No… she realized. She was more than just pleased; she was flirting.
Saturday considered the statement that Copper Head made before he left. What a coincidence that he had decided to say what he did. Or was she reading too much into it?
Stop it. Stop making connections to Mark with everything. He’s gone. By choice… remember?
In fact, it had been a very frigid three months (and three days) since he had vanished from her life.
Time to move on… eventually…
Saturday tucked Axe’s number in her purse. She’d put this flirtation with Axe on ice…for now, at least…
***
After that Saturday night at the bookstore, Saturday’s trips back became more frequent. She kinda…sorta…juuuust a little bit hoped that she’d run into a certain auburn-haired Adonis, but she didn’t. She could have just called him, but she wasn’t quite ready to take that forward step.
Another “chance” encounter seemed like the better play, but it backfired on her; for the next two weeks, Copper Head never returned while Saturday was there.
She was a little taken aback by the effect that a two-minute conversation with Axe had on her. For the first time in months, she was able to have romantic thoughts about another man besides “that guy.” Unfortunately, the longer she went without seeing Axe, the more “he” dominated her daydreams… and the ones at night.
Just like the afternoon with Geraldine, Saturday was still seeing Mark’s face outside of the restaurant windows… and at the local coffee houses… and in the busy streets. Unlike that particular afternoon, however, Saturday’s daydreaming sightings of Mark were just that: daydreams. She leaned on the bar during her bartending shift, caught in the throes of another daydream, when a voice pulled her back to reality. Francois.
He was coming over to sit at the bar from where he entered the restaurant. He took a seat on the nearest stool, his dark wool coat bunching as he blew on his hands, rubbing them together briefly. Saturday regarded him and then the weather out of the window.
It was cold outside, more winter than fall now, as snow threatened to fall from the overcast sky. She looked back at Francois. He looked good. He really was a good-looking man.
She stared at him harder, wanting to see if her heart would thud, if she could feel that familiar flutter that you feel in the pit of stomach when you look into the face of someone special… Nothing.
It just wasn’t there.
Saturday tried to imagine how much easier her life could be if she felt for Francois the way that she felt for Mark. Saturday felt the weight of disappointment heavily on her shoulders so much that she literally slumped. Francois reached a hand to cover hers after noticing the change in her demeanor.
“Hey, are you ok?” he said, his brow furrowing in concern. Saturday quickly pulled herself upright, plastering on a smile.
“Yup, I’m fine. Just tired.”
Francois nodded understandingly. He continued speaking.
“So, listen… there’s this new movie out and it’s a comedy. And knowing you and your humor (he smiled), I think you would enjoy it. And I was wondering if you would like to enjoy it… with me.”
Saturday hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. His eyes looked so hopeful. And Saturday had been rejecting his invitations for so long…
Saturday felt like such a fool. In recent weeks, she had two incredibly charming and handsome guys come on to her. Two witty, nice guys, who could really have anyone, wanted her. Two! And she could only think about the one beautiful, mysterious man who didn’t.
She thought about Kara, too. Kara was dating James now, heavily, and was clearly over this little…thing that she may have had for Francois. And frankly, Saturday could use the company. Kara’s trysts with James left her unavailable and with Saturday’s favorite source of laughter off somewhere humping the famous photographer, Saturday needed some well-placed humor.
So… she and Francois set a date/ “not really a date”/ “two friends just hanging out together” for the next evening and Francois left the restaurant with a wave and self-satisfied grin on his face.
Saturday felt a bit satisfied herself. She was going to the movies with Francois and she was going to enjoy some good company, laughs and buttery junk food, even if it was only for one night…
***
November nights in the city tended to be crisp, clear and surprisingly clean for such a busy atmosphere. And the next night was no different.
But... when Saturday exited the cab in front of her apartment that brisk Friday night, she inhaled the cool air with what felt like a new set of lungs.
The trip to the movies with Francois was exactly what she needed. For the first time in three and a half months, she smiled and laughed without feeling like her face would crack from the latent sob hidden beneath; she had enjoyed an experience without feeling like she was going through the motions just to keep her mind from plunging into darkness.
In those past few months, Saturday went through moments where she was never angrier with herself, but even in the midst of what had become her lowest valleys, she knew that she had also never been prouder of herself. As much as Saturday was hurting, she did not and would not crumple under the weight of Mark’s rejection. And on a night like tonight, she was never more certain of this.
Francois had offered to accompany her home that night, but she declined, of course. No need to overcomplicate things between them. She had just laughed until her mascara ran streaks and ICEE threatened to shoot out of her nose. Any implications of romance between the two of them would put a damper on a wonderful experience. Saturday was willing to rebuild a friendship with him that had been placed on pause when he moved, but nothing more. So, she left it at that, and Francois, ever the gentleman, sent her off on her way with a chaste kiss to the cheek.
Saturday began her ascent up the paint-chipped stairs of her apartment building, passing many of her boisterous but surprisingly friendly neighbors on the way. She paused briefly when she reached her blissfully quiet floor. On the opposite end of the hallway stood a man dressed in a navy winter hat and coat, his back leaning on the wall.
