Drawn to You

by Natalie Vivien

  Loveliness…

  M.L. chooses that instant to meow loudly—in an almost frightening imitation of a Halloween cat—and thrust her strong tail in Ash’s face. Ash laughs good-naturedly, blowing fur from her lips. “I see what you mean now. She’s doesn’t really live up to the mystery of her name.”

  “No,” I agree softly, sitting back on my heels with an unreasonable and disappointed sigh. Leave it to my moody black cat to break potentially romantic tension by whacking my potential romantic interest in the mouth with her tail. Well, it was probably for the best… I can’t jump to kissing conclusions every time someone starts talking to me—albeit very intensely—about perfectly common things like beauty and loveliness.

  Not that such conversations happen all that often.

  But still…

  I’m relieved when my stomach growls, giving me an excuse to stand up and laugh awkwardly. “Sorry. I didn’t have lunch. That ice cream was kind of a lost cause.”

  Ash, still kneeling, gazes up at me with a Mona Lisa smile of her own. I offer her a hand, which she regards for a short, weighted moment before reaching out for it, easily entwining her fingers with mine. She rises to stand only a few inches away from me, and her scent—or her closeness—makes me feel lightheaded. “Let me buy you a pizza,” she says then, still holding onto my hand. Her words are so unexpected that I can’t help but laugh.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “But it was my fault that your Big One melted. And what a travesty!” She grins broadly, inclining her face toward mine. “Because now I know what heaven tastes like.” She lifts an eyebrow thoughtfully. “I might be addicted.”

  “Did you finish the whole thing?”

  “No. But I’d had a big breakfast. Next time, I’ll go armed with an empty stomach and an unshakeable determination.” Her head tilts even nearer to mine as her grin deepens. “Up for the challenge, Molly? Might be fun to conquer those mountains of ice cream together.”

  “Sure,” I smile, despite my trembling legs and runaway heart. “But you really don’t have to buy me a pizza.”

  “No, but I really want to.” Ash’s grin gives way to a softer curve as she glances down at our still-clasped hands—and gently squeezes my fingers. “All right?” When she searches my eyes with her shifting grey gaze, I can’t help but wonder what she sees. Surely not the reflection that I saw in my dream, a Molly with conviction, a Molly who knew who she was and what she wanted, and how to get it. I think I was that Molly, once upon a time, but then…

  My stomach growls its gratitude, and we both laugh quietly.

  “Got a phone book?”

  “On the kitchen counter, right through there.” I wave my arm toward the light-filled kitchen doorway, and Ash begins to move in that direction, followed by the heavy-pawed M.L. chasing after her.

  “How do you feel about olives?”

  My smile widens. “Love olives.”

  “Awesome.” She gives me a wink over her shoulder before she crosses the threshold and steps into the blinding white room.

  When Ash reenters the hallway, she’s sliding her cell into the holster on her belt and smiling triumphantly. “In twenty minutes, cheesy satisfaction will be delivered right to your door.” She takes one step to close the distance between us—

  And my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, with Ash standing a mere inch or two away, staring at me so intensely that I shiver.

  “Do you have to get that?”

  “Um, it might be work. Just…a second?”

  She smiles warmly and eases back. “Take as many seconds as you need.”

  “Thanks. Sorry.” With a barely suppressed groan, I pull out my cell, still emanating an insect-like buzzing, and gaze down at the screen. Juliette, it says, above the all-too-familiar number.

  Feeling brittle and shaken, I press end and shove the phone back into my pocket, dragging my hands through my long, tangled hair.

  “Everything all right?”

  I shake my head, glancing away.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Hmm-mm. Just…” I sigh and subconsciously rake my gaze over Ash’s long, lean body. She’s standing so close to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin… So unlike Juliette. “Thank you for being so thoughtful. And so generous.”

  She laughs a deep, husky laugh, touching her fingers to my chin; I have no choice but to meet her dark, teasing eyes. “You’re the one who let me spend the night in your cottage without a contract or any talk of cash. I’m hardly the generous one here.”

  “Um, I’m also the one who hit you with my car.”

  “Wait.” She takes a step back, wearing an expression of mock-horror, arms crossed at her waist. “That was you?”

