Crossing Paths

by Melanie Stinnett

  She never let me live down that first interaction. She would often ask me if my nose was numb from being stuck in my homework. Lesson learned: Always ask for names and credentials before beginning a conversation.

  For today’s good impression, first on my checklist is a killer outfit. I stole a few pieces from Caroline’s closet. I doubt she would ever miss such a miniscule slice of her wardrobe. I slip on the beautiful green top and knee-length pencil skirt. After pairing the outfit with some killer black heels, I survey myself in the mirror. This will definitely turn heads while still looking professional. It’s nothing like what I normally wear, even to work, but I need to stand out for this meeting.

  Second, I have to be prepared for absolutely any scenario. Along with the pages my boss gave me, I have a few notes of my own. Of course, my thoughts are a last resort since my boss made it clear that his ideas sold the company on letting us have a seat at the table.

  Finally, I need to make lasting contacts. I brought a handful of my new business cards with all the necessary contact information.

  With these three things in place, I’m sure someone will take notice and remember me when I walk out the door.

  My boss emailed a map with walking directions from the hotel to where the meeting is being held. With plenty of time to spare, I leave the hotel, walking at a steady pace. I take in the noises of the city—cars honking, people yelling, and many of my sidewalk companions huffing as they push through to reach their destination quickly. Overall, this city does not give off a friendly feeling, but it’s different, and I can appreciate the unique atmosphere.

  Right before I reach the address of the office building, I notice a construction site blocking not only the road ahead but also the sidewalks leading to the building where my meeting is being held. Batting my eyelashes, I give a sweet smile to a construction worker.

  “Hi, there. Any way you could let me through? I have a meeting in the building just past that fence,” I say, pointing.

  He groans under his breath, obviously annoyed by my presence, and then he spouts off a line that sounds as rehearsed as a Broadway play. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says with no regret on his face. “You’ll have to walk around the block. This area is too dangerous for pedestrians.”

  Ma’am? Do I really look that old…or unattractive? Now, I only have ten minutes until the meeting begins. My feet are already aching from faltering in these heels, and the sun is glaring down on the pavement. Place a big fat checkmark in the unfriendly city column.

  When I take off down the block at a quick pace, I realize that construction has also blocked off the next two cross streets. I become aware of the fact that if I don’t start running, I’m going to be late to this meeting. Regretting my decision to wear heels, I take them off and start a slow jog with the sunlight hitting my face.

  After I finally come around the block, glad to have the sun on my back, I start up the steps to the front doors of the Truman building. All of the sudden, I run smack into the back of a man in an expensive business suit. I fall awkwardly against a railing to the side of the doorway. Feeling a sharp pain around my ribs, I know I’ll have some serious bruises later today.

  “I am so sorry. I’m running late, and I just didn’t see you.” I peer up at the man, but I can’t make out his face. The glare of the sun reflecting off the glass door behind him is making it hard for me to keep my eyes open.

  “No, no. It’s my fault. I stopped too quickly as I came up to the door. Let me help you.” He gently moves toward me, his body blocking the sun’s reflection and bringing his face into view.

  When I see his beautiful hazel eyes, I know he has to hear me gasp.

  “I thought maybe you wouldn’t recognize the stranger you threw a magazine at.” He laughs gently. “By the way, my name is Cohen.”

  Although my face is already heated and likely red from my last-minute jog, I feel it going another shade deeper.

  “Um, I’m so sorry. My name is June.” Placing my hand in his, I allow him to pull me back onto my feet.

  “Well, June. Are you here on business?”

  “Yes, I’m going to a meeting in the Rousch conference room.”

  He tilts his head slightly, grinning down at me. “Let me show you the way. Maybe we can discuss your frequent need to assault me after the meeting, but first, you might want to put on your shoes.”

  Embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover the emotion I’m feeling right now. I pay careful attention to make sure my heels end up on the right feet. Placing his hand on the small of my back, his touch is slight but present as he leads me through the large glass doorway and then over to the elevator. Looking up at him, I smile timidly.

  When we reach the conference room without further assault, I turn to say good-bye.

  “Thank you for showing me where to go. I’m running a little late, so I better get in there,” I say, pointing at the doorway behind me.

  “Oh, I’m not leaving. I’m attending the meeting, too.” He walks through the door, heads over to the refreshment table, and pours himself a cup of coffee.

  I take my seat, which happens to be the only empty seat remaining, and then I watch as Cohen takes his place in the front of the room. This situation is getting worse by the second. My sophomore year experience was trivial compared to the fool I just made of myself.

  Cohen leads the meeting without any hint of awkwardness. I shamelessly stare at him although no one notices because they are all staring, too. Thank God staring is normal when intently listening to someone.

  I force myself to pry my eyes away for a quick review of my notes. Throughout the meeting, I gather myself at the appropriate moments, and I respond based on the guidance my boss has given me, using a couple of points from my personal notes along the way. And then, too quickly, the meeting is over.

