One Night Flame

by Beverly Evans

  “Hey, bud,” Dad says, pulling me into a hug. He’s big on hugs.

  “Good to see you.” The second I let him go, Babs pulls me into a hug too. She always smells so nice, like baked goods.

  I give Andy our customary handshake, bro-hug greeting and pause when I reach Nadine. She looks like she’s going to bite my fucking head off if I even get close to her, so I give her a little smile and a nod. She returns it with one of those awkward smiles you give to strangers you accidentally bump into on the street in apology and a nod.

  Off to a great start.

  Even though our interaction was short, the air around us is filled with tension. Everyone can sense it, and no one knows how to approach the topic. If someone makes a joke, will it get better? Should I make a joke? Or will Nadine just grab a steak knife and throw it at me like a ninja star?

  “Your party’s all here?” the host asks, pulling out a few menus. “Follow me.”

  We follow her into the depths of the restaurant to a big rectangular table in the back. I sit down at one corner, and with all the shuffling, Nadine ends up right across from me despite her best efforts. She glares at me over the menu, and I manage to keep myself together enough to not glare back at her.

  I pick up the wine list. I need something to get through this night. I don’t know shit about wine, but staring at the menu is much better than looking at Nadine.

  “I’m so glad we’re all together,” Babs says with a smile.

  “I am too,” Dad nods, grabbing Babs’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He bought her a fucking massive engagement ring, but she’s wearing it on a chain around her neck today. She must have just come from her bakery.

  No one else says anything about the outing. The people at the table next to us are talking about indoor tanning, and I’m already so desperate that I’d kill to be a part of that conversation. Almost anything would be better than this.

  “You want a bottle of wine?” Andy asks me after a long silence, looking over his menu.

  “Please.”

  Dad and Andy go over the wine list and get two bottles for the table, one red, one white. We all busy ourselves with picking out food next. Thankfully the waiter is fast and comes back with our wine, then takes our orders. He fills each of our glasses with our wine of choice and leaves us to the awkward silence again.

  “Uh, cheers?” Andy says with an uncomfortable laugh, raising his glass.

  “To family,” Dad says, clinking his glass against Nadine’s. She gives him a slightly warmer smile than she gave me.

  Nadine doesn’t even look at me when I clink my glass against hers.

  This is fucking ridiculous.

  I throw back half of my glass, which is definitely not the way to drink wine, but I need to be drunk for this.

  “So, we’ve started looking at venues for the wedding,” Babs starts, sipping her wine. “We think we’ll do it in six months if there’s any availability.”

  “That’s soon,” Nadine murmurs. I’m not sure if it’s in approval or not.

  “Yeah, but why wait?” Dad shrugs. “Six months is enough time to plan, I think.”

  “And I know a lot of vendors from making wedding cakes,” Babs adds. “We’d love it if you guys can help out where you can.”

  “Yeah, of course,” I nod, even though I know nothing about weddings. I can tie ribbons on shit, I guess?

  I shift in my seat and stretch out my legs, accidentally brushing up against Nadine. She looks embarrassed, which is unfortunately cute as hell on her. I mumble an apology, and she looks away.

  Now that I think about it, maybe all my teasing about her liking girly stuff when we were younger was because of the way it lit up her face to talk about things she enjoyed was cute, and I probably couldn't handle it. I had to get that expression off her face before I felt something. Hopefully, she still has that — she hasn’t genuinely smiled once this whole time. Her whole face is beautiful and cute at the same time, mostly because of those big dark eyes she has.

  “How’s work going, Nadine?” Dad asks to break the silence yet again. At this rate, he’s going to have to resort to questions like ‘what’s your favorite color?’ to keep the conversation moving.

  “It’s fine.” She sips her wine and glances down at the table. It seems to be more out of shyness than rudeness. “It keeps me busy. I might go to law school eventually, so the job is good for my resume.”

