by Taylor Dean
“Like how good?” I ask.
“One thousand dollars an article.”
Jason whistles through his teeth. “Wow.”
“I know, right? It’s a fabulous opportunity.”
It sounds a little too good to be true. But I’m happy for him. “Good for you, Hunter. Have you already written something for them?”
“Yep. I wrote the first article already. They loved it.”
“Did they pay you?” Dakota asks skeptically.
“Sure did. Promptly, I might add.”
No wonder he can afford to take his girlfriend to expensive restaurants. I surmise Hunter might end up like Mr. Pow Pow and possibly stay in China when his teaching responsibilities end.
Speak of the devil. Mr. Pow Pow saunters over to our table, looking like he belongs on a beach in California instead of a restaurant in China.
“How’s life for the Americans in China?” Julian says, his voice silky-smooth.
“It’s great,” Stacy effuses. She teaches a few kindergarten classes and seems to be doing well. Although sometimes you can hear her classes from down the hall. They tend to get a little loud. But the children love her and Stacy actually seems happy.
“Cutting through lots of red tape, Savannah?” Julian casts me a crooked smile.
I smirk. “Very funny.” Him and that stupid Piña Colada song.
“I’m here to amuse.”
“I think you’re funny,” Stacy tells him.
She really has it bad for Julian and has no reservations about making her feelings known.
“Ah, well anyone named Mr. Pow Pow has to be funny, right?” Julian jokes.
“Right,” Stacy repeats.
“That’s me, funny until the end. Someone says hello to me and what do I say? Good, thanks. At least no one around here really understands English.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’ve made that exact embarrassing mistake a few times in my life too.
Stacy’s expression turns puzzled, as if she’s trying to work it all out in her mind. “Wait, shouldn’t you wait for them to ask ‘how are you?’”
“Traditionally, but I like to mix it up a bit.” When she doesn’t laugh, Julian says, “Bad joke. I’m just teasing, Stacy.”
“Oh.” Stacy beams at him, the entire conversation lost on her.
It’s obvious to me that Julian isn’t interested in Stacy, yet he’s always cordial to her and I like that about him. He never embarrasses Stacy when she doesn’t get his jokes, which is most of the time. He has a rather unusual sense of humor, but I enjoy the challenge of trying to keep up with him.
Jason wraps his arm around Lori. “Lori loves my bad jokes.”
Lori giggles. “I do. He’s so cute when he’s trying to be funny.”
Jason leans in for a kiss and Lori accepts with gusto.
Julian points at them. “You two, out of my restaurant now. You’re not allowed in here anymore. Customers are losing their appetites.” His mock serious attitude makes everyone at the table snicker.
When they ignore him, he mutters, “I need a distraction.” He turns his attention on me and says, “I don’t know where to look.”
“Welcome to my world.”
He laughs as if I said something extremely clever. Then he directs a warm smile my way. “How’s your day been, Savannah?”
No need to look behind me. No need to question whether he’s talking to me or not. For some reason, he’s only addressing me. ME.
“It’s been busy. But I like being busy. I’d rather be busy than bored.”
“Same here. Whereabouts in the States are you from?”
“I grew up in Maryland, but I went to college in Texas.”
“I did something similar. I grew up in Oregon, but went to college in California. I attended Stanford.”
That’s where he gets his California laid back vibe. “Sounds sunny and warm.”
“It was. Everyone always asks me one of two questions. Did I go surfing? And were there any earthquakes while I was there?”
“And?”
“No and no. The ocean was an hour away and the earth held still.”
I smile at his answer and he smiles back. For a moment we simply hold each other’s gaze.
“I don’t like earthquakes,” Stacy says from her side of the table, but Julian’s eyes don’t waver from mine and I’m hard pressed to look away. He slips his hands into the pockets of his perfect fitting jeans and my eyes follow the action. Then I feel embarrassed for letting my gaze wander.
Julian glances at Lori and Jason, who are still at it. He shakes his head with pretend disgust. “Still no clue,” he scoffs. “I’m uncomfortable. How about you?”
Again, he’s asking me. ME. “Do you want an honest answer?”
“Honesty is always the best policy—unless you want people to like you.”
Hunter and Dakota laugh, and I say, “Since the moment I met them.”
“You have my condolences.”
“I have to see it all the time too,” Stacy says loudly.
I admit, I feel a little sorry for her. She tries so hard to get Julian’s attention and I know what it’s like to go unnoticed.
“Maybe I should talk about the weather,” Julian suggests. He raises his eyebrows and sports a crooked grin. His focus remains on me. ME.
“Never talk about the weather. It’s boring.”
“My health?”
“Only if it’s good.”
“Darn. I was really looking forward to telling you about the time I had this . . .”
“Don’t say it,” I interrupt, not even trying to hold back my laughter.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hear it? I promise it’ll be fascinating.”
“I’m positive.”
He sneaks a peek at Jason and Lori, then shrugs. “How about we pour cold water on them?”
“I dare you.”
“On second thought, it would be bad for business.”
“There is that. It could give the restaurant a bad rep.”