Saturday stutter stepped when she saw him.
For a second, she imagined that it was Mark.
His presence had been enough to make Saturday hesitate shortly, but not enough to stop her completely. She had seen Mark’s face in so many sandwich shops, bagel joints, and stop lights that she was almost becoming immune to her own hallucinations. It wasn’t and wouldn’t be him, she reminded herself. It never was.
But Saturday was startled a bit to find that the man began walking in her direction as soon as she started walking to her door. She quickened her pace. Whoever this was, wasn’t Mark, of course, but he was a stranger, and she didn’t trust anyone’s intentions. At the very least, city living had taught her that.
Her suspicions went through the roof when he quickened his pace as well. Saturday decided to step on it. Bewilderment turned quickly into full-blown panic when the stranger began to jog (JOG!) in her direction. Now Saturday had switched into complete survival mode, rushing and reaching for her keys before she even reached her door.
The stranger was on her before she could even put her key in the lock.
He gripped her by her shoulders and Saturday went flying into attack. She attempted to throw him off immediately, flailing wildly and deliberately at him, and nearly succeeded until he said her name.
She stiffened as the man turned her around to face him. She looked into his eyes.
It was no daydream, no temporary hallucination. It was Mark.
Saturday froze for two seconds; her lips slightly parted in amazement… before she reached up and slapped him across the face.
He flinched, taken aback. He let Saturday go, giving her the temporary space and time that she needed to open the door with her key. She stepped inside of her threshold.
When she turned around to look at him, Mark had his hands up in surprise.
“It’s me, Saturday. I’m not some stranger trying to attack you.”
She looked heatedly at him when she responded.
“I know,” Saturday said, before she swiftly closed the door in his face.
She heard no further sounds from the other side other than his voice.
“This isn’t over, Saturday. I need to talk to you.” He paused.
“I will talk to you. It doesn’t matter what you do. I am not just going to go away. Not anymore.”
Saturday could hear a small thud, as if he had placed his hand on the door.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, and then Saturday could hear his footsteps retreating down the hall.
Saturday sighed shakily, leaning heavily against the door as she slid down all the way to the floor.
Her body was having tremors. A Molotov cocktail of emotions had just hit her. She was furious and shocked and confused and anxious and…relieved.
Mark had just appeared outside of her apartment door like he never left. Like he was allowed to. Like he had never hurt her in ways that no one has.
Who the fuck does he think he is?!
Tears welled up in Saturday’s eyes, and for the first time since Mark vanished, she let them fall.
She had been holding in a dam of emotions that must have been cracking at the seams the entire time. And she felt relieved to have finally allowed the dam to break.
And there, on the floor in front of her door, Saturday let it all out in heavy sobs.
She cried for the night that she told him that she loved him. She cried for that next morning when he had walked away from her, from their relationship, from “them.” She cried for every time that she thought about him in the days following. She cried for the nights that she dreamed about him. And she cried for the sudden and inexplicable but overwhelming happiness that she felt now that he was back again.
Chapter Seven
A rose by any other name
Saturday woke up the next morning with a headache and puffy eyes, products of a “crying hangover.” Fortunately, this morning, her tear ducts had nothing left to give. After about…. eh...a thousand cold water splashes on her face, Saturday was wide-awake and ready for her mid-morning shift at the Greenhouse.
The air outside was biting cold, slapping her sharply in the face as soon as she stepped out of her building. For the first time in her life, it was welcomed. She needed the clear, brisk wind to wake her up if she was going to make it through this shift. Saturday was on a serving shift today. She set her belongings in the back room designated for employees. She talked to the host, grabbed her order pad, and began working.
Only five minutes had passed before David approached. She hadn’t seen him much since their run-in at the gym. To be honest, she had been able to avoid him most days. Unfortunately, today wasn’t one of those days.
He caught up to her when she was placing orders.
“Hey, Saturday,” he said, placing an arm beside hers on the bar. She smiled in response, saying nothing.
Quick. Get out of here before he draws you into a conversation.
Saturday picked up her tray from the bar and headed to a table. David actually had the gall to start following her despite her subtle dismissal.
Great, David. What a wonderful day that you picked to grow a pair.
“I didn’t want much,” David called after her. “Just…” David swerved, dodging a patron as Saturday weaved through the restaurant. “…wanted to let you know that you’ve been reassigned.”
Saturday stopped, nearly dropping her drink tray. She turned around briefly, distributing drinks to one of her tables with a small smile. The smile faded when she turned back towards David.
“What do you mean reassigned?” Panic started to set in. This must have been a delayed punishment for Saturday running out on work with Mark those months ago. Kim, the manager, said that she understood when Saturday mentioned the “emergency” she had to tend to. Obviously, Kim didn’t.
Stupid decision. She had been impulsive, taking a risk like Mark always told her to…and now look where it got her. Did Kim change her mind? Would she be fired? Saturday had worked so hard to make it up; maybe it just wasn’t enough.