  I smile and blush, charmed by her playfulness. Somehow teasing Ash is even sexier than serious Ash. “Afraid so. Hope it won’t drive a wedge through our budding landlady-tenant relationship.”

  “Well…as long as we keep things strictly professional, there’s a slim chance this might work.”

  “Right. Strictly professional.” I nod curtly, and then the floor falls away beneath my feet, because Ash is regarding me now with parted lips and smoky eyes, smoldering eyes. Anything-but-strictly-professional eyes. She looks almost nervous as she gazes at my mouth, my neck, and moves her line of sight up to my eyes again… But she’s not nervous enough to remain in place. She takes one step to close the distance between us—

  God.

  I really, really want to kiss her.

  “Molly…” Ash murmurs then, her voice a rich, husky vibration. She reaches forward and takes my tie in her hand, tugging at it lightly. “I was wondering—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think you would ever like to…” She bows her head, smiling shyly.

  “Would I like to what?”

  And then, of course, the doorbell rings.

  Ash winces and draws back. “The…pizza?” she asks, confused, glancing at her large-faced wristwatch and frowning. “It’s only been a few minutes.”

  “Um, I’ll get it.” I back away toward the door. “Maybe it’s one of those places that promises delivery in twenty minutes even though they know it’ll only take ten minutes. Makes them look good to the customer.”

  “Maybe,” Ash says doubtfully.

  I put my hand on the doorknob, anticipating an acne-faced delivery boy in a red-and-green smock—so when I’m greeted by a different person altogether, it takes me a full second to make sense of what my eyes are looking at.

  And then I nearly close the door.

  But she expected that.

  With effortless grace, Juliette flattens her palm against the door and holds it open, even as her other hand pushes her red-rimmed cat-eye sunglasses onto the top of her platinum blonde head.

  “Bonjour.” Juliette leans forward and snakes her free arm around my waist, drawing me against her barely clothed cleavage. She rests a hand against the side of my face and presses herself upon me, brushing her lips along my ear.

  “I’m back, baby,” she whispers.

  Part Two: The Art of Trust

  “So, let me get this straight.” Pauline nibbles at her fried corn on the cob thoughtfully, pale forehead creased with concentration.

  In the early August humidity, her long brown hair is extra-frizzy, framing her round face like a lion’s mane. She puts down her crunchy corncob and gives the tips of her fingers ten delicate licks. Then, quirking one eyebrow at me, she parts her lips as if to speak…but seconds tick by, a full minute, two—and no sounds come out of her mouth.

  I watch her, gaping in disbelief. “Wow.”

  I’ve finally done it: my screwed-up misadventures have, for the first time in all time, rendered my never-at-a-loss-for-words best friend speechless. I flick my eyes toward the clouds, expecting to see winged pigs, but the only thing occupying the too-blue sky is the Fried and Gone to Heaven sign, brightly proclaiming in an illuminated font, “If you can e
at it, we can fry it!”

  “I…” Pauline blinks at me helplessly. “It’s just so…”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Paul. I know it’s a lot to swallow all at once.” I pick up a long broken onion ring from my plate, regard it bleakly, and sigh.

  I ordered the “healthy choice” from the menu—Eat Your Veggies: a crispy pile of hot battered onions, peppers, carrots, asparagus, and cauliflower, with a side of fried tofu strips. It looks beautiful, glistening golden in the afternoon sunlight, and it smells awesome, like all so-good-but-so-bad-for-you things tend to smell.

  But I haven’t taken a single bite.

  It’s hard to commit to an ultra-greasy (albeit “healthy”) deep-fried lunch when your stomach’s playing host to the Anxiety Olympics—and those tiny athletes keep jabbing at your innards with javelins while simultaneously ice-skating double axles all over your spleen.