Mr. Tang calls him into the kitchen then and he hollers, “Be right there.” Then he says, “Duty calls. Sorry to leave you in this dire situation, Savannah.”
“No worries. I’ll survive.”
He again points at Jason and Lori and says, “Don’t,” very firmly. He doesn’t expound. He doesn’t need to.
As he leaves, I want to laugh, but I keep that emotion in check when I realize no one else thinks his actions are nearly as funny as I do. Jason and Lori continue to nuzzle and whisper as if no one else exists.
It hits me that I just experienced a rare moment in time when my brain and my mouth did not disconnect from one another. Must be the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Julian has that effect on me.
Dakota looks at me a little incredulously. “What was all that about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Mr. Pow Pow. What is it with you two?”
“Us two? Nothing. We were just talking.”
Dakota rolls her eyes. “Like there’s no one else in the room.”
“We were not.” We were and I know it.
“You were too.”
“You were, Savannah.” Hunter stands. “Time to hit the hay. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat.”
We all decide to leave and on the walk home I feel strangely . . . satisfied.
Chapter Thirteen
September
I GRAB A taxi and give the driver the address of Paul’s office building. It’s been eight days and I haven’t heard a word from him. Eight days.
I worry my bottom lip nervously. The “night of the stairs,” as I like to think of it, had been so absolutely perfect and I long to see him again. The mere thought of that night sends a shiver down my spine.
He obviously likes me just as much as I like him.
So, why the silence?
He isn’t out of town. He said he wasn’t traveling for the next three weeks.
He runs his own c
ompany and I know he’s a very busy man. He works too hard and admittedly hardly ever takes off much time for relaxation. Popping in to see him seems like a good idea, just to let him know I’m thinking of him. I won’t be demanding or make him feel bad. His work is his life and I’m okay with that. It makes him the perfect man for me.
I make a quick stop and pick up a bag of take-out for two, and I sincerely hope he hasn’t already eaten. I guess it doesn’t really matter if he has. It’s just an excuse to see him anyway.
My fellow teachers are all meeting at Burger, Burger this evening for a late dinner and a cooking lesson with Mr. Pow Pow. I promise to meet them after my quick visit.
Unless Paul asks me to stay. Then I’ll skip Burger, Burger. No contest.
When I enter the office building, the desk clerk is busy chatting with someone else and he barely glances my way. Since I don’t need or want permission to take the private elevator up to the penthouse, I slip past the desk clerk and hurry into the stairwell.
At the bottom of the stairwell, I look up and take a deep breath. This is crazy. And maybe even the dumbest thing I’ve ever contemplated doing.
But the idea of arriving unannounced appeals to me. The element of surprise has its merits. No pressure and no guilt. Just a friendly “hello” and a quick “I miss you” and then let nature takes its course.
If I’m being totally honest with myself, I’ll admit that I’m a little worried about Paul turning me away if the desk clerk announces me. I don’t want to give him that chance.
Eight days. Eight days and he’s been incommunicado. Is there a message behind his silence?
No. Surely not. He’d hinted about wanting to spend more time together on our last date. And everything had been so absolutely perfect between us. He’s just busy. That’s all.
I’m having a hard time convincing myself that everything is fine.
I swallow my insecurity and punch my lack of confidence in the face.
The real problem is “popping in” to visit Paul feels like a joke. And the joke is on me. For a moment, I’m sorely tempted to take the elevator, but the thought of the coffin-like interior makes me shiver. And without Paul’s presence to calm me if something bad happens, I might freak out. The days of blissfully easy elevator rides are over. I’m all about the stairs.
What if he isn’t home? My idea suddenly seems like stupidity personified. If only he lived in a place that granted a little easier access.
Actually, he does. But the elevator is off limits, so it’s time to stop debating and just go for it. A little stair climbing never hurt anybody.
Perhaps the element of surprise will enhance my romantic gesture and bring a smile to Paul’s face. And knowing the effort it takes just to knock on his door surely ought to count for major brownie points.
Here it goes. No more shy girl. I’m doing this.
I’ll be sore for days afterwards. Actually I’ll have sore muscles on top of sore muscles. Maybe I need to listen to the message my body is sending me and exercise a little more regularly.
Every single flight of stairs brings on a memory of Paul’s sweet kisses. Distracted by the reminiscence, the climb takes much less time than I’d thought. After taking a quick break to cool off and calm my labored breathing, I knock on Paul’s door.
Several times.
Just when I think no one is home and I’m busy cursing the day I ever thought of this outlandish idea, the door opens halfway.
“Savannah? What are you doing here?”
Not exactly the welcome I hoped for.
I’ve never seen Paul in an unkempt state. But, presently, that’s the only way to describe him. His hair is ruffled and sticking up. He’s wearing slacks with a dress shirt, unbuttoned and untucked, and his feet are bare. His bare chest and muscled abs catch my attention and I have to force myself to look into his eyes.
“Are you ill?” I ask.
“What? No, I’m not ill. Why didn’t the desk clerk announce you?”
“I didn’t ask to see you. I came up on my own.”
“You took all those stairs?” he asks, while the answer is quite obvious.
