by Katie Dowe
An uneasy feeling persisted in her stomach for the rest of the day.
Chapter 4
Quiet chatter filled the establishment. Quaint, decorated with a rustic, driftwood air, and owned by what sounded like a British couple, the Wayward Boot hosted Cameron and Aleshia as they went through drinks.
The homely atmosphere appealed to the freelancer. It reminded her more of the woodlands nearby where she once lived, of the cabins she lived in during family camping trips in the summer. Fitting in theme with the bar’s name, or as the British couple referred to it as, their “lovely little pub,” boots littered the mantelpieces, were strung on the walls, or painted into pictures. Varying from bronze and iron worked ornaments to actual boots, which also doubled as flowerpots in cases, Aleshia thought the scheme of it was fantastic. Cameron sat opposite her, smug in private triumph as he saw her surveillance of the bar. One group of friends sat around a table, playing with cards.
“The modern style isn’t for you at all, is it?” Cameron said, as he drank their way through a Leffe – a Belgian blond beer. “You prefer something more traditional.”
“I think so.” Aleshia drummed her nails on the table. She had painted them with a light pink varnish, not wanting to go overboard or make it seem like she was trying to lure Cameron into her bed. Her outfit of choice was a spaghetti string sundress, with dark blue prints on it. A hint of cleavage revealed itself, but not enough to have men throwing their eyeballs her way. She bared a fair amount of leg as well, and one small cut on her knee from a shaving mishap. She also wore a sapphire necklace, a gift from her mother for her thirteenth birthday. It twinkled in the soft lighting. “I mean, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but this place is fantastic. I really like it. I would live somewhere like here.”
“Even with all the boots?” He said, picking up a beermat with a picture of laced together army boots. Graffiti on the mat displayed the engraved words, Ben, from Spain. A ceiling fan above them spun, delivering a gentle breeze in the warm evening.
“Especially with all the boots. They have a theme, they’re sticking with it. It’s not boring. It makes you look and pay attention. Because who would think of decorating a bar with random boots? It’s brilliant.”
“If you say so.” Cameron Lovell still wore the smug expression. “I suspected you might like something like this. You get modern bars, rustic bars, and then you get the quirky ones. This one even serves food. You can get Mexican chili or burritos here, or you can go for traditional oven dishes. They have something here called shepard’s or cottage pie. Delicious.”
“What’s that?” Aleshia asked, delving once more into the easy rapport they shared with each other. She found herself liking Cameron more and more when they talked. Vaneese, when hearing about the proposed meeting for drinks, was beside herself in excitement, insisting that Aleshia got everything waxed and wore her special perfume which was apparently guaranteed to immobilize a man with lust.
Any protests of “We’re not going on a date, we’re just meeting up to discuss more about what kind of properties I might like,” fell on deaf ears. Aleshia barely managed to convince herself. She couldn’t deny the possibility, either, that Cameron gave her looks suggesting more than a passing interest, or that part of her had accepted the invitation, because of how close it would be to a real date, if not being one in disguise. She also couldn’t stop that peculiar craving to continue indulging his attention. She liked it. She liked that she could receive such open admiration for her body, without Peter growling in the background, delivering some kind of cutting remark that brought her down to the mud.
“It’s an English dish, last time I checked. A meat pie with either lamb or beef, topped with mashed potatoes and sometimes, if you’re feeling adventurous, cheddar cheese. If you’re hungry shortly we can order some. I’ll pay. Because I’m a gentleman like that.”
“Thank you.” She flashed him a beatific smile, taking the liberty to stretch her arms. “Though that does make this sound more like a date than a social outing.”
“Well. I’m happy to see where it goes,” Cameron replied. He gave a roguish wink, a mischievous smirk curling up his lips. Tiny moths fluttered deep in Aleshia. “But first. Properties. Would you want to buy a place, rather than rent? Or do you not care or do you want to focus on renting?”
Aleshia stared at her foaming beer, it had been sitting there full the entire night.
“I’m leaning more towards buying something. I’ve done nothing but scrimp and scrape from my years freelancing. I did it all the way through my former jobs, trying to net myself a career in marketing and editing and writing. Succeeded. I’m not on the big bucks but I have enough to call a place my own. I think.” She played with her empty bottle, under the watchful fascination of Cameron Lovell, sitting there in his immaculate pants and cream shirt, the hint of a beard showing upon his sharp features. The first button of his shirt lay unbuttoned, and she saw no chest hair poking up from it, making her wonder if he shaved there or not.
“Could you afford twenty percent deposit on a five hundred thousand dollar property?”
Aleshia paused. “Set it on four hundred. That would be my bar. I can also bully my sister to help out, though I’ll be in debt for the rest of my life. And if we’re looking for properties, I’d like something that has a similar feel to this place. Not fancy and modern. Cozy and snug.”
Cameron Lovell gulped down the rest of his beer, before calling a server over to ask for another round, he hadn't noticed Aleshia's untouched beer. He also asked if they could try out the cottage pie the bar cooked. The server agreed, and scurried away to get things sorted out. “I can work with that. Though don’t expect any penthouses in your future. Those tend to sell for way too much.”
“I can live without,” Aleshia said with a faint smile. “Thank you for your help on this. I would be completely lost without some sort of guidance. Or shacking up in some other crummy apartment.”
“No problem. I’ll check my clients. I’ll make sure to find you the dream property that’ll make your eyes pop out in amazement. You’ll be falling all over my feet thanking me in how amazing and helpful I’ve been.” His voice dipped, turning noticeably seductive. More of the fluttering gave way in Aleshia’s stomach. She struggled to hold his lingering dark eyes with hers, without flushing in return.
