Tiago

by Shayne Ford

  “Yes, I know,” I say, sighing. “But he acted as if it was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was very nice.”

  “They usually are.”

  “Yes, I know. Andrew was nice, too, and he liked me, but there was something about this guy.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Christian.”

  “In what way was he different?”

  I muse over the answer for a moment, my hand resting on the bowl of popcorn, my eyes trained on the candles flickering their little lights on the coffee table.

  “He... He paid attention to me.”

  She doesn’t comment.

  I continue.

  “And I’m not saying that Andrew didn’t, but with Christian... We kind of hit it off. He knew how to read my reactions, what to say and what to do.”

  “I told you that they are good.”

  “Yeah, perhaps... But I felt that it was more than that. And then a woman showed up at his door.”

  She stays quiet for a moment.

  “A client?”

  “I think so. That’s what he said.”

  I stop abruptly.

  Something doesn’t make sense.

  He said that the woman mixed up the dates, and she was blonde.

  When I showed up at the door, he expected me to be blonde.

  Was that a strange coincidence? Or was he expecting her?

  I choose to believe that it was a coincidence, so I keep going.

  “Anyway, we had a special moment just before the woman knocked on the door. The second he pulled away from me and went to talk to her, my mood was ruined. He noticed the change and didn’t make another move on me. When I said that I wanted to leave, he didn’t stop me, yet when I say goodbye to him, he made me the proposal.”

  “Did he call you?”

  “No. It’s not even twenty-four hours since we met.”

  “There’s no set rule when you call someone.”

  “Yeah... I know. Anyway, he said that he’d like to meet me sometime next week. I’m sure he’ll call me. ”

  “Sounds great, then.”

  “I think so,” I say torn.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  It’s so much more than nothing.

  For one, he reminded me of James, and then, there was something unique about him that I couldn’t grasp. Not to mention how connected I felt to him right from the beginning. It was unusual, considering that he was nothing more than a stranger to me.

  All these mixed vibes about last night make me doubt my instincts. My intuition was messed up for so long, I can’t rely on it. Frankly, I don’t know how much of it was real and how much was my imagination.

  Regardless, I hope I’m right about him and not setting myself up for another disappointment.

  “We’ll see,” I say after a moment. “It was a little weird if I think about it. What are the chances to book another escort, meet him, and have this unusual chemistry with him?”

  “It can happen after a string of bad luck. ”

  I breathe out a chuckle.

  “You are so funny.”

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “Yeah, sure... Of course, it is,” I say jokingly. “Anyway, if this thing is meant to happen, it will. If not, I’ll just forget about him,” I say.

  I feel the exact opposite.

  I don’t think I can forget about him. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire day.

  I don’t want to read too much into it, because I don’t want to fool myself, but he sure made an impression on me.

  And it wasn’t the fact that he was hot, and experienced–– so much more than me, but the way he hugged me meant so much to me.

  It was like a love letter to me.

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-six. That’s what his profile said, but he looked younger when he smiled.”

  “Boyish look? Rugged?”

  “Manly.”

  “Mmmm... Nice.”

  “Handsome. Sharply dressed. Mannered. A panty melting smirk that could’ve easily made me come.”

  “A catch.”

  I laugh.

  “Yeah. You can say that.”

  “I’m happy for you. Are you coming home before Thanksgiving?”

  “Um... About that. I don’t know if I can come home before or on Thanksgiving.”

  “Why?”

  “Well... There’s some stuff going on at work, and I kinda need to get myself on solid ground again.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I got caught in an embarrassing situation.”

  “What was it?” she asks, curiosity flashing through her voice.

  I sigh.

  “It’s not something that I’m proud of. It was stupid and almost got me fired. I found this sexy man online. It wasn’t like we were talking to each other or anything. I liked his sexy stuff, and he generously shared it with his followers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And like the genius that I am, I checked his updates in the middle of an important meeting. That stupid thing set in motion the chain of events that led to a disaster. My phone flew off my hand and landed at my bosses’ feet while running the man’s sexy clip. Needless to say, I didn’t score points with anyone in the upper echelon, and I was lucky not to get sacked on the spot. Thank God, Curt Clemens didn’t see it, but the woman I am working for did.”

  “Oh, shit, Eve. This is serious stuff,” she says.

  “For a moment, I saw my entire professional life going down the drain. The woman who saved my ass scolded me before she gave me a pass, and I swore that I’d never do it again.”

  “So you decided to go for the real deal,” she says, amused.

  Her humor is not lost in me, so I flash a grin.

  “Yes, I did.”

  She pauses for a moment.

  “I’m sorry to hear that you can’t come home. It’s going to be really nice.”

  “I bet.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s always Christmas.”

  Her voice pulls away for a moment.

  “Okay. I need to go now,” she says. “We’re invited to dinner at Ed’s home. Lex and Dahlia will be there too.”

  “Tell them hi.”

  “I will.”

  The phone goes silent before I slide it onto the coffee table, and I lean back in my seat.