  I take off for the restroom, which seems to be my hiding place lately. When I look down at my feet, I notice a few scuff marks on the side of the left shoe. Taking it off, I can see that the red interior of Caroline’s shoes is covered in black. Taking off the other shoe, I notice that the bottoms of my feet are also black from running down the streets, and they’ve ruined the interior. I have no idea how much these cost. Caroline is probably going to kill me when she sees these shoes. I exit the stall, and I wet a few paper towels to clean the bottom of my feet.

  I clean the shoes as best as I can and then peek my head out the restroom door. I can’t see anyone in the hallway, so I leave the restroom and take the elevator downstairs. When the elevator opens on the ground floor, I exit and look toward the lobby doors, preparing myself for the push and shove of the foot traffic on the sidewalks outside.

  “June, wait.”

  I am halfway to the front doors when I turn and see him. I want to run away like I used to run in high school track—without abandon and with stamina. I bet he wouldn’t chase me, not with all these people around. They’d probably think he was trying to hurt me, and they’d stop him from reaching me. Instead, I smile and put my shoulders back. This should be good. He probably wants to talk to me about my unprofessional behavior during the plane ride and on the building steps. I’ll be lucky to have a job when I get back to Texas.

  “Let me take you to lunch.”

  He smiles when my brows furrow in confusion.

  “What?”

  “Let me take you to lunch. We can eat at the airport if you’re flying back today.”

  “Um, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why? Are you planning to beat me with a spoon?” He smirks. “Listen, I’m flying out later today, so I just thought if we’re going to the same place, then maybe we could grab a bite together.”

  I give in, and we agree to have lunch at the airport.

  Two hours later, I exit the cab at the airport and roll my luggage behind me. I enter through a set of sliding doors and I see Cohen sitting on a bench near the check-in desk. I catch his attention with a small wave hello, and he smiles. We both check in at the
kiosk and make our way through security. Being a gentleman, he lifts my luggage onto the security belt, not allowing me to put forth any effort. I catch myself staring at him as he bends to take off his shoes. I linger on his messy dark hair, his shoulders, his arms, his hands, and his shoes. Every part of him is interesting.

  We reach the first busy restaurant, and I stop at the hostess stand.

  “June, would you mind if we ate somewhere else?”

  “Sure.”

  He leads us to a small sandwich shop tucked in a quiet corner. We make our food selections and choose a table in the back of the seating area.

  “Is this against company policy?” I ask.

  “What? Eating lunch with a business associate? I don’t think so.” He smiles.

  Right, June. You are just having a business lunch. Stop taking yourself so seriously. I smile back with some reserve.

  “So, June, do you make a habit out of throwing things, including yourself, at other people?”

  I feel my entire body heat as embarrassment washes over me again. “Not usually. I believe you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

  “Oh, have I? What would it have been like if I caught you at a good time?”

  “First of all, I would have said hello instead of throwing my magazine at you, and then we would have had a wonderful conversation about some mutually interesting topic. Second, the stupid construction worker would have let me through, so I wouldn’t have run into you on the steps. I would have beaten you to the conference room, and then I would have impressed you with my knowledge of media accounts.”

  “I guess I would have been okay with the hello and the conversation, but I rather like the fact that you ran into me.” He pauses, looking down as he twirls his fork between his fingers. “And I was still impressed with you.”

  When he glances back up at me, my heart stutters as I catch a light in his eyes.

  We continue talking about his life back home and our college years. I try to avoid any topics that might bring up awkward stories, which is pretty challenging for me. I’m amazed at how easily our conversation transitions from here to there. He begins telling a story about his dad and a runaway golf cart. About halfway through, I laugh so hard that I have trouble catching my breath.

  A man who can make me laugh—now, that is an important trait.

  Here we go again, June. An important trait for what? A friendship? A business relationship? Obviously, this could never be any other kind of relationship. He is a business associate from another company who lives across the country. Of course, he also happens to be really good-looking, and he seems to have every trait on my secret perfect-man checklist. Maybe I should look on the bright side. At least I am making friends in the industry, which couldn’t be a bad thing.

  After we finish eating with about thirty minutes left until my flight leaves, he walks with me to the gate.

  “It was really great having lunch with you, June.”

  God, I love the way he says my name. “Thanks. I enjoyed it very much.”

  “Here’s my card. Call me if you’re ever up in the Seattle area.”

  I take his card, reach in my purse, and then give him my card as well. We smile at each other, not knowing how to part ways.

  “Do you text?” I sound stupid, but I want to linger in the conversation.

  He nods.

  “We can keep in touch then.”

  He nods again with a slight smile this time.

  “Okay, bye.” I turn and walk toward the gate with my carry-on in tow. It feels much heavier than it did before as the weight of possibilities to come presses for me to stay in this moment.

  After a few more seconds, I turn to watch him walk away. Instead, I find him still facing me, standing in the same spot. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and waves. I return a small wave and head back in the opposite direction with a huge smile on my face.

  When I make it to the gate, I take out my phone and save his number before my clumsiness finds a way to lose his business card.

