go. Sit. Drink your coffee and give me a chance to look.” She always knows how to dress me when I’m at a standstill. She finally pulls out a white ruffled tee with a pair of ankle-length khakis. She even picks a cool necklace and bracelet to soften the look. That’s my girl. I knew she’d pull through. I’m feeling very friendly as I get dressed and look in my full-length mirror. Here I am, the friend. Going to beach with my friend.

  Patrice and I sit in my living room finishing our coffee while I tell her all about Africa. Before I realize, it’s 9:20 a.m. “I’ve gotta run. Time for the friend-date, or whatever this is.”

  She gets up and throws out her cup. “Girl, you are going to have one fun day. Let it be that. Stop overthinking and have fun. Forget he’s a man. Scratch that. Remember he’s a man but forget the fast for one day. Just have fun. Come home and hop a jet for Europe. If it turns creepy or disappointing, text me. I’ll call you and give you an exit route – then you leave early. I’ll see you when you get back stateside. K?”

  I hug her. “You are the very absolute best. You know that. Thanks, Patrice. Girls night when I get back, okay?”

  “You’re on for sure.”

  I grab my bag. We head out to my porch. I lock my door behind me and walk down to my car. One day on a beach. No big deal.

  When I pull up to park in front of Philz Coffee, all thoughts of mantras and friendship seem to get sucked into a black hole that miraculously opened up on the sidewalk just seconds ago. Jack is standing there waiting. This man isn’t merely attractive. He sends wonderful warmth to my heart and basically any number of other body parts. As if I weren’t already done for, he smiles. I would give up chocolate to get to see that smile on a daily basis over breakfast. Whoa! Where did that thought come from? Get a grip, Kat. You’re on a man-fast. Edelweiss and all. Picturing nuns helps cool my overactive imagination. It’s better than a cold shower and far more convenient.

  chapter six

  Jack

  Katrina pulls up in a little red Mazda Miata. It suits her: sexy, fun, and unique. She hops out and waves. “Hey, Katrina. You ready for a day at the beach?” Smooth, Jack. You sound like a dork.

  “Hi, Jack. I’m ready. Just let me grab my bag.” The corners of her mouth tilt up in the sweetest half-smile. Her relaxed attitude and confidence are infectious. I feel this calm come over me that I haven’t felt all morning.

  “I thought we’d start out heading over to the Santa Monica Stairs – have you been before?”

  “No, I actually haven’t”

  “You can get some great shots there too, if you want.”

  “Sounds good. I didn’t bring my camera, but I have my phone.”

  “Great. I’ll drive if you like, so we can just leave your car here.” I try to conceal the euphoric feeling I’m having so I don’t overwhelm her. I can’t believe we are going to spend a whole day together.

  She comes around my car and I open her door for her. I might be old-fashioned, but Mom raised Caleb and me to care for women. When she steps down the curb, her shoulder grazes my forearm. I feel a warm tingle as she moves away. Her eyes lift up to my face. She might have felt that too. Maybe. I don’t want to read too much into this. I have a sudden urge to grab her by the waist and kiss her. I stuff that thought down and walk around to the driver’s side door.

  Once we’re buckled, she says, “Thanks again, Jack, for saving me from the bouquet toss. That’s honestly the most dreaded part of going to any wedding for me.”

  “Hey, glad I could help. I wonder where that tradition even started? It is a little odd when you think about it. Anyway, I’d far rather you hide out on a secret balcony with me than stand around mauling other women for a floral arrangement.” Did I just say that? My mutinous tongue has abandoned ship. I can’t trust what will come out of my mouth in front of this woman. Luckily, Katrina just fills the car with her giggle in response. Oh, that laugh. I could listen to it forever.

  As we drive, I share the ideas I have for our day. I want to make sure she’s up for all of it and I’ll let her give input if she wants to change anything. Even though I’m all about providing and leading in a relationship, I’m not a caveman. A woman like Katrina is used to planning international trips and running her own life. I want her ideas.

  “So, I planned to see the stairs. Then I thought we could grab lunch at Shutters on the beach. It’s a little trendy and upscale restaurant inside a hotel, but at lunch it’s not too pretentious, so it should be a great place to get some food. Have you been there?”

