by Holly Ryan
God, I’m such a goner for her.
I give her a parting kiss before holding her car door open for her. She kisses me back, then her mood changes and she laughs.
“What?” I ask. I can’t help but smile in response.
“Nothing. It’s just that… when I first met you, I thought you were such a badass.” A breath of laughter escapes her before she tries to hide it, for my sake. “I’m happy to see I was wrong.”
I pretend to be offended. “Pretty sure that one wasn’t supposed to be an insult, either.”
“Of course not,” she says. “A badass is good for nothing if he doesn’t have a heart when he’s with a woman.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that you kind of sound like a post card or something.”
“A post card from the forties? Lined with pictures of roses and picked from a wide selection of other cheesy sayings? I can see that.”
When she’s ready, I kiss her goodbye and close the door. She drives off, appearing to be safer this time, and my nerves are more stilled.
But when I reach the front door, I hear the same sound as before. It’s another squealing. I pause, listening harder. It’s the sound of Stella’s car stuck in the snow again.
I rush over, and when I reach the same spot at the top of the drive, her car is visible, all the way at the bottom. I approach, taking each step carefully to avoid slipping. The street is clear now, but she’s stuck in a snow drift on the side of the road. I can’t help but laugh. Where would she be without my help?
I run up to her car and tap on the window. I bend, lowering my shoulders and peer through to her. “I’d say it look like the universe wants you to stay,” I say through the whipping wind.
With both hands still on the steering wheel, Stella gives up. She sighs and smiles back at me. In that instant, she melts me. She says, “Sure seems like the universe knows what it’s doing.”
STELLA
“Where the fuck?”
As soon as I swing the door open, Lorelei is standing there staring at me. Her words weren’t so much a question as they were a loving slap in the face.
“Where the fuck were you?” she says again, stepping into my apartment without waiting for an invitation.
I walk away from her, knowing that she’ll follow. None of this is new to me; this is Lorelei we’re talking about, after all. “Door,” I say over my shoulder. “And that’s it. You’re officially not getting my razor anymore. I warned you about that, fair and square.” Never mind that I won’t be returning to Sapphire… I haven’t broken that news to Lorelei yet. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
She slams the door and throws her things down on my kitchen island. The island that isn’t nearly as expensive or as big as Cohen’s, but which brings with it a wave of flashbacks all the same. I try to hide a grin, hoping that Lorelei doesn’t catch on, but knowing that she will. I can’t keep anything from her. And if by some miracle she doesn’t catch on, she’ll end up prying it out of me sooner or later. That’s why I’ve learned when it comes to her, there’s no use in trying to hide things. It’s just not worth the effort.
“Don’t lie to me, Stella,” she says.
I lift my arms in innocence, the oversized sleeves of my robe hanging out in front of me. “What?”
“I needed to borrow one of your outfits for work. You know, that black lacey number with the big pink bow on the butt? Mama May added another shift to my schedule at the last minute–the way she does that she knows drives me nuts–and I thought you’d help me out.”
Sapphire has this stupid rule. You’re not supposed to dance in the same outfit more than once a week. It’s for the benefit of the regulars, and Mama May is convinced that that little bit of diversity is what keeps them coming back. Me? I think they don’t come for what we’re wearing at all.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I ask.
“I did text you. You never answered.”
I furrow my brow and reach for my phone that’s resting next to my coffee machine. I could swear I don’t have any missed texts. I navigate through my phone, into the Messages folder, and sure enough, there’s Lorelei.
9:39 P.M. Hey bitch. I need to borrow an outfit. The one you wore last week, with the big pink bow that made all the guys look at your butt and leave super huge tips. Please.
10:01 P.M. What time can I come over?
10:29 Stellaaaa
11:14 Ok. You’ve never not responded to me, so I’m kind of freaking out over here.
11:29 Hellooooo? Where the fuck???
“And stop avoiding the question,” she says.
I sigh and drop the hand that’s holding my phone, then jokingly roll my eyes. If she’s going to get it out of me in the end anyway, I might as well have some fun with her. “You haven’t asked a question yet, Lorelei.”
“Yes, I did. I asked where the fuck you were.”
I cross my arms. “Well, if you have to know…” I can barely contain myself, so a smile unexpectedly breaks. “I was with a guy. A guy who just so happens to be very, very rich. So that’s where I was, all night. At his mansion.” With that, I turn and pretend to busy myself with a late-night cup.
“You did not,” she gasps, suddenly intrigued.
I turn back to her, the holding the steaming coffee up to my nose, trying to hide my grin. “I did.”
“Well, who the hell is this rich guy, and why haven’t I met him?” A flash of possible recognition crosses her face. “Wait. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the guy from the club the other night. Was it?”
“Actually, it kind of… was. His name is Cohen.”
“Cohen.” The repeated name rolls off her tongue like honey, and her drool is almost visible from where I’m standing halfway across the room. I don’t bother pointing out that I’m aware she’s only jealous because I just told her he’s loaded.
She snaps back to reality as I take another drink. I’m still trying to hide my obvious humor. “Hot damn,” she says. “So this Cohen guy is a millionaire.”