  Law school? That’s one of the last things I could imagine her doing. She always struck me as more of the creative type. She liked to draw and bake with her mom, but who knows. Maybe she found an aptitude for it in college. She doesn’t look excited about it either. Not that I’m expecting her to gush about it, but some enthusiasm isn’t too far out of the question.

  “Is now the wrong time to drop the fact that I got promoted today?” Andy asks.

  “Oh sweetheart, that’s so exciting!” Babs exclaims, her eyes lighting up.

  “Congrats!” Nadine says with a genuine smile. “What do you get with it?”

  Thank god, Andy can talk your whole fucking face off if you let him because he goes into a long explanation of what his new role entails. It sounds like a lot of stuff that would bore me to tears if I had to do it day in and out, but Andy’s always been a numbers kind of guy. His talk opens everyone enough, and soon, we’re talking like a normal family. More or less. I don’t ask Nadine any direction questions, and she doesn’t ask me any either.

  I study her when I can throughout the rest of dinner as we eat. Not in a creepy way, but I steal a lot of glances. She loosens up a little bit, but she always seems on high alert, like a rabbit ready to leap away. I half expect her to snap and ask me why I keep looking at her, but she doesn’t. The longer I observe her, the clearer it becomes — she might dislike me, but it feels like her bigger problem is that I make her nervous.

  That’s interesting. Maybe all isn’t lost.

  Chapter Three

  Nadine

  Waking up in my childhood bedroom for the first time in years is a bit unnerving. I have a huge poster of a band I don’t even listen to anymore taped onto the ceiling, so it’s the first thing I see. The last time I slept in here was right after the wedding was cancelled. I spent it lying on my side, drinking and crying while watching Real Housewives of Atlanta until I fell asleep. The memories of Grant pop into my head and I shove them out. I’ll just hang out at home and maybe go to the neighborhood pool. I don’t think I’ll run into him.

  Or at least I hope I won’t.

  I stretch and sit up. Yeah, I deserve a little break. The weather’s nice, and I haven’t laid out in the sun in so long. I’ve got a book and nothing to do. I’ve slept longer than I have in ages.

  Right at that moment, my phone lights up with a notification. No, no, no. I already know it’s Michelle. Who else would be texting me while I’m on vacation?

  I stare at it for a few seconds. I need to rip this band-aid off.

  I pick it up and check to see what she’s saying. She asks me to check my email, which I know will be an absolute shit show.

  I flop back down. I told another paralegal how to do all of my jobs. Was he not doing it? I open my email, and sure enough, she’s bitching about how he can’t do his job — my job — correctly. She even asks me to get lunch, then followed it up with a ‘plz ignore’. Am I such a tiny blip on her day to day radar that she assumes I’m outside of her office? Or maybe I never do anything but work, so it’s weird that I’m not there.

  I stare at my phone again. Should I even respond? Doing so would only set a bad precedent. I can’t be at her beck and call every day of the week.

  But the dutiful, good girl in me wants to fix the problems. It’s the same way I felt in school when I wanted the teacher to like me.

  I’ll just reply to one and remind her that I have someone covering for me. I get a response immediately, and my blood starts to boil. Michelle’s saying that I have to do this mundane thing that anyone else could easily do?


  Screw it; I’ll just get it done.

  I grab my laptop and quickly edit the letter that Michelle wrote. By the time I send it back, I’m so angry that I gave in that I’m sweating. I need to get this rage out.

  I finally get out of bed, and instead of hitting the shower, I put on my running clothes, tuck my debit card, keys, and phone into the little pack I wear, and head straight outside for a jog. I never exercised outside of gym class and maybe a half-hearted attempt at yoga in college until the Grant situation. It started as a weird bit of revenge — I thought that if I got hot and muscular, maybe Grant would feel bad about cheating.

  Soon I realized that working out a ton made me feel 90% less like having a mental breakdown every day. Sure, my body looks pretty damn good, but that’s not the point anymore. I want to be athletic for my own benefit. It’s basically the only clearly good thing that’s come out of that whole mess. I feel good physically. The rest is a hot mess.

