by Claire Cain
Luke: That’s a lot of baking.
Me: Yes. It kept me occupied. Thrill a minute over here.
He certainly didn’t need to know it kept me occupied from thinking about him and his perfect lips and his glacier-blue eyes and his perpetually warm hands. The fact I had to avoid one of my silicon mixing bowls that was a bright shade of blue because that shade reminded me of him was still niggling at me and was not something he needed to know, either.
Luke: How long was your run?
Me: Nothing like your long runs, I’m sure.
I returned to my emails and focused on my current pet project, a fundraiser for a local private school’s arts program. It was a small event, but I had freedom, and I loved that the outcome would be more than just champagne-fueled CEOs like so many of my corporate events in NY were. It was essentially exactly what I wanted to work on when I made the move here. The account lead was Willa, who was shared with Janie’s corporate team. They were in an all hands on deck planning mode so I offered to take the event off Willa’s hands, and she was grateful. So was I.
I liked my little office too. It was an improvement on the cubicle I had at my last job, though it was probably about as big. It was like a large walk in closet, but it had big windows and good light in the afternoon. My light wood desk was an L-shaped thing with shelving on top of the side that rested against the wall to my right. My computer was facing forward, which I liked because it let me look out the door into the hallway and see if people were approaching my office. I had a laptop and a desktop computer that shared information so I didn’t have to rely on the desktop for weekend events. I had a desk calendar to my right and typically documents and contracts spread out over the desk to my left. Sometimes I even had the binders full of event center offerings like table cloth colors and photos of cakes, but in my more managerial position here, I had a lot less of that than I used to. When I wasn’t working with them they lined up neatly in the floor to ceiling book shelves.
It was all a bit less tactile than how I did things in New York when I showed clients a swatch of the emerald green table cloths they wanted or showed them their seat cover options, but that was fine. That also meant I didn’t have to be at every weekend event, and that I had a little more control over the bigger picture of events instead of just those small details. I was quickly relishing this smaller company, the community feeling that built up on the teams and in the office over all, and with Nashville itself, which felt like the perfect big little city to start over in.
The fact that I had already identified someone I wanted to date was also an interesting one. If I was honest, I’d made the move to get a life, essentially. I wanted the job change, but I wanted the life—I knew I wanted a family and knew I wasn’t going to be able to have that if I kept up the pace I had in New York. That Luke had popped back up in my life like he’d never left, but was frustratingly elusive both physically and emotionally, was the only real imperfection.
I chose not to dwell on that.
My phone buzzed, and I saw it was after five, time to leave. I gathered up my things and read the text.
Luke: Where’d you go to dinner on Saturday? Anything good?
Ah, there it was. My opening. I felt pleased he asked, though maybe his motive really was just about the food.
Me: It was Robbie’s Kitchen, you know that hipster place that everyone has been raving about? But I didn’t end up getting what I was planning to.
Luke: Why not?
Me: Someone else ordered for me.
Luke: Was it for work?
Me: No.
Luke: …?
Me: I was on a date, and the guy ordered for me. I had some kind of grilled chicken salad thing. It was good—surprisingly good, but a total waste in the context of the other options.
Luke: He ordered for you?
The response came fast. I’m not sure what I was hoping for, but it didn’t seem like that was it. But how could he display crazed disappointment and lifelong longing over text? What could I reasonably expect from him?
Me: Yeah. Awkward. I mean… chicken? At a barbeque place?
Just as I was closing my office door, I saw Rick coming. I thought about ducking back in but thought his coming into my office while much of the rest of the building was empty might be worse. I took a bracing breath and gave him my friendliest close-lipped hey there friend smile.
“Alex! I was looking for you.” He slowed down and brought his hand to my arm and squeezed it lightly, then let it drop away.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked.
“I just wanted to tell you I had a great time this weekend,” he said and inched closer into my space.
“Yeah… the food was great. Thanks again for taking me.” I pulled my purse up on my shoulder and used that as an excuse to shift away from him. He wasn’t inappropriately close, but I still needed more space.
“Yeah, sure, anytime,” he said, and I saw a look of uncertainty cross his face.
“Hey, I’m gonna head out. This Monday just… wiped me.”
“Oh, yeah, totally. Have a good night,” he said and nodded enthusiastically.
“You too,” I said and turned down the hall. Once I got to my car I tossed my purse into the passenger seat, ripped off my blazer, and tossed it on top of my purse. I could feel my shirt sticking to my back thanks to my discomfort and now the still blazing heat of an early September evening in the South.
I drove home and ignored the next buzz from my phone, waiting until I was parked in my spot in front of my building to read it.
Luke: Will he get another chance?
Ok, that was something at least.
Me: Definite no.
I was hoping to hear more from him, but nothing else came. The rest of the week flew by and aside from the one uncomfortable meeting with Rick where it became clear he likely had no idea how bad the date was, I felt good. I felt more in control of my work and ready for the weekend.
“Are you coming with us tonight?” Emily asked from the doorway to my small office.