“Yes,” I set the mug down firmly, “he is. But so what? Money doesn’t matter.”
“Stella, you never cease to amaze me. You did not really just say that, did you?”
I shrug. “I just mean, money doesn’t matter when it comes to relationships. Because it doesn’t. Right?” She glares at me. “What?”
Lorelei shakes her head. “Nothing. You’re right. I’m just trying to tell if you’re serious or not.”
“Of course I’m serious.” I disappear into my bedroom and return with the outfit she’d been looking for. “Here you go. Sorry about missing your texts. I hope Mama May wasn’t too mad.”
She takes the outfit from me, her frown finally starting to turn upward into a smile. I’m relieved to see that. If I ever lost Lorelei’s friendship, I’m not sure how I’d face the world.
“She wasn’t.” Lorelei toys with the freshly-washed fabric, feeling the lace. “I got lucky this time. I wore something from as early in the week as possible and I don’t think she noticed.” I sense a sudden sadness in her, one that tells me my news about Cohen goes deeper than just jealousy. “Well, this is all I needed. Thanks.” She turns to leave, but I stop her.
“One other thing.” I cringe.
“Oh, no. What?”
I cringe even more at that response. I’ve been dreading telling her this. “I’m sort of… quitting my job.” The last three words come out of me slowly and carefully, as though someone’s pressed a slow motion button in my brain.
She tenses. “Please tell me you’re talking about your day job.” And her words are strung together and panicked, as though she’s on fast forward.
I shake my head. “No. Sapphire.”
“And there’s one other thing, too.”
“Stella,” she moans, “you’re killing me.”
“Are you ready? This is the biggest one of them all.”
“I’m not ready
,” she says with a sigh, “but I have no choice. I’ll be either shocked or devastated, I’m sure. Shoot.”
I take a breath. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”
COHEN
Two Weeks Later
A stranger holds the door open for me when I arrive at the coffee shop closest to home.
“Thank you,” I say. I rub my hands together when I make it inside, then take my usual place in line.
I stop in here every morning before work. It’s on the way, and I have yet to find a better cup of coffee in this city. I like it here. No one knows who I am, and I usually place my order undisturbed. I casually rub sleep from my eye and stifle a yawn. I really need this to get me going.
I haven’t heard from Stella since that night.
She didn’t come back again. I haven’t seen her since. She left because she had to, and she didn’t leave her number. As for why she didn’t return? Well, I like to think of it as none of my business.
That isn’t to say I don’t think about her. A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t gone over what happened in my mind, remembered her face, her smell, the feel of her.
I’m a believer in fate when it comes to everything except business. In the business world, nothing’s going to come to you if you don’t go out there and take it by the horns. In your personal life, past trying your best, it doesn’t make any difference to struggle against the inevitable. Actually, it can backfire. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. If it’s not, then don’t fucking push it.
When it’s my turn, I place my order, throwing in a bagel for good measure. I’m going to need all the strength I can get for the day I have ahead of me. It’s a day packed full of meetings and negotiations – two of the most stressful aspects of my job.
I take a sip at the same time that I turn around, and when I do my eyes lock on a figure outside the shop, on the other side of the glass. Something about her is familiar. I squint, trying to make her out. She looks freezing. She’s bundled up with a hat covering her hair and a thick grey scarf wrapped around her neck and pulled over her chin and cheeks. Her shoulders are scrunched up with one hand stuffed away in her pocket. She moves swiftly, and my entire image of her was little more than a flash over the span of a few seconds. I have to react quickly so I don’t lose her.
“Hey!” I call.
She turns at the sound of her name, or maybe it’s more so at the sound of my voice. It’s hard to tell, but either way, when she sees me, her eyes are already lit up with recognition.
She looks different; her hair is pulled up and tucked under that knitted hat, and she’s holding a pink stainless steel tumbler in one of her gloved hands. She looks businesslike. She looks as though I interrupted her.
“Stella,” I say.
“Cohen.” She exhales the name, her breath freezing in the air between us. The surprise in her voice is painfully obvious. “It’s… it’s good to see you again.”
Why haven’t I heard from you? are the words I want to immediately say, but I hold them back. Now’s not the time for that, and that’s not my style anyway.
“I thought I might see you around someday,” I say.
“Yeah, me too. I usually don’t walk this way to work, but I thought I’d check out the scenery today. I heard they started decorating for Christmas.”
I instinctively look up at the street light above us; a twinkling gold star hangs below it, resting right above our heads. “It’s a little late for that,” I say.
She looks up too. “It always is.” She lowers her head back down, her breath still visible over the top of her scarf. I hold the possible weight of her words in my mind as she continues, “Did you see it last year? They didn’t even start to put them out until the week before. My friend thought it was a bummer, but I reminded her that it’s Christmas.”
She now clutches the tumbler, which I can only assume to be warm, with both hands, and she bounces her knees a bit to keep the blood flowing. She’s still avoiding looking at me, and I can tell that her mind’s not really here.