  “Hey.” Pauline grins at me, wiping off her chin with an already sodden napkin before crunching into her fried hot-dog-on-a-stick. “I’m a teacher, Mol. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s absorbing mass quantities of information in a crazy-short amount of time. Let me just make sure I’m up to speed.” She pauses dramatically, abandoning her crispy hot dog to press her fingers to her temples and close her eyes, assuming a serious pose. “Number one: you almost ran over a—quote-unquote—sexy as hell lady named Ash with your jalopy in the museum parking lot. Luckily, said sexy lady survived, but, unluckily, her bike did not. So, wracked with guilt, you not only bought this woman a brand-new bicycle but also invited her to shack up in your empty love nest.”

  “Cottage.”

  “Same difference.”

  I smile disparagingly. “She’d already been planning to rent the cottage, Paul—”

  “Number two.” Pauline, brown eyes open now, holds up her pointer and middle fingers, silencing my protest. “Your museum lost the grant you’d been counting on for restoring the wing that got damaged by the flood. Epic bummer. So you’ve decided to feature local artists in a fabulous, sparkly, hobnobby gala with the hopes of raking in some desperately desired dough.”

  “Nice alliteration.”

  “Thanks.” She takes a breath. “Number three: Your lying, cheating, bottle-blonde ex-girlfriend—She Who Shall Not Be Named—sent you flowers, left you voicemails, and then showed up at your freaking door last night. And she kissed you. Right in front of the sexy-as-hell biker chick—who you apparently have a Big One-sized crush on, because she’s not only hot and sweet but an artiste to boot.”

  “God.” I drop my head into my hands and shut my eyes; the world is spinning and spinning…

  “All right, friend?”

  “No.” I look up and take the sticky, greasy hand that Pauline offers me and can’t help but return her soft smile with a wavery smile of my own. “But go on. You’re almost done.”

  “Okay.” She sucks in a deep gulp of air. “Now that Ash thinks you and Juli—I mean, that actress—are a thing, you’re worried that you’ve lost your chance for a bicycle-built-for-two romance. Tragedy! Woe!” Pauline’s eyes flutter dreamily. “I can see the made-for-TV movie now: The Lusty Landlord and the Tattooed Tenant: A Lesbian Love Story.”

  I laugh lightly, shaking my head.

  “Have I got it right, then? Did I miss any of the sordid, angsty details?” Pauline lets go of my hand, crunches into her hot dog, and then takes a long swig of her (unfried) iced tea.

  I toss the onion ring back onto my plate and nod, biting my lip. “Add in a few more tragedies and woes, and you’ve got it covered, I think. So…” I grin weakly, pushing my hair back from my eyes and crossing my arms upon the slippery tabletop—effectively staining my elbows with grease. “Any advice?”

  Pauline chews another bite of hot dog, crunching and considering. “You could always fake your death and move to Portland. Plenty of tattooed, bike-riding chicks in that sea. Plus, Juliette would never go anywhere near such a hippie town.”

  I roll my eyes. “True. She hates the scent of patchouli.” I tilt my head in mock deliberation. “You know…this plan just might work.”

  “Except for the fact that I would cry buckets if you ever moved away. Poor Brad would have to quit his job so he could hold up my head twenty-four-seven and save me from drowning in a Niagara Falls of tears.” Pauline finishes off her hot dog with a final crunch and a satisfied smile. “God, I love this place. Everything’s so gross and delicious.”

  My stomach performs a complicated aerial flip, and I nudge my untouched plate in Pauline’s direction. “Do you want my leftovers? I’m just not in the mood for food right now. I couldn’t even eat that pizza Ash ordered last night. She slipped me a twenty to pay for it before she left, you know.”

  “Chivalrous and sexy.”

  “Yeah.” I groan and rake my hands through my hair—and then instantly regret it, eying my grease-stained fingertips with a frown. Whatever; I’m a mess, anyway: wrinkled shirt, wrinkled tie, wrinkled pants, the same dark grey pair I wore yesterday. I look like I rolled out of bed, got dressed, and then rolled back into bed again to attain maximum rumpledness. When I walked into the museum this morning, Georgie gave me a quick once-over before offering me her most sympathetic smile and steeping me a cup of Monday Morning Mojo tea. It isn’t Monday; it’s Wednesday. But I appreciated the gesture—despite its implication that I looked just as terrible as I felt.

