by Alice Ward
“I need to stay home tonight. The landlord is stopping by in the morning to look at the garbage disposal. I’m sorry, baby. I can tell you’ve had a rough day. Do you want me to cancel practice?”
I shook my head. “No. I wish you could hang out with me, but I don’t want the kids to be disappointed.”
“You could go to my place. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home. But we could have a little time together.”
“That’s okay. I really feel like being home right now. Tomorrow night?”
“It’s a date,” he agreed. “Go home, take a hot bath, and pamper yourself. I’ll call you when I leave the club.”
I leaned in for a quick hug and then turned toward the door. “Have a good practice,” I called over my shoulder.
“Thanks, baby. I’ll talk to you soon.”
The sound of his basketball bouncing off of the court echoed down the hallway as I made my way out of the building. I slid behind the wheel of my blue Prius, a graduation present from Uncle Walt, and drove out of the King neighborhood and into a much older, more white collar Irvington area.
When my parents passed away, I was left with just shy of a quarter of a million dollars in life insurance money. Half of it was safely in the bank, earning interest. I’d spent the other half on a small condo about twenty minutes away from the school. If I’d gotten my way, I’d have bought something closer to work. But Walt insisted that I live in a safer area. He didn’t believe the King neighborhood was as revitalized as the locals claimed.
I pulled into my parking space and quickly retreated to my unit before any of my neighbors spotted me. After the day I’d had, I was in no mood to make forced, friendly small talk.
I changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, pulled my hair on top of my head, and settled in on my soft white sofa to binge on reality television. After three hours of watching spoiled socialites choose their wedding gowns, I realized I’d forgotten all about dinner. And the meal I was craving came from a diner that didn’t deliver.
I’ll call it in but eat at the counter so I don’t have to deal with the take-out trash.
I padded across the beige carpet in my socked feet and retrieved my phone from my purse. I called in my order and was told it would be ready in fifteen minutes.
That doesn’t give me time to change. I’ll probably run into half of my parents if I leave the house looking like this. Screw it. My job is to teach their children, not wow them with my fashion sense.
The Day School was technically a public school, so families weren’t charged tuition. But the school’s innovative teaching programs drew both the lower income families in King as well as the more affluent families in my neighborhood. Some days, I felt like I couldn’t turn around without tripping over someone from the school. But I was starving and didn’t have time to worry what they’d think of my sweats and oversized t-shirt. I stuffed my feet into laceless sneakers, grabbed my purse, and set off for the diner.
I arrived ten minutes later and found the parking lot nearly empty. A bell chimed when I pushed open the heavy glass door and the smells of bacon, coffee, and pie hit my nose. A short, curvy woman with curly grey hair greeted me as I sat down at the counter.
“What can I get for you, darlin’?”
“I called in an order for Emily,” I explained.
She looked at a little notepad. “Chicken fry with mashed potatoes and salad?”
“That’s the one.”
She turned to the order window, where a small bowl of ranch covered lettuce and tomatoes waited atop a bucket of ice. She delivered it to me with a set of silverware rolled in a paper napkin.
“Your steak will be up shortly. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have a Coke, easy on the ice,” I replied, mixing the salad with my fork.
She filled a tall plastic cup and slid it across the counter. I took a long drink and shoveled lettuce into my mouth with a saltine. The bell chimed again and a few moments later, the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen sat down two stools away from me. I felt my face flush hot and kept my eyes fixed on my bowl.
“Back so soon, Ethan?” the waitress asked, passing him a menu.
“What can I say, Gladys. I dream about your apple pie.” His voice was warm and deep, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
“Water with lemon?” she asked, already filling his glass.
“Yes, ma’am. And I’ll have my usual.”
“You got it,” she replied. She jotted a few words on a ticket, tore it off her pad, and hung it in the window. “Order up, Earl,” she called into the kitchen. She turned back to my new dinner companion with an almost star-struck grin.
I don’t blame you, Gladys. This guy looks like a statue of a Greek god brought to life.
“So how was practice?” she asked. “Think you’ll be ready next month?”
“I think so,” he told her. Before he could say more, the bell chimed again and a group of a dozen teenagers filled the diner. They spread out in four of the six booths and a few clustered around the jukebox. My meal appeared in the window and Gladys delivered it before setting off to greet her new customers. I stared down at my giant, gravy soaked plate and felt myself blush again.
Fantastic. I’m sitting three feet away from Adonis, about to pig out in four-year-old sweatpants. I’ll eat fast and get out of here before I have to make eye contact with him.
“That’s quite a steak you’ve got there,” he commented, shattering my hope to get through my meal unnoticed.
“I’m hungry,” I explained awkwardly.
Hungry and lame.
“It’s nice to see a woman with an appetite,” he replied, but I couldn’t tell if he was teasing, serious, or simply grossed out.
I finally looked up at him and my heart instantly raced.
Like me, Ethan was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He had dark hair, hypnotic hazel eyes, and I could tell by the fit of his shirt that his body was as chiseled as his chin and cheekbones.
“I’m Ethan McAlister,” he said with a cocky, expectant grin.
