by Bria Quinlan
I leaned against the bar and watched the all-kinds-of sultriness going on. From a distance it looked like Olivia was basically trying to climb Max. I wondered if she’d start pulling at his clothes in another minute. Max, leading Olivia and scowling at her. Of course, if Max was interested in me, scowling didn’t necessarily mean anything bad. It could be how he looked at women he was attracted to.
I finished my drink more quickly than I meant to, arguing with myself the entire time. Annoyed Max was dancing with the hot girl. Annoyed he was dancing all the sexy-time dancing with her. Annoyed he’d said yes when I suddenly realized I’d wanted him to say no. Annoyed I was annoyed at all this.
I put my empty glass down and was turning away from the bar when the bartender handed me another one.
“On the house. You look like you need it.” He set down another sipper in a slightly bigger glass and nodded his head toward Max and Olivia. “She’s…Yeah, don’t let her step between you guys again if you want to have a man when you leave tonight.”
Great.
I wandered back to our table, trying not to watch them but morbidly fascinated. I studied their moves trying to figure out if Max was into her or was just going through the motions. Telling myself it didn’t matter. Drinking my drink and hoping a happy little buzz would make sure it didn’t.
I sat down, almost missing my seat, wondering if maybe that third-and-a-half drink wasn’t the best idea.
But, of all the bad ideas I’d had tonight, it wasn’t even in the top three.
Max spun Olivia out, stepping to the side when she came back. He really was smooth. Most guys used that to get closer to a girl, but he seemed to be using all his moves to keep some distance. I caught him once glancing over at me when Olivia basically tried to grab every part of him at once.
As soon as the music ended, Max stepped away, gave her a tight smile, and turned to work his way back to me.
At the table, he stood, gazed out over the crowd watching the band pushing into the next song. He lifted the nearly empty Corona to his lips and finished it off.
“You ready to go?”
I studied him, trying to figure out what that meant. Was he really done with the little club, was he done with Olivia, was he done with me? I pictured a long, silent walk home. But, in the end, it was getting late and I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch another show quite like that one while I figured out what was going on in my head.
I stood, catching myself on the edge of the table as those drinks hit me. Isn’t that always the way? You never know how much you’ve drunk until you stood up. And then—look out equilibrium!
I’d never been much of a drinker, so the floor moving seemed a little more suspicious than normal.
Not that the floor normally shifted.
Max grabbed me by the elbow, steadying me. “How much did you have to drink?”
“Just these two little things.”
“Shots?”
“No. He said they were fruity sipper things.”
Max rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath about talking to Johnny. “All right, Tuesday. Let’s see if we can get you home without incident. You’re light, but I don’t think I can carry you that far.”
Ha! I wasn’t light. Jenna was light. Hailey was fit. I was all curvy squishiness. I studied his shoulders and reached out putting a hand on his chest to make sure it was as solid as it looked. “No. I think you could.”
Max’s hand came up and covered mine where it was over his heart, his gaze as deep and unreadable as ever. We stood there, me wondering if I’d ever know what he was thinking, until he smiled. It was a deep, full thing that crinkled the edges of his eyes and made that tight, sharp jaw relax.
He wrapped his hand around mine and shifted to start us through the crowd through the door.
“Here.” Max held my sweater out for me to wrap myself in and, before I knew it, had taken my hand again, slowly leading us down the sidewalk.
I held on to him, enjoying the feel of my hand wrapped in his. The warmth and comfort and feeling of safety I got from knowing that I wouldn’t fall.
Of just knowing that Max was there. That Max was with me.
I pushed the panic off and, for once, just let myself soak in his steady, sweet presence.
24
We got to my door and I wasn’t stupid enough to demand to walk Max back to his. That extra sixty feet seemed really, really far. I leaned forward, trying to see it through the parked cars.
“You’re a ridiculous drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.” Was there something between pleasantly buzzed and drunk? “Well, not on purpose.”
“All right, Tuesday. Up you go.” He nudged me toward my door and took my keys from me when I started fiddling with them. “Three flights and you can collapse into bed.”
Bed sounded great. I was tired and just sober enough to realize that tonight hadn’t gone at all like I’d expected it to.
I totally blamed the date clothes.
I headed in and wandered up the stairs knowing there was no sense arguing with Max on this one. The revelation about his ex and his desire to do things for people he cared about pounded heavier than my footsteps.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen when we reached my door…well, my other door. I glanced at Max, my gaze dropping to his lips again. I’d heard the word chiseled used to describe men before, but everything about Max fit that: His jaw, his lips, his abs…the hard way he often looked at me.
“Face forward.” His hand came up to rest on my lower back, probably to catch me when I went tips-over-toes back down the stairs. “You’re halfway there.”
Right. Stairs.
We rounded the top corner and stopped at my door. I leaned against the wall while Max unlocked it.
“You going to be okay?”
