“Okay, I’m starving. You’ll just have to man up and eat something,” Lou said.
“I’m fine now. Where to?” Al said with a smile, realizing it was true.
“Corn on the cob, for sure, then whatever grabs us.”
They spent the next hour nibbling their way through the food stalls, sharing spiral-cut potatoes, pork sandwiches, and cream puffs. They found a table in one of the many shaded beer gardens, and Lou retrieved some ice-cold Summer Shandys to go with their food. The beer had a light lemon edge that offset the malt, making it an ideal hot-summer-day drink. The potato spirals, long twirls coated in bright orange cheese, combined the thin crispiness of a potato chip with a French fry. And the cream puffs . . . The size of a hamburger on steroids, the two pâte à choux ends showcased almost two cups of whipped cream—light, fluffy, and fresh. Al had watched the impressive assembly line make it while they waited.
As he watched Lou devour her cream puff, Al’s stomach still roiled, but now for different reasons. Today, he would tell Lou about his job. He wanted to ask her on an official date but needed to reveal his secret identity first. He wanted her to know everything about him and A. W. Wodyski.
• • • • •
Lou slid into the chair next to Al, so they sat side by side. She handed Al an already-sweating beer bottle and set the cheesy potatoes between them. She smiled a little at his appearance, his hair out of place and damp around the edges. He wore jeans (thank God he hadn’t worn khakis). His light-colored polo showed evidence of butter gone amiss while he was eating corn on the cob.
As favorite annual events go, State Fair topped her list. She always came early for breakfast and to beat the worst of the crowds. Now it was early afternoon and people poured in. The barns crawled with strollers, crying and sticky children, and tired-looking parents. And the people watching didn’t get better.
Al sampled their potato spirals, leaving a smudge of cheese on the corner of his mouth. Lou smiled and picked up a napkin.
“Hold still—the cheese is fighting back.”
Using her napkin-wrapped thumb, she brushed the cheese away, briskly at first, then slower as she became distracted. His lips were wet from the beer and full from the heat. Using her bare fingers, she grazed his bottom lip. Al’s blue eyes ignited. The beer tent and exhausted families disappeared. She only saw him, felt his shallow breath caress her fingertips, shooting desire through her. Every part of her was hot and electric and hungry.
Lou leaned toward him, seeing her hand tremble against his mouth. She licked her lips and saw her hunger reflected in Al’s eyes. This was happening. The world seemed to shudder.
“Mommy, why is that lady touching his face?”
A high-pitched voice broke the spell like a snowball to the face. Lou and Al both turned to see a sweaty mom and chocolate-smeared boy sitting across the table from them. A large diaper bag now dominated the table—that explained the shudder. The mom glared at Al and Lou as if they had interrupted her. Lou glared back.
“She is wiping something off his face, Hunter, like Mommy wipes your face.”
“Why can’t he wipe his own? He’s a big boy.”
Al and Lou laughed.
“You’re right,” said Lou to Hunter. “He is a big boy. But sometimes big boys need help. Like you need help to get all that chocolate off your face.” She pushed a stack of napkins across the table and smiled at Hunter’s mom, who snatched the napkins and set to work.
Lou gave a small smile to Al. He wiped his damp palm on his pant leg and pulled a folded newspaper article from his jeans pocket. He carefully unfolded it, flattened it a little on the sticky picnic table, and passed it to Lou.
“I thought you’d like to read this,” he said.
She took the article and looked down to give it her proper attention. The article wasn’t long, maybe a column and a half, with a long crease down the middle. But after reading the headline and byline, Lou almost blacked out. She clenched her teeth, dug her nails into fleshy palms, and flared her nostrils to take in the deep breaths she needed. She’d thought she had come to terms with the events of the past four months. She accepted that closing the restaurant made business sense, but seeing the name A. W. Wodyski in print ripped open all the old wounds that had barely healed over. She felt raw, exposed, and cold despite the warm day.