  I turn onto a jogging path that had been in construction when I was home last, five years ago. It’s nice, with baby trees lining the path and some landscaping around that. It’s relatively flat, so I pick up my pace to feel a little burn.

  Unfortunately, it’s not enough to shut off my stupid brain. Just when I think I’ve slid into the zone, I get a cringe attack of last night’s dinner. I didn’t think I would ever be as mortified as I was after the night I spent with Noah, but then last night happened.

  God, why am I so freaking awkward? I couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eye, even though I felt him staring at me throughout the night. Every time I looked at him, flashbacks to our night together came flying back. My nervousness at the start. How good it felt when we finally fell into a rhythm. My utter mortification when I realized I was just one of a whole truckload of girls like I didn’t matter at all. He proved himself to be the dick that I always knew he was. Why would he lie to me and say he'd make it meaningful when he kicked me out without even asking me how I was doing, especially when I was in a rough state?

  But despite all of that, more layers of baggage on top of what was already there, my body reacted like it did that night: desperate and needy.

  I’m far away from people, so I let myself groan loudly as I run. I hate this. I hate that I’ll have to see him again and face all of this crap I wanted to leave behind. And I hate that he looks so damn good with the new haircut he has, mixed with that nice layer of stubble. God, the stubble. I haven’t slept with a guy who has any facial hair since I met him, so the memory of how it scratched just enough to leave a mark is seared into my brain. My stupid, stupid brain.

  I pick up the pace even faster, harder than I should be pushing myself until I’m in town. It’s more or less the same, but a big warehouse that used to be empty now reads GRIT GYM in bright letters. The only gyms around when I lived here were big chains. I slow to a walk. Maybe they have guest passes or something. It would be nice to lift weights while I’m here.

  I push open the door, the sound of rock music greeting me. Unlike a lot of gyms I’ve been too, it doesn’t smell like feet or sweat. The check-in desk is a few feet ahead of me, but to the left, it’s basically a dream. There’s a big open space for people to stretch, lots of free weights, a ton of treadmills. It’s not like the gym near my office, where people seem preoccupied by taking selfies of themselves working out rather than actually doing it.

  “Hey! Welcome to Grit!” the guy behind the counter says. He must be a high school student working a summer job because he looks extremely young.

  “Hi!” I take a flyer. It’s a calendar of all their classes, along with an explanation of them. My eyes zoom in on a kickboxing class. It’s starting in fifteen minutes. “Do you guys do guest passes? I’m just visiting, but I’m interested in taking a class.”

  “Yeah!” The kid is so excited that he basically leaps over the counter. “Do you want a quick tour first?”

  “Uh, sure,” I reply since it feels like he’ll spontaneously combust if I say no.

  He shows me the area that I can already see, then the locker rooms. They’re really nice and new, with all of the little toiletries that I would ever need. There are lockers to store your stuff outside of them, and three rooms for group fitness. People are already gathering in one, stretching and chatting. People seem friendly, but I’m not intimidated like I am back in the city.

  “This is so nice. New, yeah?” I ask.

  “Yep! Just opened six months ago. Would you like to join a class? There’s a kickboxing one starting in a moment.”

  “I can just jump in?” I’m already warmed up from my jog over, but I think I’m in good enough shape to handle the class on top of everything.

  “Yeah, sure! Just give me your name, and we can handle the details after.” He waves his hand like it’s no big deal. Perfect.

  “Okay, sounds great. I’ll jump in on the class. Thanks for the tour.” I start to jog off to the class. “Oh, and I’m Nadine.”

  He nods, still grinning, and I slip into the room. Now I’m a little intimidated. It’s much bigger inside than it looks on the outside. Everyone seems to know each other, so I’m feeling like the new kid at school. Which way is the front? There are mirrors on every wall except the one that the door is on, and no one’s facing any one direction. I grab a pair of gloves from the pile that everyone else is pulling from and clutch them in front of my chest like a shield.