I nodded, trying not to stare at him again, wondering when I’d become so attracted to him.
“Right.” He handed me my keys, gazing down at me as if he were going to say something more, which would have been really helpful to me right then.
Instead, he grinned that small grin, the one that just barely brought out his dimple and shook his head as if he were laughing at me. Or maybe himself.
“Night, Tuesday.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss so quick I questioned it across my lips.
Before I could even contemplate if I wanted Max kissing me, he was gone.
25
At this point, the dancing kittens didn’t even surprise me.
Wake me up in a cold, romance-fearing panic? Yes.
Surprise me? No.
26
I laid in bed trying to figure out who to call. I had more than Jayne now, but at the same time, every woman in my life had pretty much married me off to Max before he’d stopped scowling at me 100% of the time. I’d say 80% was a huge improvement. If I called Jenna or Hailey, they’d give me a long and detailed reasoning of why Max was the best guy in the world even though neither of them were dating him. Plus, they write romance’y fiction. How trustworthy were they really on this front. The whole hearts and flowers thing was part of their job description.
If I called Jayne, she’d suggest getting him out of my system. You’d think the girl slept with every guy she walked past the way she pushed me to hop into bed with him. She’d always been a relationship girl. Maybe this was whatever she was going through coming out vicariously.
And that was my fear—well, my additional fear. Beyond the one about falling in with another guy who would keep me in the box he used to define me and losing myself again. I feared that there was no getting Max Darby out of my system.
So, I called the only woman I knew who might offer another view.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone was as familiar as my own.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Kasey, honey, it’s eight in the morning. Is everything okay?” Of course she’d start with that. Even though the woman gets up at six am every day.
“Yup. Just laying in bed about to start my day and thinking about you.”
“Really?” She sounded suspicious. Of course, two calls to my mother in one month was highly unusual. But, oddly, the last one hadn’t been as negative as usual. She hadn’t really gone to the extremes about Jason I thought she would. And me being pregnant had seemed like a fun idea to her.
Something was up.
“If I wasn’t thinking about you, I wouldn’t have thought to call you, right?” Logic was an excellent weapon with my over emotional parent.
“Well, that makes sense. So, how is your new business? I told Pam all about it and she even pulled out her new phone and looked you up on the Google and everything.”
“It’s just Google.”
“Right, the Google.”
“No, Mom. It isn’t the Google. It’s just Google.”
“Oh, well that’s one more thing Pam doesn’t know. I’ll have to tell her we’ve been using the Just Google.”
I closed my eyes and shook it off. I was just happy at this point she could use her remote controls without calling for help now.
“Anyway, we were looking at your website. It’s very pretty. Pam seemed surprised but I told her you’re very talented.”
This was news to me. Maybe instead of calling my mom, I should check in with Pam occasionally.
“That’s really nice, Mom. I’m glad you like it.” And, as I said the words, I realized how true they were. I had never felt the direct approval of my mother before.
I stretched out in bed reveling in the moment, surprised how much it meant to me.
“So, what are you doing today that you’re still in bed?” In the background, I heard the coffee grinder kick-in for her to-go cup that she brought with her to work.
“Oh, bad dream.” Wasn’t that the truth? “Had a rough time getting going today.”
“I hate bad dreams. I used to have them all the time when you were little. I was always afraid I was going to do something that would get you hurt. I know it doesn’t sound reasonable now, but every little thing worried me. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Really?”
“Yup. I knew I was all you had so the only thing that was worse than something happening to you was something happening to me.”
Well, this was a morning of revelations.
“But,” she prompted, “I don’t think that’s why you’re calling me, is it?”
“Well, I’m not sure what you’ll say to this. I’m almost afraid to mention it but…”
I paused, stalling out, afraid to go on. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted someone picking Max apart. Especially someone who didn’t know him. And, after all those nice things she just said, I kind of hated to ruin the conversation.
“You met someone.” My mom said, a little laugh in her voice. “You met someone and listen to you panicking.”
“Hey!” This isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.
“You didn’t call Jayne because she’ll tell you to just sleep with him, which, honey…I really hope Jayne isn’t as promiscuous as she pretends to be. She’s a nice girl under all that gruff. I’d hate to see something bad happen to her.”
I held the phone away from my ear to make sure I’d really called my mother.
“Well…Yes. I kind of met someone. Maybe. I think.”
“You don’t know?”
Wasn’t that the million dollar question?
“I mean, yes. I met someone. I met several someones. That girl Jenna’s group of friends. They’re very nice.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve made some new girlfriends. But, like I said, if you really are pregnant and just not telling me, you can still come home. I told Bob he might have to help me paint the back room yellow.”
Bob?
“First off, I’m really not pregnant. And secondly,” I took in a deep breath, afraid I was not going to like the answer. “Who is Bob?”
“Oh, have I not told you about Bob?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, missy. Who is Bob?”