“I saw. They’re a lot better this year.” The decorations in our town are kind of a big deal. They’re something of a tourist attraction – not a big one, but big enough that people come from neighboring states just to see them. For the last two years they haven’t been putting them up until what seems like the last minute, which isn’t a big deal to me, or apparently to Stella, either, but I guess it’s a big enough deal to make meaningless conversation. I’m just pretending that we’re totally not dancing around some unspoken subject.
“It’s too cold out here for me to keep you,” I say, shaking my head at her attempts to warm herself.
“No, you’re fine. I’m glad we ran into each other.” She raises her shoulders so her scarf reaches the bottoms of her exposed ears. “It is freezing, though.”
I nod. “It is. I’ll let you go.” Really though, can I? The things that happened between us in the span of a few short days were enough to fill an entire relationship. I know Stella knows this, and before she’d left I’d thought she felt the same way. “Look, Stella…” When I breathe deeply, the icy air chills my lungs.
She swallows and I think I see her eyes start to mist, but it could just be the cold finally getting to them.
“I’ll make this quick. I don’t know what happened after you left, and it’s none of my business. Can we just...”
Stella wipes quickly at the corner of her eye.
“Can we just start over?”
She hesitates at first, her gaze darting once more from her feet to the backs of people passing by, and I’m sure she’s going to say no. There was a reason she hasn’t gotten in touch with me in all this time, although I have yet to know what that reason is. She looks at the cars driving in the street, then down at her coffee, at the people who whip past us... anywhere but at me. “I don’t know. That’s an awfully lot to ask.”
I drop my hand. I guess I was wrong.
She smiles weakly at my reaction until she breaks out a small laugh. “Cohen, I’m kidding. Of course we can start over.”
There’s more she’s not saying – I can see it in her attempts at avoidance. But, I think as I pull out my phone, there’s more that I’m not saying, too.
“Are you free for lunch?” I ask. I check my schedule on my phone’s calendar. Nothing’s changed. It’s still packed, but I should be able to move some things around to free up my lunch hour.
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“Why don’t you come by my office at one thirty? I can meet you outside and we can get a bite to eat.”
“Okay. It’s a date.”
I write my office’s address for her on a random piece of paper I found in my wallet, using her shoulder for support of the pen. I glance at her while I’m writing and catch her smirking. I guess it is a cute thing to do.
“Here you go,” I say, handing it over to her.
She takes it and checks it briefly, then sticks it in her pocket. “I think I know where that is,” she says.
“Then I’ll see you in a few hours. Stay warm.”
“You too, Cohen.”
Those unsaid things don’t dissipate as we leave each other. They hauntingly follow both of us, and I hurry now to get to work, those words much more urgent to escape from than any amount of cold. When I turn my final corner, the building of Thatcher Industries comes into view, but I can’t bring my mind where it needs to be, which is in preparation for the first meeting of the day. Instead, my mind remains on her, the way it has secretly been these last two weeks, and the way I know it will continue to be until I have her again. Stella. My Stella, who I pulled out of harm’s way with my own two hands. It feels as though part of her should be permanently indebted to me, and yet I know that’s not the case. I only want it to be, wish it was.
I wish I didn’t feel this way, but I can’t help it, knowing that she’s not yet mine.
STELLA
I arrive at Thatcher Industries precisely fifteen minutes before I’m
supposed to meet Cohen and with a bagel in hand. I’m early because the midday sun has finally warmed the air a little, and I wanted to get out in it to warm my face and stretch my legs; I have a bagel because I’m starving, and I couldn’t wait the few more minutes until going out to eat with Cohen. Passing the smell of fresh baked bread on my way here was too much for me to take on an empty stomach. Bread. It’s a weakness.
I pick a piece off and pop it into my mouth. I’ve managed to finish half of it, which has left me perfectly satiated for the time being.
I left my scarf and hat behind at work, taking with me only the bare necessity of my coat. I don’t even have my purse with me; I crammed my wallet into one of my coat’s big outer pockets. My gloves, too, are in the opposite pocket, at the ready should I need them.
I look up at the enormous building in front of me. I’ve never walked down this street before, although I’m sure I’ve driven down it. Walking gives you a more accurate sense of perspective, and now I can see the building for what it truly is – a pretty amazing work of architecture. I wonder if Cohen had anything to do with its design, any say in the way it boldly stands out from all the other buildings, making itself–himself–known. It definitely testifies to how rich he is.
I check the time. I’m still early. I’d really like to go up, to check out more of his workplace and see him in action, but I hesitate because I haven’t been invited. Still, this is Cohen we’re talking about here. My savior. My lucky charm. The one who dropped everything for me that one night, and another night as well.
The one I almost didn’t ever talk to again. How did I let that happen? I let my apprehension get the better of me, that’s how. I thought it wouldn’t be right, even though I confessed to Lorelei that I thought I was falling in love with the guy. That part was true – but sometimes love requires you to make sacrifices.
I sigh. I’ll do it. If this is the first step toward connecting the two of us again, the least I can do is show my interest in what he does. I grip the long steel handle and pull the massive glass door open. A rush of warm air, powdered by the pressure of a strong heating system, floods over me, and I have to push through it and the heavy door to make my way in.