  “Hey, are you new?” a woman asks me. She’s even shorter than I am, with the same deep brown eyes, but her black hair’s cut in a cute pixie style I could never pull off. It makes her look a little like a Latina Tinkerbell, and I like her almost immediately. She isn’t looking at me like I’m an outsider, even though she just laid eyes on me for the first time. It’s been a while since I haven’t felt out of place.

  “That obvious?”

  “Yeah, no offense,” she grins. “But we were all new once. I’m Krissy, by the way.”

  “Nadine.” I shake her hand. Her grip is strong as hell for such a tiny woman. “I’m just visiting family and dropped in.”

  “It’s nice here. I’ve been coming since it opened.” She stretches, her palms touching the floor like it’s no big deal. I stretch too. “Oh, and the front’s over here.”

  She turns in the exact opposite direction than where I’m standing, facing the door. I stand next to her. The class should be starting. A few seconds later, a gray pit bull, tail wagging wildly, appears at the glass door. Everyone starts cooing in her direction, and the longer it goes on, the more excited she gets. I can’t stop myself from smiling. If her tail wags any faster, she’ll probably take off like a helicopter.

  She looks back down the hall, and a man’s arm pushes the door open. The dog trots in and gets head and butt scratches. Normally I would go pet her, but my feet are frozen to the ground. The first guy looks like he’s the instructor, but behind him?

  Noah.

  Why is he here? I didn’t think about running into him. It’s Saturday, so I don’t think he has work, but why here near my mom’s house? He used to live on the other side of town. This is already stressful as hell. I’m going to get a workout just by being in the same room with him if my heart rate doesn’t slow down.

  He notices me, and only gives me a nod, thank god. But why did he have to stand in front of me? He’s wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and shorts, not unlike the other guys in the room. But they don’t have on shorts like his that stretch across his butt in the most tempting way. And their arms and legs aren’t damn near perfect like Noah’s — well-muscled, but in an elegant way like a lion. He has a tattoo that he didn’t have before, a dragon swooping down the back of his arm, breathing fire.

  Thankfully class starts. The dog sits in the corner and lays down, watching us obediently. I keep my eyes on the instructor, Casey, and focus on warming up. Well, try to. Noah is even worse in motion, little ridges of muscle popping up on his calves and arms when he moves. I push myself as hard as I can, doing burpees like my
life depends on it, just to get out of my head and into my body. I’m drenched before we even get into the main part of the workout.

  Eventually, Casey asks us to drag out some heavy bags.

  “Pair up!” Casey yells over the music. “Two people to a bag!”

  The same panic that struck me in school when we had to get in groups hits me. It’s a mix of worry about finding a partner and being saddled with Noah against my will. I twirl around and meet Krissy’s eye.

  “Partners?” We blurt at the same time.

  Thank god.

  I choose the side of the bag that puts Noah outside of my sight, or at least I try to. Krissy and I punch and kick the bags in turns, but we need to shift around the bag to do all the moves that the instructor requests of us. I catch glances of Noah’s body, glistening in sweat, focused on his punching bag. He doesn’t give me a second look. Or maybe he does and I’m not seeing it.

  Do I want him to look at me, or no? I’m not one of those girls who can go into the gym wearing a full face of makeup and come out still looking cute. If I go in wearing even yesterday’s mascara, I’ll come out looking like a raccoon who’s just run a marathon.

  Eventually class ends, and my body hums with the soreness I’ve come to crave. I’m going to take my sweet time scrubbing myself off; then I’m going to eat some of Mom’s homemade sourdough bread and leftover roast chicken. The endorphins rushing through me make me smile to myself.

  “Great class, right?” Krissy says to me, wiping her face with the bottom of her shirt.

  “Yeah, it was. A lot better than the classes I take back where I live.” I wipe sweat off of myself, but all of me is drenched. It doesn’t do much.

  “Where are you visiting from?”

  “New York City.”

  “Wow,” she smiles, resting her hands on her waist. “This little town can compete with quality classes like that? You’ll have to tell Noah.”

  “What?” I feel my eyes widen despite my strong desire to keep my face calm. “Why Noah? Do you know him?”