Even though I know his question is rhetorical, I answer, “Yes. I wanted to see you.”
Seemingly frustrated, he runs one hand through his hair several times. He turns around as if looking for something, then says, “Okay. Come in for a minute or two.”
After that climb, he can only spare a minute or two? Well, what do I expect when I catch him unaware? Perhaps I don’t know him well enough for a surprise visit. If only the thought had occurred to me earlier.
We stand in the entryway awkwardly while I shift from foot to foot. I note he doesn’t invite me to sit in the living room.
“I’m sorry, it’s obviously a bad time,” I begin. A trickle of unease settles in my chest, but I bulldoze ahead anyway. “You look good.” He does. I like the “just woke up” look on him. He looks relaxed rather than intimidating.
He smiles, but it’s clearly rather forced. “What can I do for you, Savannah?”
So formal. It’s a mistake to barge in on him unannounced. I can tell he doesn’t appreciate it. “Nothing really. I just missed you and wanted to see you. I know you’re a busy man . . .” I trail off, not sure what to say. Instead I toss him a bright smile. “It’s good to see you.” This is awkward. Really, really awkward. And I don’t do well with awkward.
He nods. “Nice to see you too.”
Whew. He’s glad to see me. At least it’s something. Why does it make me feel like a dog feasting on crumbs at my master’s table?
I hold out the bag of take-out, feeling a little gauche. “I bought you some dinner. Thought maybe you could use a break. You work too hard.” Even though at the moment he looks as though I just woke him up from a nap.
“That was sweet of you,” he says slowly. But he doesn’t reach out and accept it. Instead his worried eyes wander past me into the living room.
I turn, following his gaze. There stands a stunning Chinese woman, dressed in only an oversized dress shirt that clearly doesn’t belong to her. It’s obvious there’s nothing on underneath it.
“Ruolan,” Paul says. “Please wait for me in the bedroom.”
She nods with a slight smile and leaves the room.
I’m paralyzed. Frozen.
My fingers lose their grip and the bag of food falls to the ground with a huge plop. A sauce container breaks open and a nasty stain spreads through the white bag. In just seconds, it seeps through and drips onto the tile floor.
A clock ticks loudly from the vicinity of the kitchen and the smell of soy sauce invades my senses.
I want to disappear.
I kneel down in an attempt to clean up the mess. My hands shake as I grab the pile of napkins inside the bag and try to sop up the growing puddle. It simply smears across the floor. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice a mere whisper.
Paul kneels next to me and grabs my hands. I still at his touch. “Don’t worry about it.”
My chest rises and falls as emotions twirl and twist inside of me. I pull my hands away from his, knowing we’ll never touch again. Slowly, I stand and meet his gaze. My eyes fill with tears, but I don’t let them fall. Not one single drop.
“I . . . I guess I thought . . .” I start, then stop. Even my lips are shaking and I’m not sure I can convey a coherent thought.
His hands rub the length of his face as if he’s very, very tired. “I’m sorry, Savannah.”
I nod. “Me too.” Why am I sorry? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry we’re over though. Because we are. No doubt about that.
“Look . . . she’s an acquaintance. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I find my voice as a flash of anger washes over me. “It means something to me.”
A pained expression crosses over his features. “Savannah . . . the other night, when I asked you to come up, what exactly did you think was going to happen?”
“Happen?” I repeat. What does he m
ean? What should’ve happened? What am I missing?
Wait. Had he expected . . .?
Oh.
I’m such a naïve fool. “I-I didn’t realize . . .”
“I know you didn’t,” he says immediately, an edge to his voice. After a few seconds of tense silence, he says, “I’m sorry, Savannah. I didn’t mean to hurt you. That wasn’t my intention.”
“What exactly were your intentions?”
He shakes his head in the negative and gestures I don’t know with splayed hands. “Just wanted to enjoy your company for the night.”
Somehow I know “enjoying your company” does not mean the same thing to me as it does to him. And when he says “for the night” does he really mean “all night?”
Yes. Yes he does. And I am clueless, then and now.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he says firmly.
There’s a slight dismissal in his tone. He didn’t get what he wanted and now he’s done with me. If my magic cloak really had the power to make me invisible, I’d call upon its magical abilities right now. Wouldn’t it be nice to just disappear? “I think I’d better go.”
He opens the door for me, agreeing much too quickly. “Savannah,” he says.
I pause and soak in one final glance of his handsome face.
“I’m not the man for you.”
“No,” I say, refusing to let a tear fall in his presence. “You’re not.”
It would’ve been nice if my soft voice sounded firm and a bit scathing. Instead I just sound rather pathetic.
Chapter Fourteen
September
THE DOOR CLOSES behind me and I cover my mouth with a shaking hand. I would’ve understood a busy work schedule. But what just happened I had not expected.
At all.
Our kisses on every stair level no longer seemed romantic. They seemed designed to seduce. Carefully calculated. Suddenly, I’m sick to my stomach.
The walk down the stairs feels like the longest walk of my entire life. Downhill no longer seems easier.
It’s a walk of shame unlike any other.