  Tuesday

  Sleep didn’t come easily last night, and as always, morning came too quickly. Still lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling, going over my current work project. Who am I kidding? I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking of Liam—sexy, funny, and incredibly off-limits Liam.

  I’ve been trying to think of anything other than him since I got his text message yesterday. I grab a magazine off my nightstand and flip through pictures in the “Sexiest Man Alive” article to try and get him off my mind. It doesn’t work. Unfortunately for me, Liam is hotter than most of these guys, and he doesn’t come with a bunch of celebrity baggage.

  How am I going to face June when she gets home? She knows me too well to think I would be worthy enough to date her brother. I mean, we are best friends, and she loves me, but she knows my dating record. She wouldn’t believe for a second that I could be serious about a real relationship.

  Truth be told, I’m vain and sometimes selfish. I want a guy’s life to revolve solely around me. I can’t cook, I hate to clean, and I have always maintained that it would take one hell of a guy to convince me to have children. I’ve seen what a kid can do to a woman’s body in less than a year. I’m not even sure why I am worried about it. There’s no way I am going to tell June about my lunch date with Liam. His text last night had to have been out of kindness to the new girl in town. Wait, did I just say date? Oh well, I don’t think inner monologue counts.

  After wasting precious morning minutes by wallowing in bed, I convince myself to stand up, get ready, and head to work.

  As the day goes by, it continues to be fairly uneventful. Normalcy seems to be back in full swing. Around two o’clock, my phone vibrates from the inside of my purse, which is tucked neatly underneath my desk. Since my boss is out for the afternoon, I dig it out to see who’s calling.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Caroline, I didn’t expect you to answer.”

  “Well, it’s your lucky day. What’s up?”

  “Nothing, sweetie. I’m just sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office.”

  Did she just call me sweetie? That’s strange. “Is everything okay, Mom? Why are you at the doctor’s office today?”

  “Oh, um…just a normal check-up. They told me I might be waiting a little while, so I thought I would give you a call. Are you enjoying Texas and your new job?”

  “Definitely. It’s all great. On Sunday evening, I went to dinner at June’s parents’ house, and it was really nice. Her family is great. Don’t say anything if you happen to talk with her, but her brother is so gorgeous that I can barely keep my eyes off of him. I can’t believe I never noticed a picture of him before.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m glad you are enjoying things there.”

  As her voice cuts out a little, I hear my mom sniff a couple of times.

  “Mom, are you crying?”

  “Heavens, no.” She laughs gently. “I just have a little cold. I’m sure the doctor will give me something to knock it down. Oh, Caroline, they’re calling my name. I need to go. I love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.”

  As the afternoon wears on, I’m distracted. That one simple phone call was the strangest conversation I have ever had with my mom. She didn’t laugh loudly, causing me to pull the phone away from my ear. She didn’t haze me, attempting to make me feel embarrassed about my attraction to my best friend’s brother. And she called me sweetie—twice!

  Although my family is nowhere near as close as June’s seems to be, I have always been able to read my parents pretty well. When my favorite aunt, Karen, passed away, I took one look at my mom’s face and knew something was wrong. When my dad got me crazy awesome seats to the Justin Timberlake concert in high school, I started screaming in excitement before he even pulled the tickets out of his back pocket. Looking back, I guess it was always easy to read their facial expressions. Now, I know something is going on, but the specifics are fuzzy.

  My mind begi
ns to review the worse-case scenarios. Maybe my stepdad, John, is getting laid off. I know the economy has been down, and earlier this year, they were a little worried. Surely, we wouldn’t have gone on that huge vacation if they were still concerned. I’ll have to remember to call John later to do a little more snooping.

  Leaving work, I head to pick up June from the airport. I can’t wait to see her smiling face. I pull up to the curb and watch as June practically skips to the car. Hmm, she seems happier than usual. June is normally happy, but skipping? What happened to her in New York? It looks like I have more snooping to do than I realized. I jump out of the car and throw my arms around my best friend.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “Thanks, friend. It’s good to be back.”

  “What’s with the million-dollar smile?”

  “What are you talking about?” June blushes a shade of red that can only be mimicked by the most brightly colored roses.

  “Okay, seriously, something is going on. Did you get the contract already?”

  “No,” she answers simply as she cheerfully hops into the car.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cheerfully get into a car. It’s a very strange sight, especially when she should realize we’re about to hit a wall of traffic worse than standing in line for a new iPhone release.

  “Let’s get out of here before you get a ticket for loitering or something,” June says.

  “Hey, if that hottie cop over there wants to give me a ticket, I will gladly take his card with the number to his office.” Wait, what am I saying? If I keep acting like this, June will never be okay with me dating Liam. Then again, I probably won’t be seeing him again anyway. “He looks our age. Do you want me to get his number for you?”

  “No! Just drive, Caroline.” She giggles.

  Did June just giggle? This day is getting weirder by the second.

  As we pull on to the highway, a great idea hits me. “What do you say we cook dinner at home and drink some wine tonight? We can talk about your trip, and maybe the alcohol will get you a little more loose-lipped about whatever happened in New York.”