Well, isn’t he impressed by himself? Though I guess I’d be a little cocky too, if I looked like that.
“Nice to meet you, Ethan. I’m Emily Kinkaid.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” The expectation on his face turned to amusement and he spun on his stool to face me. “So tell me, Emily Kinkaid, how is it that a beautiful woman such as yourself is dining alone tonight?” His voice dripped with charm.
“My boyfriend coaches a pee-wee football team at the Boys Club, and they have practice tonight.”
“And you didn’t tag along? Not a sports fan, I take it?”
“I’m a huge sports fan. I just don’t like football.”
He gave me an understanding nod and took a long drink of his water. “Let me guess, you think it’s too violent.”
I swallowed a bite of my potatoes and chased it with a sip of my soda.
“I think it’s too dangerous,” I corrected him. “For kids, at least. I don’t mind watching it on television, but when it’s one of your children on the field, it’s a completely different story.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “You have kids?”
“No,” I replied with a laugh. “I’m sorry. I teach kindergarten. I have a bad habit of referring to every kid in the school as mine.”
The shock changed to relief and Gladys reappeared behind the counter. A platter of pancakes, sausage, and eggs appeared in the order window and she set it in front of Ethan before returning to the booths with a pot of coffee.
“Kindergarten, huh? You must have a lot of energy,” he commented, covering his pancakes with syrup.
“It ran out long before the final bell today, which is why I look like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I explained with a light-hearted laugh.
“If you’re this beautiful when you’re exhausted, I’d love to see you on a good day,” he countered. I still couldn’t tell if he was teasing or being seri
ous, but I was surprised by how at ease I felt around the handsome, charming stranger.
He’s like Linda. I bet he’s never met a stranger. And I’m sure he flirts like this with every woman he comes across. But what the hell? It’s harmless. I may as well enjoy it.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I’m new to the area. I’d be incredibly grateful if you’d show me around sometime.”
I shifted on my stool, suddenly nervous. “I have a boyfriend,” I told him again.
“Which is why I’m asking for a tour, not a date,” he replied, completely undeterred. “Come on, you’d be doing me a huge favor.” He gave me the most adorable, pitiful puppy dog eyes and I had to turn away. I knew if I stared at him much longer, I’d agree to anything he wanted.
“I really can’t,” I insisted. “Even if it’s innocent, it’s a line I’m not willing to cross.”
“So you’re beautiful and loyal. Your boyfriend is a lucky man.”
“Thanks.”
I stared down at my half eaten meal and knew I couldn’t take another bite. I leaned over the counter and fetched my own to-go box.
“In a hurry?” he asked.
I lifted a shoulder. “Sort of.” I filled the box and pulled a twenty from my wallet.
“Gladys looks like she’s going to have her hands full for a while. Will you make sure she gets this?” I asked, setting the bill on the counter.
“Sure,” he agreed. “If you’ll give me your phone number.”
I blushed and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“I understand. But I can’t stand the thought that I may never see you again.”
I knew he was just flirting, but my pulse quickened and my heart felt like it might explode from my chest with excitement. I slung my purse over my shoulder and met his eyes with a smile.
“I guess if we’re supposed to meet again, we will,” I teased.
His eyes smoldered and he dropped his voice an octave. “I eat dinner here every Wednesday around this time. If you decide we’re meant to run into each other again, you know where to find me.”
He’s serious. He’s actually interested in me.
My smile softened and I dropped my tone to match the seriousness of his. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.
“Till next time, then,” he offered with a grin.
“Till next time.”
I walked out of the diner, filled with emotions I didn’t understand. I loved Ben, and I wanted to build a life with him. But when Ethan asked for my number, I regretted not being able to give it to him. I took the long way home, trying to sort out my feelings.
I’m exhausted and my head isn’t on straight. Ben and I haven’t had much time together since school started. That’s why I got so caught up in Ethan’s flirting. I didn’t cross any lines. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, I don’t need to see Ethan McAlister ever again.
***
On the second Friday of the school year, I reached a milestone in my class. Not one single child cried about missing their parents. I rewarded myself with a hot bath, followed by a night in bed with a bottle of wine and a week’s worth of television. I turned my alarm off before I drifted off, determined to sleep in Saturday morning. My friend Melissa had other ideas. She called bright and early at seven a.m.
“This better be good,” I mumbled into the phone.
“Good morning, sunshine. I’m sorry to wake you. I thought you’d be up by now.”
I pushed myself up against the headboard and reached for the bottle of water on my nightstand. My mouth tasted like sour wine and a dull throb filled the back of my head.
“Monday through Friday, I would be. On the weekends, I sleep,” I reminded her.
“Right, I’ll try to remember that next time.”
“It’s okay,” I replied through a yawn. “What’s going on?”
“I’m about to go watch the Stallions practice. I’m interviewing some of the players after, and I have an extra press badge.”