“Why are you giving this to me?” she hissed.
Al looked a little stunned. “I thought you’d like to read it . . . er . . . It’s a good review on The Good Land. We had such a lovely meal there. And Chef Tom is your friend.” Al widened his eyes at Lou’s vehemence.
Lou noticed Al’s discomfort and struggled to rein her rampaging emotions back in. Hunter and his mom were watching her, too. She took a deep breath and focused on the gesture.
“You’re right—we had a wonderful time there, but I prefer to make my own opinions about restaurants rather than listen to some overeducated pompous ass.” Hunter’s mom flinched at the profanity. “Thank you for thinking of me. I shouldn’t have blown a gasket like that.” Lou crumpled the paper in one hand and shoved it deep into her favorite red purse.
Al’s eyebrows scrunched. “Blown a gasket? I’m not sure I get that one.”
Lou laughed and the anger subsided. “I’m sorry. It means I got angry, but not at you. You don’t have anything to do with it. It’s all work related and this article reminded me of it. It’s not fair you had to take the brunt of it, especially since our outings have been the ideal escape from my stress. Ready for another beer before we leave?”
Al nodded slowly, his brow still furrowed, and Lou stood to get another beer.
She felt a little guilty for scaring him with her reaction. Too bad she had to work later today; she didn’t want today to end. Perhaps she should invite Al to Luella’s—then it could continue.
But she cherished their time as a work-free zone. If he knew the wreck her life really was, he’d want nothing to do with her. She didn’t want anything to do with herself. And they had been so close to kissing—if it hadn’t been for little Hunter. It wasn’t all in her head. He seemed to share her feelings. She had wanted to kiss him. She still wanted to kiss him.
• • • • •
“When you asked me to pick you up for work, I thought you’d be ready,” said Sue as she followed Lou into her kitchen. Lou saw the flashing green light and pushed Delete.
“Sorry, I got back later than expected,” Lou said. She smiled a toothy, sheepish grin at Sue’s stern face. She set her red purse on her bed, added the green metal water bottle with her bank’s logo on the side, and a stack of fresh bandannas. As she crammed the items into her bag, she felt resistance and heard a crunch of paper. Crap, she’d have to clean that out later.
“Hey, it’s not me who Harley will complain about,” Sue said.
“No, of course. You don’t do anything wrong in Harley’s eyes.”
Sue’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
Lou finished zippering the purse and lifted the strap over her head. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. What do you mean by that?”
“Everyone knows you and Harley . . . like each other.”
“Well, of course we do. So what if we like each other. I like you; what’s the deal?”
“I mean ‘like’ like. You both make googly eyes at each other’s backs when you think no one’s looking. It’s really cute.”
“We do not.” Sue walked out of the apartment, past Lou.
“If you say so . . .” Lou shrugged her shoulders and headed down the stairs. Sue smiled.
“He makes googly eyes?”
“Just like you do.”
Sue absorbed that information, a quiet smile on her lips, then returned her laser eyes to Lou.
“So, what prompted the lateness?”
Lou pursed her lips, then sighed.
“Gah! I don’t know. I’m not good at this. I think he wants to kiss me. I know I want to kiss him, but something al
ways interrupts and ruins the moment. Today, it was a chocolate-smeared little kid whose mom acted like we were making out on the beer tent table.”
As they stepped onto the street in front of Lou’s apartment, Sue nudged her shoulder.
“Just grab him and get it over with.”
Lou rolled her eyes.
“Do you not know me at all? I am not the instigator in anything.”
“Sweetie, that needs to change if you’re ever going to get what you want.”
• • • • •
“Do you think she’s crazy?” John asked as he spun around in his office chair to face Al’s desk.
“What? No,” Al said. A little surprised by John’s comment, he turned to face him and gestured with his hands for John to speak quietly.
“You sure?”
“Yes, she’s not crazy. She has never done anything crazy.”
