Innocent Ride

by Robertson, Alethea

  “Yes?” I croaked.

  He didn’t have to introduce himself, but he did anyway. Before I could think clearly, we were scheduled for tea Saturday afternoon at the bookstore. This made sleep difficult because Saturday was day after tomorrow. Also, I hadn’t been on a date since my ex and I had separated in our last year of college, which was about six months ago. I’d decided then not to date until I could attract the kind of guy I wanted—my prince charming, my Romeo…

  Friday morning came so quickly I almost missed it. I was running late. I loaded the kombucha box into my bug and hopped into the driver’s seat. The engine whined, taking way too much effort to turn over. I made a mental note to take her in. I would call the mechanic today. The last thing I wanted was to get stranded somewhere.

  At work, after slipping into my cubicle with just enough time to sign in, I was waiting for my first call when Oliver bobbed his head above our divider. His sweater vest was green today, highlighting the jade in his eyes. “Morning Candace. Angel call you?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “We’re meeting tomorrow.”

  “Oh, goodie! I knew it!” You’d think he was the one going on the date. Then I remembered his kombucha and grabbed a bottle from the box.

  “Ooo, guava, my favorite.” He disappeared for a moment and reappeared with three dollar bills in his hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, and we exchanged.

  “Thank you. Your brew is the best!” Then he pointed in irritation to his earpiece, indicating a call coming in, as if it was a major inconvenience to receive a phone call in a call center. He ducked into his box, reciting his script as he went.

  During my break, I stopped by Carrie’s desk and handed her a bottle.

  She removed herself from the call queue to avoid an interruption.

  “Oh, I love this stuff. I think it’s working,” she said, admiring her reflection in the hand mirror hanging from a tack on her partition. Her straightened blonde strands were longer today, and chic. The checkered miniskirt and black top she wore matched it perfectly, and the four-inch heels made her my height. She always dressed up. Come to think of it, I’d never seen her dressed casual at work. I glanced at my feet, noticing that the white flip-flops weren’t exactly business causal and didn’t quite go with my blouse. But it was casual Friday. Maybe no one would notice.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Carrie, you’re already young.”

  At the coffee machine in the break room, I filled my cup with hot water and grabbed a green tea bag.

  “Hey Candace,” Pete’s voice boomed. I turned around, thankful to have my kombucha box with me, and, here in front of me, another soul bound to the grip of the all-consuming sugar! It was time to save his gut…

  “Hey Pete, how’s it going?”

  “S’okay,” he droned, filling his big gulp.

  “I have something for you.” I handed him a kombucha bottle. At his confusion, I added, “It’s complimentary.”

  “This that mushroom stuff?”

  I almost groaned. Why did everyone call it that? “It’s not a mushroom,” I said. “It’s a SCOBY—a symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeasts.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s beneficial bacteria that consumes harmful bacteria and heals the gut, where most diseases are born.”

  “Huh?”

  “It makes you lose weight, slows aging, and gives you lotsa energy.”

  “Cool. I’ve been trying to lose weight.” Pete sucked in his gut. “That’s why I switched to diet.”

  “You’re on a diet?” I asked.

  “Diet Coke.” He grinned, but as he looked at the kombucha bottle, his grin faded, even curled a little. “What’s this stuff floating around in it?”

  “That’s the beneficial bacteria. It’s good for you. We need that in our bodies.”

  But all he heard was, “Bacteria?”

  “It’s the healthy part,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said. He lifted the bottle at me in thanks and started walking out.

  “Let me know if you like it,” I called after him. “I can make other flavors.”

  Before sitting down in my box, as I was savoring my final minute of freedom, I got the uneasy feeling that I was being watched. But when I looked, the only one standing was Robbie. I threw him a quick smile before signing in, wondering how he and Lucy were doing, now that he had the bike. I wondered if that was why he was acting strange. He could be hurting.

  Breaks were on company time but I reminded myself that I’d signed that contract willingly and freely. And if I hadn’t signed so freely, I wouldn’t have this job. I pushed the button, binding myself to the phone until lunch. The room was quiet, though I could hear my closest neighbor’s scripted greeting loud and clear.