  “Well, I can probably help you out with one thing,” Pauline says, grabbing a fried tofu strip from my plate and crunching it between her teeth. “Just give me a sec.” She slides her cell phone off of the table and rises from her chair, striding quickly over to the cluster of pink-blossomed bushes planted at the corner of the restaurant’s outdoor eating area. She’s beyond earshot, but when a miles-wide smile spreads over her face, I know that Pauline must be talking to Brad.

  I stare down at my plate of golden-brown vegetables with a wistful sigh. Why does life have to be so complicated? Just when things were beginning to fall into place for me—or at least some vague pretense of order—Juliette showed up out of the blue. After spending months abroad in gay Paree with another woman, she knocked on my door and kissed my mouth and announced her determination to win me back. To rekindle our hopeless, defiled romance.

  In front of Ash.

  Ash…who was kind to me even though I hit her with my car. Who knelt at my feet and napkined sticky ice cream off of my toes.

  Who urged me to revive my dreams and take up painting, to be an artist, again.

  Who makes my heart tremble every time I think of her.

  I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut. It isn’t as if anything ever happened between Ash and me. It might have—I hoped. I hoped something would happen last night. But now…

  “Hey, beautiful! My hunk just agreed to wrangle Ash’s old bike off of the nose of your junker—I mean, car.” Pauline slides back into her seat, simultaneously jamming a piece of fried cauliflower into her mouth. She wears a big, excited grin as she chews. “Said he’d stop by tonight, if that works for you.”

  “That would be great, Paul. Thanks. Brad’s so sweet. Um…” I pick up my unused napkin and begin to tear it into tiny, tortured bits. “But I told Juliette that we would talk when I get home from work—you know, about her violation of our relationship and invasion of my home, fun stuff like that—so I don’t know if I’ll have time, or the sanity required, to be social—”

  “Say no more.” Pauline holds up a hand and gives me a sly wink. “He loves doing good deeds in stealth mode. In and out, and no one the wiser. That’s how he wooed me, you know. Slipped all those unsigned love notes under my wiper blades.”

  I breathe out, smiling softly. “Well, I’ll bake him a cake to thank him for the favor. Once I buy a new cake pan. And a mixing bowl. And some measuring cups. And—”

  “Hey, how about you come over to our place on Saturday and I make dinner for you, instead?”

  “But that defeats the purpose—”

  “I’ve been inflic
ted with your baking before, Mol. Remember those cupcakes back in college? The ones with the sunken-in middles?”

  “They were supposed to be lava cupcakes with chocolate centers,” I tell her, sitting back and crossing my arms over my stomach. “I just…forgot to add the chocolate.”

  “And the sugar.”

  “I think the salt gave them a certain sophistication.”

  Pauline crunches into a piece of fried asparagus and angles me a withering look. “Believe me: the best thanks you can give Brad for his sexy mechanical assistance is to avoid your own utensil-less kitchen altogether and share a homecooked meal with us. You haven’t been over since that cookout we had right before summer school started.” She frowns, leaning her head against her hand. “Back when I was all hopeful and innocent. It’ll be an adventure, I said. I’ll get these poor kids back on track, make a positive impact on their lives, I said.”

  “Oh, Paul. It’s really that rough?”

  Her mouth slants, the half-eaten asparagus dangling from her shiny fingers. “This morning little Hugo Langley put a gift on my desk. Handmade! He’d taken a bunch of craft sticks from the supply closet, painted them pink, and then hot-glued them together in the shape of—you guessed it—a penis. Every prepubescent boy’s favorite theme.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Oh, it gets better. He wrote the words you suck all over the craft sticks, again and again in a maddening, penmanship-challenged loop. And he actually looked proud when he gave it to me. I mean, I’m all for creativity. I was mad as hell when the district defunded our school’s arts program. But Van Gogh Hugo Langley isn’t. Honestly, the thing looked more like a butterfly than a penis, but I bit my tongue. Didn’t want to squash his inventive spirit.”

  “You should be sainted.”

  “Nah.” She shakes her frizzy brown head, finishing off the asparagus with a crunch and a grin. “I whine and moan, but I love teaching more than anything, Mol. I’d never give it up, no matter how many craft-stick penises those brats layer on my desk.”