“Where are you going, and who is ‘us’?” I asked, standing up from my desk to stretch. I shut down my computer for the weekend and closed my laptop. I wrote a few notes on a post it to remind me of where to start when I came in Monday.
“We’re doing Mexican—Janie’s craving fajitas. I know Janie, Colin, Jeff, Rick, and I are going. I’m not sure if anyone else is.”
“That sounds like a good group. I hope it’s not awkward with Rick though.” I told her about his ordering for me and my general awkwardness/irritation the next time I saw him.
But I also definitely wanted a margarita and some guacamole.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just come out with us, take down a margarita, and the world will be a better place.” She widened her smile into an obnoxious open-mouthed smile as she waited for me to respond.
“Ok, fine. But let’s go to Rosita’s, if no one else has somewhere in mind?”
“Oh, yes. So good.”
Yes, it was good. It was also a few blocks from my apartment, so I wouldn’t have to drive or ride with anyone else. I could get home early enough to snuggle up with Lemon and watch a few episodes of something dumb on Netflix while I mindlessly put stuff in my Amazon shopping cart I’d never end up buying before going to bed.
“Are you telling me you’ve never had bourbon?” Rick asked me, a little too loudly, sitting a little too close to me on our side of the booth. We were working on round two during happy hour and happily snacking on chips and salsa and Rosita’s glorious guacamole.
I’d had it once before and then the next day had a day dream about waking up and finding a bowl the size of my head filled with it just waiting for me on my counter in my kitchen. It was sitting there with a little tented sign like we used for buffets and said, “please enjoy,” and next to it was a never-ending bag of blue corn tortilla chips. In the dream I also knew this would be a no-consequence binge in a dream world where chips and guac were caloricall
y inconsequential. The disappointment of that little mental escape coming to an end was a mild form of heartbreak.
“I have not. I’ve had a Jack and Coke or whatever. But I’ve never had bourbon just to taste it.” Rick had weaseled his way into sitting next to me, despite my best efforts and glares with sharply raised eyebrows and pursed lips at Emily and Janie. They were no help, and Jeff and Colin were oblivious. I decided I’d play friends, and maybe he would too.
“This, we must rectify. Waiter!” he shouted and raised his arm comically, if sloppily.
“Hear hear, time for some bourbs,” Jeff said and smiled lazily at Emily. He was clearly interested in her and had polished off a margarita and a beer in rapid succession, so he sounded veeeery relaxed.
“No, no, no, I’ll be just fine without it for tonight. I’m enjoying my margarita, thank you very much.” My phone buzzed just as I checked it for the time. 8:00. Unlikely that I’d end up eating dinner because my mental schedule had me getting home by 8:30 to properly relax before I had to go to bed.
As a morning person, staying up super late held no allure for me. Plus, I planned to continue stuffing myself with guacamole and chips at an aggressive rate so I could call that dinner and move on to dessert when I got home.
Luke: What are you up to?
Ah, sweet, sexy, smart, sexy Luke.
Uh oh. My thoughts were alliterating, which meant I was feeling the tequila from my one and a half margaritas on a chip and guac-filled stomach.
Me: I’m at a little place called Rosita’s. It’s in my neighborhood—super cute! BESSSST guacamole. And good margaritas.
“Fine, fine. Don’t taste the best liquor. Don’t have the true southern experience, Miss New York transplant,” Rick teased and nudged me with his shoulder.
“I’m not actually from New York,” I said, feeling annoyed. Rick went from ignorant to willfully ignorant at some point, and that plus feeling the ticking clock of my own Friday evening timeline—I was done.
“I know, I know.” I stood up and he grabbed my hand. “Where are you going?” I pulled it back immediately.
“I’m going to head out. I’m exhausted. Don’t want to be a killjoy for the rest of your evening.” I smiled at them and everyone nodded kindly and mumbled their, “no problems” and, “have a good evenings.” I passed Emily some money for my part of the check and waited. Rick just sat there, blocking my way from the booth.
“You can’t leave.” He looked at the table, not at me, when he said it.
“Well, I am leaving. Up you go,” I said, shooing him with my hands. “Really, Rick, move.” My voice was a little harsher than I’d planned. He looked up at me like I’d offended him.
“Now I’m the fifth wheel,” he said in a pleading voice, giving me a mock frowning face. If I was in the mood to be begged, it might have worked. As it was…
“Sorry buddy,” I said through my teeth, trying not to have a tantrum of my own as he moved in painfully slow motion out of the booth. He stood up and stayed just outside so I had to slide past him to get all the way out. I tried to touch him as little as possible, his whining and ignorance grating and clarifying even more my lack of interest. He grabbed my hand again.
“I’ll walk you home.”
I kept moving, trying to extract my hand from his as I moved toward the door. “Thanks so much, but I live super close, it’s no problem.” I pushed out the front door and he followed me out into the night.
“No, I want to. I’ll walk you.” He said it like he was doing me a favor. He still wasn’t listening.
“Rick, listen. I appreciate it. But I’m good. Please just go back inside and enjoy your evening.” I widened my eyes for emphasis and gave him a close-lipped “do you get it?” kind of smile.