  “Hello, thank you for calling the Insurance Company, how may I serve you?” I heard Oliver gag. Hopefully he’d muted the phone.

  “Uh-huh,” Oliver said. “Oh, right. That’s not covered. Nope, not covered. Not that, either. Well, sir, I dunno what your premium pays for. But it’s not any of those things.”

  The first few minutes passed without a call so I recited the mantra taped to the computer screen.

  At lunch, Carrie and I were the only two in the break room. Other times of the year we might have eaten outside, but summer in Kansas was too sweltering and heavy to enjoy fresh air, even when it rained. That would soon be over, though, as fall had already declared its intent to take over.

  “I don’t think I have a purpose,” I said, answering Carrie’s interrogation. Yesterday’s lunch had had so many interruptions, Carrie had forgotten all about my reading. Today, she had nothing else to focus on. “I’m just supposed to fall in love.”

  “That suits you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “C’mon, Candace. It’s all you read. Admit it. You’re a hopeless romantic.”

  “That’s not all I read.” I read fantasy, too. “Besides, if I’m a hopeless romantic, why don’t I have my Romeo?”

  “Because you’re a hopeless romantic.” She laughed and stuffed a bite of baby romaine into her mouth. She knew she was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “You’re never gonna find someone like that. Is that all you went to the psychic for, your purpose?”

  “She’s an astrologer,” I corrected, maybe a little too indignantly. Well, Alice was technically a witch who also knew astrology, but I thought the point was moot. “Oprah said first order of business is to find your purpose. Or you’re just roaming. So, that’s what I wanted to know.”

  “I don’t think that’s what she means,” Carrie said thoughtfully.

  “What who means?” Pete said as he entered the break room. He set his cafeteria tray on the table and plopped into his usual seat. The robust aroma of roast beef and vegetables filled the air.

  “She’s trying to find her life purpose,” Carrie said.

  “Hey, Dude, saw your bike this morning,” Pete said. I looked up. Robbie had just stepped into the room. “Nice!”

  Robbie nodded as he pulled out a chair. “Thanks. Ladies.” He nodded at us.

  “Hey, Robbie,” Carrie and I said together.

  “That means no wedding, right?” Carrie said, as if yesterday’s interrogation hadn’t been enough.

  “Oh, right…Right on,” Pete said. “Yeah, keep the bike, man. You’ll have more fun with that.”

  “How could you say that, Pete?” I asked. He had the perfect marriage, proving that even someone like Sally could find true love. I bet he’d be even happier if he replaced his Coke habit with kombucha. Not that I was one to talk, I thought, remembering last night’s sweet chocolate affair.

  “So, uh…did Angel call?” Robbie asked.

  “Yep,” Oliver said as he sauntered to the table. “They have a date Saturday,” he sang.

  Robbie was visibly dismayed. It probably wasn’t a good idea to talk about romance around someone experiencing troubles in that department.

  “Oh. Rob
bie,” I said, remembering. I handed him the last bottle of kombucha.

  “Thanks.” He slipped a five from his pocket and handed it to me. His fingers brushed mine and a shock ran through me. Strange, I thought. I fished two dollar bills from my purse and handed them to him.

  “You gonna actually drink that this time?” Oliver said, gesturing at Robbie’s bottle. “Or you gonna add it to the collection in your drawer? I dunno why you keep buying that stuff if you’re not— Ow! What was that for?”

  “Oh, sorry, my foot slipped.” Robbie lowered his head, and he was the same old Robbie, young and sweet, his face fully flushed and glowing.

  “Into my shin?” Oliver rubbed his shin.

  Robbie ignored him and gave me a sheepish shrug as if to say he had no idea what Oliver was talking about.