Please, no, no…
David continued. “I mean, you’ve been moved to another area temporarily. Some patron came in, requested you specifically. Apparently, he’s been here all morning.” David pointed over her shoulder. When Saturday saw who it was, she turned ashen white.
Mark sat at the back of the restaurant. He wore another black gym outfit and black cap, with a hoodie on top of it. The cap’s brim sat low and the hood rested on top of it. He looked like he was attempting to be inconspicuous…but she would have recognized those lips anywhere.
Saturday turned on David. “I can’t. I can’t do that. Get anyone else on it. Tiffany, Amber, anybody.”
David threw his hands in the air. “Orders are from Kim. Directly. She made the call. You’d have to take it up with her.”
Saturday cursed under her breath. There was no way that she could say no. She was already skating on thin ice with her job. One more infraction or misstep could be the end of her tenure as a Greenhouse server.
There was no other choice.
Saturday said thanks to an apologetic David, who then disappeared into the kitchen. Her legs shook, but with as much nerve as she could gather, she wiped at her eyes and walked over to Mark’s table.
She tried to avoid looking at him as she pulled out her pen and pad. Her tone was clipped.
“What can I get for you?”
“I’ll take the French toast, please. And a small orange juice,” Mark said, his head stuck in a menu.
“Fine,” Saturday said, slapping her pad closed, turning.
“Actually…” he called louder. “Can I get a double order of that? One for me…and one for you.” His voice was hopeful, but he kept his face hidden with his hat and menu.
Saturday looked over at him.
“Sure. But you’d be eating by yourself. I’m at work, in case you hadn’t noticed. And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t share a meal with you.” She practically spat the last word at him. And with that, she turned again, this time making her way to the kitchen to give the order.
When she returned with his orange juice, Mark had his hoodie off and menu down on the table. His muscular arms were resting on the edge. Saturday did her best to ignore them.
He looked up at her, the cap brim placing half of his face in shadow. Saturday couldn’t see enough to decipher his facial expressions.
“Saturday…I know you don’t want me here.” Saturday scoffed.
“But I had to come here, “ he continued. “How else was I supposed to see you? Like I told you last night…I’m back…and I’m not leaving.” He stared at her from behind the hat, his chin raised in defiance.
Saturday sighed in frustration. How selfish of him to impose himself on her like this. It had taken her months to feel some type of normalcy since he left. Months. And now he figured that he could just come back and pick up where they had left off?
She wasn’t one of those silly girls who imagined connections with men that weren’t there. He was the one asking her to dinner, texting her, calling her. He was the one calling himself her boyfriend.
Tuh. Boyfriend….What kind of boyfriend gets up in the middle of the night and leaves?
How could she ever trust him again? She had let her guard down, let herself be vulnerable…just with him. And he had made her regret it.
He’s gotta go. I can’t take this right now.
She pivoted away from the table, going to the back to check on Mark’s order. She hadn’t planned to get a second order like he requested, but on second thought…
Saturday returned with both orders of French toast and the additional OJ. She sat them down in front of Mark. She would give him one more chance. He could leave or…
“Listen,” she said to Mark. “I can’t have this conversation with you rig
ht now. I don’t know if I want to have this conversation with you…ever. In the meantime, you need to leave. me. alone….Don’t come by my house or job. Don’t call. Just do what you do best….disappear.”
Mark flinched as if he had been struck. After a beat, he licked his lips and spoke. “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I need to see you. Have to see you. There’s so much going on. There’s so much I want to tell you…”
“Remove your hat,” Saturday blurted out.
Mark stiffened. “What…?”
“Remove your hat,” Saturday repeated. “It’s rude to speak to someone without making eye-contact.”
Mark nodded slowly, removing his hat and fixing his green eyes on her. He had dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He must not have been sleeping well. She knew the feeling.
Mark’s voice was apologetic when he spoke again.
“I’m sorry, Saturday” he said, his gaze strong yet remorseful. “I’m sorry for…everything.”
Saturday’s returning gaze was just as strong this time. “I’m sorry, too,” she responded.
His face contorted in confusion. “You…? Sorry for what?”
“This,” she said, plainly…and then she let him have it. She needed his hat out of the way if she wanted the maximum effect. She chucked all of the contents from the extra glass of OJ into his face. Then she slapped the second plate of French toast into his lap.
The nearby patrons gasped, and Saturday took off walking from the table directly to the back. Kim wasn’t around at the moment. Saturday had made sure to check on that before pulling her little stunt.
“Clean-up on Aisle 7,” she said to Tiffany and David as she passed their gaping faces.
Saturday did have to admit; it paid to have loyal coworkers. They sprinted to help clean and hustle Mark out of there ASAP before Kim returned. The servers had a code. They watched each other’s backs. When something like this took place, they usually suspected that the customer had it coming. And right now, Saturday believed that nobody in the city at this moment deserved it more than Mark Rich.
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 9