  Mechanically, I check the time on my tablet. It’s eight o’clock in Colorado, and nine o’clock on the East Coast.

  I missed the gym class tonight, and now I feel guilty.

  My thought pulls away as the phone begins to ring. I pick it up from the table and glance at the screen.

  Who calls me from LA?

  Convinced that it’s a wrong number or a scam, I set the phone on the sofa next to me, and let it ring.

  It buzzes again.

  I scoop it up and answer the call.

  “Yes,” I say abruptly.

  “Eve? Eve Malone?” a familiar voice asks.

  I pause, recognition flooding me.

  “Andy??”

  “Yes.”

  A chuckle echoes at the other end.

  “What are you doing in LA?”

  “I moved here a couple of years ago.”

  I pause for a moment, grappling with surprise.

  “Oh... Okay. I didn’t know that. I thought you were still here in New York with your wife.”

  “I was, but then I got a job in LA, and we moved. She always wanted to live in California,” he says, mixed emotions coursing through his voice.

  For a moment, his words take me to the time we spent together a while back.

  I was a freshman. He was two years shy of graduation. Andy was my first man, and my first love, or so I thought back then until he found someone else and broke up with me.

  Sadly, he was the first man in a line of men who–– like him, liked me, but didn’t want to complicate their lives with me.

&nb
sp; We didn’t keep in touch after we parted ways, although we were in speaking terms after we split.

  I haven’t thought about him and Marcella, the ‘love of his life’––as he used to call his wife back then, in a very long time.

  Occasionally, the memory of him popped into my head, more like a random snippet of the past, no emotion left for him.

  Not good or bad.

  “How is Marcella?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

  “She’s um...” he starts hesitantly.

  A pause follows before he speaks again.

  “We’ve been separated for a couple of months,” he finally says, his voice steady this time.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She’s seeing someone else,” he adds with a strained voice, embarrassed.

  “But that’s not why I called,” he continues, eager to talk about something else. “I’m flying to New York this weekend, and I was wondering if we could meet up and chat over a cup of coffee or perhaps have dinner. Catch up on things... Only, if you can, of course,” he quickly adds. “I don’t want to make any trouble for your husband or your boyfriend.”

  “No need to worry. I’m still single.”

  Oh, that came out wrong. I sounded bitter and reproachful.

  “That was not what I wanted to say,” I mutter. “I am single by choice.”

  A few moments of silence slip by.

  “Sure, I’d be able to meet with you,” I say with a different voice.

  “Perfect. I’ll get there on Sunday. Sunday evening, maybe?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Okay, then. It was nice talking to you. I’ll call you once I check in at the hotel.”

  “Great.”

  We hang up, and for a few good moments, I stare at my phone baffled.

  What was that all about?

  11

  EVE

  He calls me on Sunday and invites me to dinner. I didn’t expect him to follow through, to be honest, and I didn’t think that I’d say yes.

  I started to have second thoughts right after our phone conversation this past Friday. It was easier to say yes on the phone.

  There was an element of surprise and novelty, but as I was thinking more about it, I realized that meeting Andy for dinner or even coffee wouldn’t make me happy.

  In retrospect, the story of us taught me that trust and love don’t always mix.

  But Sunday, he does his best to ease my fears and shatter my reserves. He suggests a restaurant we used to go to, giving the whole dinner idea the feel of a friendly reunion.

  It’s not so far from the truth.

  Aside from the fact that things ended badly between us, we’ve always been good friends.

  It’s six a clock in the evening when I enter my walk-in closet and run my gaze over the racks.

  It’s cold outside, and it drizzles again, the mix of rain and snow blown by the wind.

  I almost pick a pair of slack and a mohair top before I change my mind and choose a blue cobalt dress that features a skintight fit, and zippers up my sleeves.

  The skirt stops short above my knees, a pair of high heel boots complementing my look.

  We might’ve been good friends a long time ago, and we can sure act friendly toward each other now, but the woman in me cannot forget the past, so I intend to look my best.

  I put on my makeup, coat my lashes with mascara, and paint my lips with a deep dark shade of garnet before I throw a long dark coat on my shoulders and pick up my bag.

  The phone begins to ring as I sling my purse on my shoulder.

  It’s him. Andy. He wants to pick me up.

  I find it extremely courteous, but I decline politely.

  It looks too much as a date for my taste. And a date is not exactly what I had in mind.

  Luckily, I find a cab as soon as I walk out of the building.

  I give the driver the name of the restaurant, and tuck myself in the back seat.

  The car glides away, navigating the wet streets of Manhattan while I stare blankly at the view.

  Sunday is by far my least favorite day of the week, perhaps because it breaks my rhythm. Things slow down over the weekend, and then Monday sends a rush of adrenaline through me.

  I usually work out at home and read on Sundays, just because the energy is mixed in the city as well, and I’d rather stay inside.

  As my gaze sweeps the view, I take in the couples exiting the cabs and entering the restaurants or heading to the theaters.