  Chapter 4

  SATURDAY ARRIVED BEFORE I could protest. Getting ready for tea with my possible prince charming seemed the perfect opportunity to nitpick my figure. I decided the mirror added more weight than was actually there, though my skirt zipper had something else to say about that. Plaid skirts were in, weren’t they? Fashion was the hardest subject for me in college. I’d never actually taken a fashion class, but I’d always felt I was graded on it. I added a white button-up blouse and topped off the ensemble with Shannen’s hug, my comfy, sparkly red slip-ons. I clicked my heels and headed out the door.

  I was thirty minutes early and it was a good thing, too, because I’d forgotten the book that would identify me. Good thing it was a bookstore. I roamed the classics shelves until I found the epic, gothic love triangle. Oh, how I hoped to be so much smarter than Catherine. Angel was using the same book. Could he be a romantic, too? It was possible. Or had he just agreed to my first book suggestion? I held the book behind me as I walked—just in case. What if he was a creep, or a coward who slouched and gawked? I couldn’t handle one of those. Or worse—what if he was too good for me? I couldn’t let him get to know me then, could I? Then I saw it.

  At the edge of a tiny corner table, a single, crisp, unused copy lay facing the café, as if on display. Maybe, like me, he’d forgotten his own copy and had to supplement. It could be sitting, dog-eared and worn, next to his favorite reading chair. The man belonging to the unread book had his nose buried in another book. A non-fiction book on…did that say Gut Health? My heart smiled.

  He was so buried in the book all I could see was the top of his head, his raven hair tousled to the side. I slipped into the seat, hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding in my chest. But when he looked up I nearly fell over. It was his eyes that first caught me off guard, sharp and penetrating and warm all at the same time. They looked at me with something more pure than joy, hooking me and reeling me in like in a trance.

  “Candace,” he said, his silky voice melting my insides. He smiled, his perfect, bow lips stretching to the edge of his dimpled cheeks.

  I nodded. “Whatcha reading?” It was all I could think of to say to get my mind off what he could be thinking of me.

  “Oh, this?” He shrugged. “Just a book on disease born in the gut. Boring stuff.” His voice carried so far I wondered if he thought he was on stage speaking to someone in the back of the theater. It put me on guard. Hopefully the topic wouldn’t wander into anything too personal. I wouldn’t want it broadcasted across the café.

  “That’s actually not boring,” I said.

  Once we got the awkward introductions out of the way—turned out Angel was a teacher—we eased into conversation semi-naturally. Eventually, I started to feel comfortable, though that comfort didn’t reach my palpitating chest.

  “You don’t like fiction?” I asked after a comment he’d made. My voice sounded defensive, even to me. But what kind of person didn’t read fiction? That was like a person who didn’t feel…or eat.

  “No, no, I do, just not too much. I need something grounded in the real world. Something true.”

  “You can find more truth in fiction than nonfiction.” I smiled.

  “Is that so?” His cheeks colored and I wondered if that had been rude of me to say.

  “Well, not the actual story, but maybe the human element…”

  “What do you read?” He peered down at me, as if I were one of his students.

  “Everything,” I said. “And every kind of fiction.” I offered another smile. He returned it, baring neatly crooked teeth and dimples. His cheeks looked baby soft, like he’d rubbed oil on them every day of his life. He couldn’t be eight years older than me, I thought. Oliver was right. Angel was pretty easy to look at. And down-to-earth. So down-to-earth, in fact, that he was grounded in the real world. But we already had to be in the real world every working day of the week. Why would anyone want to escape to it?

  Angel told me everything Oliver had already filled me in on earlier, but I thought it best not to mention it and just let him talk. Besides, his voice was very soothing when it wasn’t at max volume.

  I shared my boring story in the call center, how it wasn’t exactly what I was expecting after four years of torturing my intellect. Then I shared a little about my dream. Just a little; most people crushed dreams with their fears, so I kept the info to a minimum.

  “What do you talk about in your blog?” he asked.

  “Mostly I just share what I learn about sugar and other poisons in our food. Like hydrogenated oils, palm oils, high-fructose corn syrup…” Despite my decision not to go into detail, I blathered for a long time, but the strangest thing happened…or didn’t happen. Angel’s eyes didn’t gloss over, like most people’s do. He actually looked interested. Wouldn’t that be the ideal soul mate? Someone I could openly and freely share my deepest passions with? I found myself telling him about my brewing, about the SCOBY, the fermenting, and what kombucha could do for the gut.