“He’s our new neighbor.” That’s my mom. I moved out almost a decade ago and she still calls him our neighbor. “He saw that a shutter was coming down so he fixed that and offered to take a look around at anything else I may have let slip.”
“Well, that sounds very nice.” And suspicious. “How old is this Bob guy?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A couple years older than me at least. But he’s very fit so it’s hard to tell.”
Mm-hmmm. Right.
“Mom, are you dating Bob?”
“Oh, no, honey. He’s just a neighbor. He fixes stuff around the house and I make him dinner or something to thank him.”
Great, my mother had a better social life than I did. Another reason I should be checking in with Pam. I was going to have to call my mom’s best friend just to make sure the world was staying on its axis.
“So, he helps you out around the house and you cook him dinner.” I considered my next question carefully. “And, do you pack him dinner or does he eat with you?”
“He eats here since it’s easier. And just nice to have someone around.” She sucked in a breath. “Kasey, what kind of interrogation is this?”
“I don’t know, are you feeling interrogated?”
“I’m wondering why our new neighbor is so interesting to you.”
I paused, considering my mother over the last few weeks and how less angry she’d been, how she’d not spent our conversations picking me or anyone else apart.
“Mom, are you happy?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I just want to know you’re happy.”
“Kasey, I’ll tell you this. I spent most of my life being afraid. I let that fear make me unhappy when there was no reason for it. Now, I’m making new friends and volunteering at the after school program and going to the gym. The only thing we really have to be afraid of is missing something. Everything else we can get over.” She let out a little embarrassed-sounding laugh. “I’m so sorry to ramble like that. I’m sure you didn’t call to get a weird guru’y talk from me.”
I closed my eyes and smiled. “You know what? Maybe that was exactly what I needed.”
“Okay. Well, I love you, honey. Now, I’m off to Jazzercise with Pam.”
I laid there wondering a few things. If my mom could stop being afraid, was the world ending? Could I trust Max? And…people still did Jazzercise?
But, most of all, could I trust myself to take a chance on Max?
27
“Awesome. I was hoping you’d be here!” Jenna dropped into the comfy chair next to me and propped her feet on the beat up coffee table in front of us. “I have an opportunity for you. You’re going to be rich!”
That was a lot of excitement for this early. I wondered if Jenna actually saw exclamation points in her head when she spoke like that.
“What’s up?” I set my mocha down in case all those exclamations led to arm waving.
“I was showing a girl in my writing group your mockups for my new branding stuff and she was all ooooh and ahhhh and the guy at the table next to us kept glancing over, and then he asked who did the work and I raved about you and he gave me his card and asked to meet with you this week.”
“Wow. Seriously?”
“He loved it. He said from my obvious lack of website knowledge he’d assumed it would look like a standard theme just switched up for my color scheme, but that it was definitely personalized work. Just the kind of thing he was looking for.” She gave herself a little high-five. “I played it cool and took his card and now you need to email him.”
She held the smooth, cream card out to me, a huge smile on her face. I turned it over and read the front. John Simpson. Probably Opportunities, Owner.
Wow.
“I just have one question.” Jenna dug her wallet out of her bag and stood. “What’s a theme?”
I shook my head. The girl was a genius at what she did. I g
uess she could ignore everything else.
“It’s a basic set up for a blog or site that people just stylize to fit what they want.”
“So, it’s like going into The Gap and asking them to give you the outfit on the mannequin?”
“Um, yeah.” Why not? “Basically just like that.”
“Got it.” Jenna turned and bounced away to the counter while I stared at the card amazed at my first word-of-mouth sale. Amazed Jenna seemed to be my own personal fairy godmother. Everything was feeling so right.
I pulled up my new Lane Designs email account and shot John Simpson, Owner, a note right away with the preliminaries of what I was doing, attached links to other clients I’d done work for, and asked what questions I could answer for him.
Strike while the iron was hot. Plus, the only thing I really had to work on now was my own stuff since the wedding project for Mae was done. This was the perfect catalyst to get me moving.
I pulled out my to-do list and reordered it for a potential client. Pricing and finishing my own site bounced to the top right away. As in, do it now before your mocha cools, now.
Jenna settled back in across from me with her iced tea and flipped open her laptop.
“John said he’d want to meet with you in person to talk. He hates emails. He said something about a former partner, so I think he’s a little gun shy. After the initial contact, he’ll probably ask to meet you somewhere. He’s a little awkward, phrases things funny. Like, he can’t get his thoughts exactly out. He just kind of makes these half-statements and you have to fill in the rest while he figures out what he’s trying to say. I swear half the conversation was me playing Guess the Next Word with him. He seems like one of those geniuses that can’t focus on the day-to-day. But, I’m sure you’re used to dealing with the Less Than Clear in your profession.”
Unfortunately, that was true.
Jenna had been a dream client. She basically handed me her new covers with her publisher’s write up and said, can you make my stuff feel like this.