  My heart clenches as I register their linked hands and warm smiles. Their sparkling eyes.

  Rain’s words come to me.

  Years back, she said something to me that I could never forget.

  Heartbroken and jaded, she despised the idea of falling in love. Ignorant and gullible, I thought that love was everything. At the time, it was hard for me to understand what she was referring to.

  She said that she didn’t envy the people who were in love and seemed to be living a memorable love story with their ideal man or woman. She said that for every glimpse of happiness out there, there were moments of desperation that went unnoticed.

  She was hurting at the time, and she couldn’t see beyond her pain, but she was right. Regardless of what the truth was, I liked to believe that things were good between people.

  After all these years, despite the setbacks that I’ve experienced, my beliefs haven’t changed much.

  I still think that these sweet bits of life like walking and talking and kissing someone on a gloomy Sunday evening, are the best moments of life.

  The belief itself feeds my soul, and for now, it’s good enough.

  The man I met last Friday comes to mind as well.

  Christian.

  I smile at the memory of him, knowing full well that he’d never be the man for a rainy Sunday evening walk.

  He’d share his bed–– I bet, but not more. I don’t think so.

  A smile creeps on my lips.

  I’d take that experience with him at any given moment, and I’d leave the dinner dates to men like Andy.

  “Is this the place, Miss?” the driver asks.

  I peer outside, the restaurant sign barely visible behind the curtain of falling snow.

  “Yes. You can pull near the lamppost.”

  He lets the car roll slowly before he brings it to a full stop not far from the entrance.

  I pay and step out, shielding my face with my hand from the flurries of snow.

  Brrr... It’s really cold.

  I slam the door shut and pivot as the car pulls away. My eyes fly to the street.

  Surprise. Surprise.

  Just on the corner rises the hotel where I met Christian last Friday. The Universe has a weird sense of humor, it seems.

  Smiling, I kick the thought to the side, determined to keep Christian out of my mind for the next couple of hours.

  The hostess greets me in the lobby a few moments later.

  I leave my overcoat with the coat girl and follow the hostess into the restaurant.

  I spot Andy right from the entrance. His brown hair is neatly trimmed, and he wears a suit and a tie.

  That’s new, or perhaps he wants to look his best as well. He’s more slender than I remember.

  He catches sight of me and pushes out of his chair, his eyes glinting with a faint smile as he takes me in.

  “It’s so good to see you,” he says, a bit nervous as if he wasn’t sure that I’d show up.

  His gaze slides down onto me.

  “You look great,” he adds as he pulls the chair out for me.

  “You look good too,” I say, smiling as I lower myself in my seat.

  He really does. I’ve never seen him dressed like that.

  We were both students when we met for the first time. He studied to become an engineer, while I had no idea what the future would hold for me.

  We were both very young and idealistic. We loved books and music and movies. Fancy clothes were never our thing.


  The waitress–– a woman with shoulder length hair and smiling eyes, takes the order while the sommelier–– a man with a mane of silver hair, pours wine into our glasses.

  I glance around.

  “How did we afford to eat here back then?” I ask, humor lining my voice.

  He lets out a polite chuckle. I shift my eyes to him.

  I notice the soft creases at the corners of his eyes, and the softness of his gaze. A grin clings to his lips, a slight shadow glissading over his face.

  “Perhaps, we didn’t know any better,” he says.

  My eyes stay on his face as I study his expression, wondering if he refers to picking restaurants only.

  The memory of that time flashes in front of my eyes. Eating out was the only thing that we splurged on back then. Both self-proclaimed foodies, we had a list of favorite restaurants. From the small cheap places we found in Chinatown and Little Italy, to the ethnic cuisine in Queens, and the few special places we couldn’t pass up in Manhattan, we loved them all.

  “How is work?” I ask as the appetizers arrive.

  He waits for the server to pull away before he begins to speak.

  “It’s good. Intense,” he says cryptically.

  I take a bite of the roasted peppers and grilled cheese, his fork hovering over his eggplant salad.

  I start chewing slowly.

  His gaze slants down to his plate.

  “I am here for a job interview,” he finally says as he raises his eyes. “It has nothing to do with my current job. I just need a fresh start. Plus, the money would be much better here.”

  “I see.”

  “How is your work?” he asks.

  “I’m happy where I am. It’s a good company with room to grow.”

  “What exactly is it?”

  “Advertising.”

  “How is it?”

  “I love it. I just got promoted. The money is great, the bonuses even better. The work environment is friendly. I can’t complain.”

  “That’s good,” he says.

  He sounds happy for me, yet he avoids my eyes.

  Briefly, I recollect our first year together.

  He took his time to woo me, although I wasn’t too much of a challenge for him. I was so eager to be with him he didn’t need to put much effort in it. Before long, we fell for each other and started to make plans for the future.

  Life seemed to be good back then.

  Little did we know that our plans would turn to dust. It was not meant to be, but the time we had together was great.