“Until now. That’s how the really crazy ones work. You go along, everything’s all smiles and sunshine, then bam! You’re tied up in a gas station bathroom being fed Cheez Whiz through a funnel.”
“Wh-what?”
John nodded knowingly. “She’s a crazy. How else do you explain it?”
“She crumpled up a piece of paper. Does that really qualify as mental? I don’t think so.”
“She crumpled up your article. You said she got all scary, like she gave in to her dark side, then shoved her crazy back in the closet.”
“Yeah, that’s not quite how I described it. But it definitely revealed a setback. Clearly, she’s not too fond of my critiques.”
Al grabbed a fistful of hair, leaned back in his chair to stare at the fluorescents. He could still feel her fingertips on his lips. If it weren’t for that chocolate-dipped kid, he could have finally escaped the friend zone.
“You act like it’s a bad thing if she’s crazy,” John said.
“Isn’t it?”
“Not at all. The crazies are great in bed.”
Al let out a sigh, sat up in his chair, and said, “Dare I ask how you know this?”
“Duh, how do you not know that? It’s natural law, like gravity.” John smiled, or at least his beard moved upward.
Al laughed.
“Now, back to the matter at hand: how do I tell Lou what I do for a living? I’ll need to spin it just right.”
“You tried. Why do you even need to tell her? Let it go and enjoy her company as long as it lasts.”
Al rubbed his hands on his pants and looked at the floor.
“I don’t want to leave Milwaukee anymore,” he said quickly, stringing the words together into one mashed sentence.
John’s mouth quirked.
“What was that? You don’t want to leave anymore? Has my fair city grown on you? Or, perhaps, just one fine lady?”
Al smiled, accepting any ribbing as his due.
“It’s both. I do really like Lou, but Milwaukee has wormed its way into my heart. My short-sightedness kept me from seeing it sooner.”
John got up and clapped his hand on Al’s shoulder.
“Glad you’ve finally come to your senses. Now, back to your secret-identity reveal. You’re not telling her you run a drug cartel. Just spit it out. Get it over with; then you can get to the crazy stuff.”
Al rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “I think you might be right, at least about the spitting-it-out part. Thanks, John.”
“That’s me, the Dear Abby of smitten men everywhere.”
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •
A large stage towered in front of the audience, plaid- and green-clad revelers dancing the best they could with a beer in one hand. The loud music gave Al a reason to lean closer to Lou while the partiers gave him an excuse to keep touching her so they wouldn’t get separated.
“I can’t believe they’re here. I loved these guys at university,” Al said into Lou’s ear so she could hear him above his favorite band from home, his lips touching her hair.
Irish Fest won as his favorite Milwaukee event. While not the homesick type, he missed HobNobs, Cadbury Flake bars, and good tea and he could buy them all here. The fiddle and bodhran called to a part of him he usually ignored.
Lou had surprised him late this morning with a simple text.
Irish Fest? You free?
He’d had a reservation at a new Italian trattoria, but he canceled it. They arrived late afternoon, walked the grounds, argued about their favorite dog breed (he always fancied an Irish wolfhound but he wouldn’t hold Lou’s preference for Westies against her), and watched the afternoon parade, complete with bagpipes and dancers.
“Why do I find it so hard to imagine you partying in college?” Lou said.
“That’s because I went to university. And we didn’t party—we had diversions.”
“Complete with picnic baskets and polo, I suppose.”
“Precisely.”
Lou turned to see whether he was teasing. And he was, only partly. He had attended a lot of polo matches, since Ian was the captain. Those days seemed so far away from the evening’s muggy air. After he’d danced in the crowd, sweat dampened his hair. He couldn’t hear drums and fiddle without at least tapping his toes. Even back at university he couldn’t help patting his hand on his leg under the table. Ian’s crowd didn’t dance at pubs, even when the music was good. Here, he could dance a jig, sing a song, or slop a little beer.
Lightning flashed behind the overpass looming over the stage. A few cool bursts of air chilled his damp neck. The band played on.