  “No, I’ve always thought of going, but never have. I’m in and out of L.A. so much. I don’t get to do all I’d like when I’m home here.”

  “Well, the views of the ocean from the dining room can’t be beat. After lunch, I thought we could rent some bikes and head to Venice Beach for some people watching, find a spot to sit for a while and rest, even put our toes in the water if you want. For supper I thought we would just do something casual. You had mentioned trying pizza everywhere you go, so I thought we’d get slices at Bruno’s on Ocean Avenue and then we could head out on the pier at sunset to ride the Ferris wheel. It’s an unwritten rule somewhere. If you go to Santa Monica, you need to ride the Ferris wheel.” When I finish talking, I’m sure I over-planned a carefully crafted itinerary. She’s going to want to jump out of my car before this day even gets started.

  Kat’s sitting quietly. I glance over at her. “Too much?” I ask, “Because we don’t have to do all that. You can throw in ideas of your own. I just wanted to make the day special. I tend to overthink things sometimes.”

  “No. It’s perfect. I’m not really used to a guy putting that much thought into what we would do for a day. It sounds just right. Really.”

  She’s not used to guys putting thought into what they do with her? That doesn’t sound right. A woman like Katrina could inspire painters to leave their commissions to spend months trying to capture the nuances of her expressions. She feels like light, and joy, and depth all in one. What man wouldn’t put a little effort into planning a day with her? Well, one thing’s for sure. My nerves about getting this right just dissipated a little. I’m finding myself truly content as I look forward to our day.

  I park near the stairs and jog around to let Katrina out of the car. It’s funny that these stairs are such a big deal, honestly. There are two sets. One is wooden and older, and the other concrete. They have a pretty steep incline with around one-hundred-and-seventy steps each.

  All of a sudden, she yells out, “Race!” and takes off going up the newer set. I laugh and bolt after her. We run up and down each set, panting and laughing. I feel my heart lighten. It’s like I’ve known this woman all my life. After we are at the bottom, catching our breath, Katrina takes some shots of the stairs using her phone and then we head to lunch.

  We’re seated at Shutters at a table near the floor-to-ceiling windows. We watch people on The Strand riding bikes and skating. Beyond that is a view of the ocean with palm trees blowing in the light breeze. The waitress comes to take our order. We each order a salad and decide to split a charcuterie. As we wait for our food, I look across the table at Katrina. I’m wondering whether she feels like this is a date or if she’s considering us to be merely friends. I’m taken in by her chocolate colored eyes and the way her soft brown hair falls around her face and over her shoulders. I wonder to myself what it would be like to run my fingers through her hair. I picture us sitting on the beach, her back to my chest as I slowly smooth her hair with my hand. I’d leave a kiss on the side of her neck and work my way around to her mouth …

  I take a gulp of water to calm my thoughts and almost choke as I do. I don’t know what has come over me. Apparently, my mind is as befuddled as my mouth today as I can’t keep
my thoughts from roaming to romance with Katrina around. I haven’t felt this undone by a woman before.

  I ask her, “So, how long have you lived in L.A.?”

  She looks out the window and then back at me. “I moved here a little over two years ago from the Hill Country of Texas. With my photography job it just made sense to relocate to a more active metropolis and be nearer to the center of the film industry. I settled in Pasadena. I love that sweet town with all the trees and quaint shops. There’s enough action on Colorado Boulevard that I can go shopping or to a show easily. Plus, there are tons of hiking trails in the San Gabriel Mountains just beyond town. It’s a great location for a single entrepreneurial artist like me.”

  “It sounds like it suits you.”

  The waitress arrives with our food, and we start eating. “How about you, Jack? Did you grow up here in L.A.?” She smiles and I feel light. I can’t believe we are actually sitting here together.

  “I grew up in Montana. I knew I was going to major in business before I left high school. I applied to U of Washington and was accepted. I went on to get my MBA at the Foster School of Business there. All planned out. All lived out according to plan. The job offer in L.A. came through before I even graduated, so I’ve been here about the same amount of time you have.”

  “So, you are a planner?”

  “To a fault, really. Of course, it’s helpful to think things through, but I sometimes lack spontaneity and flounder when things are uncertain. Man, I’m making myself out to sound like I’m super-boring.”