  “Kombucha,” he said. “I’ve been reading about that. Very interesting.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “And then there’s kefir and fermented foods…” We compared each other’s findings, and, just as I felt we were enjoying each other, I had to go and open my big, fat mouth.

  “This is not a date, by the way,” I said. Angel cocked his head and I added, “We’re just friends hanging out at the book store.”

  “Oh…kay…you don’t date, I take it?” Angel asked thoughtfully.

  I shook my head. “I’d rather not. It doesn’t make any sense, does it? With all the implications and expectations. Too much pressure. I just wanna fall in love. I want my soul mate.”

  Angel choked on his coffee. After a short coughing fit, he said, “Oh, no, that doesn’t create any pressure at all…”

  My cheeks burned at his sarcasm. I still felt the need to explain myself. “I always thought I’d fall in love with a friend. How could I be comfortable with anything less than a friend? Don’t you think dating is trying to force that?”

  He was thoughtful for a moment—the perfect amount of time to notice the curls outlining his eyes. Unbelievable. Women tortured their lids to get lashes like that. His came free of pain. “Yeah, I guess so,” he finally said, and shrugged. “But people just date.”

  It was a sensible answer. Angel had clearly been doing this for a long time.

  “But, I see what you’re saying,” he pointed out thoughtfully. He pronounced his words deliberately, like he was talking to a child. I was that child. “What about friending? Can we call it friending?” He smiled and I wasn’t sure if he was seeing my side of the argument or just teasing me.

  “Okay. Friending.” I gave him my best smile, feeling his gaze on me, warming me from the inside out.

  Monday morning I woke an hour earlier than usual to something in my dream. It made my stomach tighten for no reason I could conclude or remember. After a hearty bowl of organic oatmeal, shaved apple, and cinnamon—and sugar! (Against my violent protest…. Its seductive sweetness took me every time!)—I settled into my bug for the ride to work, remembering my promise to her. How could I have forgotten to take the car in all weekend? Well, she hadn’t given
me any trouble all weekend, that’s how. That, and Angel was a slight distraction. The thought of him made me blush, right there behind the wheel in my garage. Then I realized something. We’d met on Saturday. It was Monday and he hadn’t called yet. Just what was the protocol for calling?

  I turned the key. The bug struggled for a moment, then jerked into an indecisive idle. Then we were off.

  I was trudging across the parking lot to The Insurance Company call center, in line with the herd of zombielike employees, when something happened that changed everything I knew to be true.

  A rumbling motorcycle stopped right in my path and a thick, black boot dropped to the pavement. I looked up. I knew nothing about bikes, but I could tell this one was an older bike. The handle bars curved up, but not too high. The pipes were shiny and vibrating. The engine’s growl was a loud popping sound, but it wasn’t as deafening as some that had passed me on the road. There was a sleekness to its frame that was almost sexy—or maybe the guy sitting astride it made it sexy. The thought made me want to laugh.

  Robbie curled his crooked lips into a cheese-eating grin. He looked…different. More confident, maybe? His hair seemed longer, and so perfectly windblown from the ride in. I could see more of its color in the morning light, a chestnut I’d never noticed before. A rugged shadow outlined his cheeks with crimson. Maybe it was the angle, or the morning sun, but he was definitely not the boy I had known yesterday. My heart shot into my throat and I lost the ability to speak.

  Robbie killed the engine, leaned the bike onto its kickstand, and dismounted. Even his walk seemed…poised. “Hey, Candace. You okay?”

  I was hoping the shock didn’t show on my face. I gathered myself and cleared my throat. “Where’s your helmet?” It was all I could think to say. I looked down and resumed walking as he fell in next to me.

  He frowned. “Can’t fully experience the ride with a helmet.”

  “Not a good idea, Robbie.” I shuttered at the thought of anything happening to this kid. Well, he was six months my junior. I could totally call him a kid.