“I think a storm’s rolling in. Will the band have to stop?”
“It depends on lightning, I think.”
In answer, thunder boomed and the sky dropped its cargo. Before the band could finish announcing their forced break, the crowd scattered. Lou and Al looked for shelter, but every spot filled. Within a minute shelter didn’t matter anymore.
Before the downpour, Al had thought Lou looked alluring in her pale pink T-shirt and simple flowered skirt. Her soft brown waves bounced around her shoulders with the humidity. She was simply beautiful. But with the addition of water, she evolved into a siren. Her thin cotton clothes clung to every curve. She slicked her hair away from her face, as if emerging from an enchanted lake. He simply had to touch her.
Without the band playing, Irish music piped through the speakers to fill the dead air until the concert could begin again. Al remembered a dance from festivals back home. The steps were simple and repetitive, and he recalled the basics. Soaked from the warm rain, there seemed no point in finding shelter now. He pulled Lou into his arms.
“Let’s dance,” Al said.
“Really?” Lou’s eyebrows rose, then she nodded.
Al set one of her hands on his shoulder, the other he held. He slid his spare hand down the curve of her hip. What was he thinking, trying to dance? His chest constricted as his hands warmed from the heat of her skin through her wet shirt.
Think about the steps.
“Do you know how to polka?” Al asked.
Lou rolled her eyes.
“Have I taught you nothing about Wisconsin? Any respectable Badgers fan knows how to polka. Honestly.”
Lou smiled, her eyes sparkling in the rain, the lashes clumping from the wet.
Al listened to the music to catch the beat, then started moving his feet to the music. Lou watched for a few seconds, then picked up his movements. They stayed in the same spot until he felt that she had the timing.
“Ready to spin?” Al said.
“Spin . . . ?”
But Al had already started turning them in tight circles. Lou’s look of surprise almost made him stop; then she laughed.
“Wasn’t expecting that.”
For the rest of the song, they plunged through the puddles, rain still pouring down, streaming off their faces as they turned. While everyone else huddled to stay dry, he and Lou had the entire area as their personal ballroom. The clean smell of rain washed away the day’s dirt
and festival scents. The splash of their feet and pounding water muffled the music. They felt the heavy bodhran thumping more than they heard it. When the song ended, he couldn’t tell whether he was more out of breath from the fast dancing or the laughter, but he wished for another song as an excuse to keep her in his arms.
Al looked down at Lou. When they first met as he shivered in line at the newsstand, he hadn’t imagined her soaking wet, laughing and dancing in a summer thunderstorm with him. All the crowds, all the noise, all the distractions floated away until he saw only Lou standing in front of him. He could smell her, the rain intensifying the scent of vanilla at such a close distance. Her breath warmed the exposed skin on his throat. Everything felt more intense. He was a man tasting life for the first time.
They stood in the slackening rain, gazes locked, brown to blue. He couldn’t look away. Her wet hair stuck in strands to her face and a drop of water dangled on the tip of her nose. She licked her lips. He wanted to taste those lips, too, but not yet.
Pull it together, mate.
To break the silence Al said, “You’re a brilliant dancer.”
“What can I say? I’m a delight.”
Lou spread her arms wide. Al, thinking she planned to kiss him, wrapped his arms around her. Her lips formed a surprised O, arms still spread, as he leaned in for a kiss. In the confusion, he missed her mouth, making contact with her right nostril instead. In hopes of salvaging his romantic attempt, she wrapped her arms around him, too, and tilted her head upward.
“Elizabeth?” a male voice said.
Al jumped away from Lou as her energized body deflated. She turned toward the intruder.
“Devlin.”
Al’s mouth opened in shock. “This is Devlin?” He studied the well-dressed, dry man in front of him. Al hated him. He wasn’t just attractive but great looking. From all the time spent with John, he could see that every item Devlin wore was the best available. This man could clearly give Lou anything she wanted.
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 13