The Stallions were Portland’s new professional football team. The city had been petitioning the powers that be for years, and eighteen months ago, they finally gave their formal approval. The Stallions were owned by Victor Montez, Oregon’s wealthiest citizen. Montez had spent his career building an empire of casinos. He’d moved to Portland after selling out to Montgomery Enterprises, an even larger chain of destination resorts. Rumor had it that he’s a hot head and incredibly difficult to work with. Sportscasters insisted he was exactly who you’d want in charge of a startup team.
“You’re going to the stadium?”
“Yes. Phillip was supposed to go, but his kid has the chickenpox. He’s never had it before, and the last thing he wants to do is walk into practice like Typhoid Mary. Bill threw it to me, said it was my chance to prove I could hold my own with the sports desk. I know it’s short notice, but I have an extra press pass and I thought Ben might like to tag along and fanboy out while I get my interviews.”
“Aw, man, he would have loved that. But he’s working at the club today.”
“Even better. You can come with me and we can gawk at the hot football players,” she suggested and I could almost hear her waggling her eyebrows.
“I don’t know. It sounds like fun. But I had such a long week. I was really looking forward to doing nothing today.”
“I promise you won’t have to do anything physically or mentally exerting,” she pleased. “It’s going to be a beautiful day. You don’t have to do anything but sit in the stands and soak up the sunshine.”
“Okay,” I finally agreed.
“Great. We’re supposed to be there at noon, so I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
“I’ll see you then. Thanks for inviting me, Mel.”
“No problem. I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the call and let the phone fall to my bed. I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and then dove back between my sheets. I chased two Advil with the rest of my water and told myself I was just going to close my eyes until the throbbing stopped. I woke up three and a half hours later.
Shit, shit, shit. Melissa will be here in thirty minutes and I’m still in my pajamas.
I threw open my closet door and grabbed my go-to boyfriend jeans and a blue and grey raglan t-shirt. I stuffed my feet into black Converse and trudged back to the bathroom to check my reflection. The extra hours of sleep hadn’t done anything to improve my bloodshot hangover eyes and my long hair hung limply around my tan face.
Screw it. I’ll just throw on a hat and a pair of sunglasses. It’s not like I’ll run into anyone I know. But I’ve got to stop making a habit of leaving the house like this.
I swiped a light layer of powder over my face and tied my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. From there, I moved on to the kitchen, brewed myself a cup of coffee, and rifled through my fridge for something that would pass for breakfast. I settled on a yogurt, which I ate over my sink. My doorbell rang just as I set my second cup of coffee to brew.
I opened the door and Melissa greeted me with a broad smile and a bag from the Eight Street Bakery.
“Cinnamon chip scone,” she explained, thrusting the bag into my hand. “I thought you might need a pick me up. You sounded exhausted when I talked to you this morning. Please tell me you were able to get back to sleep. I felt like an ass for waking you.”
I tossed the bag next to my purse on the coffee table and turned back toward the kitchen.
“I just woke up about half an hour ago,” I explained. “Let me pour my coffee into a travel cup and I’ll be ready.”
“We have a little time, if you want to finish your makeup.”
I didn’t even get insulted at the hint. “I’m just going to throw on a hat and sunglasses. There’s no point in doing my face when everyone’s eyes will be stuck to you,” I insisted. “You really do look fabulous.”
Melissa held a hand to her flawless chocolate complexion and smiled back at me. “Do you really think so? I
finally had a reason to use my ‘on camera’ makeup my Mom gave me when I landed the job at the station. I was a little worried I’d gone overboard.”
“I think you look perfect. After today, the viewers will be insisting that you cover the sports desk. You know as much, if not more, than the men and you look three times as good doing the commentary.”
The motivation behind my comment was easing Melissa’s obvious nerves, but that didn’t make the words any less true. Melissa grew up in Portland as the only girl in a family of eight kids. She was also the baby and spent her childhood cheering her seven older brothers on from the sidelines of their various athletic events. Melissa paid attention and by the time she was twelve, she was offering her brothers’ coaches pointers during practices.
And Melissa wasn’t just smart. She was also drop dead gorgeous. Her skin was smooth and clear, the color of coffee with just a hint of cream in it. She had dark, doe-like eyes, beautiful, perfectly straight teeth, and the kind of body most people could only achieve with the help of a plastic surgeon: curvy and alluring, without an ounce of extra fat.
“I’m ready when you are,” I announced, stepping back into the living room with my coffee. I tossed one of Ben’s club ball caps on my head and slung my purse over my shoulder. I held my coffee and scone in one hand and locked the front door with the other.
“I can’t believe I’m finally getting some airtime,” Melissa said, her words brimming with anxiety. We buckled ourselves into her Subaru and she backed out of her parking space.
“I’m so proud of you, Mel. I really think this will be your big break. Just try to relax and be yourself during the interviews. The rest will take care of itself.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said, navigating through the city. “I need to think about something else. Distract me. What’s been going on with you?”
“Same old, same old. I’ve settled back into my school routine. And I think most of my kids have gotten the swing of things. Aside from that, I’ve just been spending time with Ben and hanging out with Uncle Walt. He’s met a woman and retired, by the way.”
Melissa’s eyes widened. “She must be one hell of a woman.”