“All right, yeah. I’m going to head back in then. See you at work.” He seemed a little put out, but I felt relief he might have gotten the message about both tonight and our future dating prospects. He’d been a little touchy all evening like he thought there might still be hope. I watched him go back inside before rolling eyes to myself, shaking my head, and turning to make the quick walk home.
Then I ran into a wall.
A human wall.
I was looking down at my purse, still walking, when I hit a human wall of muscle (and I guessed bone and a lot of other stuff too, sure). I grabbed the person’s arm instinctively, both to steady myself, and him, and so I could apologize.
“I’m so sorr—”
“Well hi there. Not the welcome home I was expecting, but I’ll take what I can get.”
It was Luke. Luke was the wall. Luke was the wall in jeans and a dark gray shirt with some kind of emblem on it that I couldn’t be bothered to notice in the face of his truly astounding chest and arms. I forced my eyes back to his face where I was then ensnared by those familiar glacial blues. He was holding me by the shoulders, smiling brightly back at my undoubtedly stunned face. My body perked up, my nerves lighting at the sight of him. He smelled so good.
So. Good.
“What? What are you doing here?” It came out as a kind of over-excited shriek, but he laughed as he pulled me, and I leapt, into his arms for a hug. He squeezed me as tight as I squeezed him, and then we released. I took a step back to give us space to talk (and me to breathe). Holy taco Tuesday, he looked good.
“Well just a minute ago I was watching you let some poor sucker down easy.” He crossed his arms and looked at me through his lashes with a provocative half-smile.
“Ah, you saw that, huh?” I squinted up at him, then started to slowly meander in the direction of my apartment.
“Yeah, I almost felt bad for him.” He turned to walk next to me, arms still crossed as we strolled.
“Almost?” I looked down the quiet sidewalk, all of the din and bubbling sound following behind us from the restaurant. I tried to calm my heart, clear my still-fuzzy margarita-influenced head.
“Well it’s not like I’m rooting for the guy or anything.”
“Why not?” I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. It was too direct a question, and I felt my cheeks heat at the consequence of my loose lips.
“I would think that’s obvious.” He said this with finality and something else, an edge, in his voice. I wasn’t sure I could say anything else without embarrassing myself. I wanted to say Is it because you want to date me? but just the thought made my cheeks flame even more.
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine. He didn’t get the hint before, but I’m hoping I was clear enough this time.” We turned the corner, and I saw my little porch with my pot of herbs happy and hunter green in the fading sunlight.
“That’s the guy who ordered for you?”
“Yeah. But enough about that. How was your training? How are you? You look good.” It all just tumbled out. I wanted to be done talking about Rick, and I wanted to talk about Luke. Or more specifically, I wanted Luke to talk to me so I could look at his gorgeous face and watch his lips-of-perfection say words.
So… still feeling those margaritas.
“Thank you.” He chuckled and stopped at my place, waiting for me to climb the two steps to my door and unlock it. “Do you mind if I—”
“—Have you had dinner? I can make you something.” We spoke over each other and smiled. I tried to swallow down my nerves as I opened the door and we walked into my apartment. I couldn’t escape the thought of our last time here, both the very heated encounter in the kitchen and the thoroughly disappointing conversation in the living room where he told me he was leaving two days later.
But here he was, back in my apartment, seemingly soon after he got home.
“I’m ok. I had a little something before I came, just in case you ate already.” He stepped in and closed the door behind him and looked around like he was expecting to see someone else. In an uncharacteristic move, Lemon hopped down from the back of the couch and greeted Luke with a small rub on his leg before disappearing to my bedroom. Luke looked at me with a genuinely pleased grin.
“Well, seems like Lemon remembers you fondly enough,” I said as I poured red wine into two glasses and handed him one.
“Does that mean you don’t?” His brow furrowed with the question and he looked at me.
I waved him to the couch with a nod. “Of course not. I’m still pretty fond of you—always have been.” I could feel the small quiver in my voice, but I hoped he hadn’t noticed. “When did you get back?”
He sat down right next to me, not giving me any space on the more-than-big-enough couch. “Today. Tonight. About three hours ago.” He set his wine glass down without taking a sip and looked at me, his eyes a little hazy and his focus narrowed to my lips as I sipped my own wine, then set the glass down.
“I wish you’d told me when you were going to be home. I could have met you at the base, or wherever, so you wouldn’t have to drive all this way. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” I swallowed, feeling my hand tremble a little as I patted his leg nearest me.
I folded my hands in my lap, not sure what to do with myself while he was sitting so close and definitely not wanting to leave my hand on his impressively muscular thigh. Our bodies touched from ankles to shoulders. Then he shifted and put the arm closest to me around the back of me on the couch, not quite around my shoulders, but… come on. What was this, Saved by the Bell? It wasn’t like he had to trick me into letting him put his arm around me.
“I didn’t know what the timing would be and didn’t get a chance to charge my phone until I was in the car on the way here.” I could feel him studying my profile, looking for something.
“Oh,” was all I could manage, both because I had no idea what else to say, and because he was sitting so close, and he smelled so good, and all I could think about was his lips.