“I sincerely hope so,” she said. She felt wretched, all of a sudden, realizing she liked Cameron. A lot.
Forks and knives were placed on their table, wrapped in a serviette. Food followed shortly afterward on white porcelain plates. Aleshia eyed the cottage pie segment, noted the creamy, buttery richness of the mashed potato hidden under the brown speckled cheese, and the way the meat sauce dripped enticingly, with small chunks of vegetable trapped between the mixture. It also came with a side helping of peas.
“Since we’re getting on so fine, let’s swap a few questions around. If you’re up for it.” The cheeky grin made Aleshia’s heart melt and thud painfully at the same time.
“Ah,” she sighed. “I might be able to answer you some of those. But I want to start.” She wanted to lead him away from the inevitable questions for as long as possible. She wanted to preserve the moment they shared together now, as it made her feel happier and more purposeful than she remembered feeling since Peter. Peter crept into her head like a poison, reminding her starkly, of his number still preserved on her phone, sitting in the memory like a cancer.
“Go for it.”
“Have you ever felt like your life has been without purpose?” Aleshia was not sure what made her say the words. She originally planned on asking something more innocuous, less personal. However, her mouth ran separate from her brain – digging straight into a topic that had sunk itself into her consciousness. This was a question she often asked herself.
Cameron seemed momentarily surprised by the question, but quickly recovered. “That’s one way to go out swinging.”
“You plan to answer?” Aleshia tucked into
her food, testing with her tongue to detect if it was too hot. She blew on the morsel dripping from her fork, and chewed, liking the contrast of flavors.
Cameron gave a nervous chuckle. “Well, I could say that I feel that a lot, yes. I imagine everyone does at a point, though.”
“I feel it all the time,” Aleshia admitted. “By all accounts, I could be considered successful. Decent job with flexible work hours, a place to live, a sister and mother who love me, and it can only get better. Yet, I feel like there’s something big missing. It’s a gap… a kind of nothingness I can’t explain. Though I’ve tried. With bad poetry and all.”
The realtor followed her words intently, hanging onto each syllable. “I know what you mean,” he said slowly.
“It’s not a nice feeling, is it?” Aleshia stared at him sympathetically. The writer in her itched to get into his personality, find out what made him tick – and she spotted things clicking in his expression.
“No, it’s not. I do feel that a lot. I also feel like I don’t have a right to think something like that, since obviously I’m a lot better off than others.” Cameron Lovell’s lips dipped into cautious sadness. “There is always someone worse off. People who will flay you apart just to have a taste of what you have.”
“True.” Aleshia continued eating her cottage pie. Cameron, who had ignored the food previously, blinked into awareness and picked up his fork and knife, taking apart the pie segment. “Doesn’t take the feeling away. Just means you shouldn’t talk about it. So it sits there.”
The realtor delicately picked at his food. “You say you’ve written poems about it? Why don’t you recite one?”
“Over food? Do you want to be put off the food or something?” Aleshia said, blushing, considering if she should pretend she didn’t remember any of her poems. I remember them all, because they’re a part of me.
“Go on. I’m curious now. Give me a taste.” He relaxed in his chair, angling his legs wider apart.
Shyly, Aleshia cast through her reservoir, locating a poem written five years ago. It was one of her more private ones, words she hadn’t shared with anyone before. She swallowed, breathed, and recited the poem.
There were many things I wanted to do
Many dreams I dreamt
Many words I thought about you
All circling in the graveyard of my mind.
I can't explain you
What you're doing here roaming
Taking the edge off my success
Making everything cast-iron gray.
Does the path lead to or away?
I’m still searching for a purpose
Floating in that dark sea
Pretending I’m happy
Ignoring the little voice that screams.
Silence fell between them, though quiet conversation persisted with the others in the bar. The poker table had one person exclaiming in disgust, their double pair trumped by a royal flush.
“That’s pretty heavy,” Cameron eventually said. “I’m not a poet myself. Putting words together in that fashion isn’t something I can do. It’s…” he was at a loss. “It makes sense to me. I’ve felt that.”
Aleshia felt some of her awkwardness peel off. “I’m glad it makes sense. I wrote that a while back, when I found myself stuck in a routine, doing nothing exciting or meaningful. I don’t write poems that often, but sometimes I find them best to express certain… things.”
Cameron Lovell nodded. “I get it. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s beautiful. I would like to hear more of your poems.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that. they’re the kind that can suck the light out of a room, since they tend to be written at peak emotional climates.” Aleshia rested her fork on the plate and interlocked her fingers, rueful. The vulnerability felt from delivering the poem died down, instead replaced by the sinking feeling. Damn it, Cameron Lovell really was someone worth considering as boyfriend material. Sparks grated in their words, in the careful, admiring glances they gave one another. There was something tangible here. An attraction she could almost touch. Out of all the worst timings the universe chose to shunt her way, this had to be top of the list. The image of a moth, circling closer and closer to a flame breached her thoughts. She battled it out of her mind, but not before the moth’s wings touched the edge of the fire, and crackled up like dried leaves.
“Peak emotional climates. Nice phrasing.” Cameron tasted the words. “Perhaps you’re right. I came here to talk business, and a little extra. But I can’t say I regret the detour.” He smiled at her, as if seeing her in a new light. “I don’t recall your sister ever being quite so… poetic.”
“She’s the loud one. She used to think she could win her arguments against anyone by shouting at them louder. You should have heard some of the screaming discussions she had with our parents. She learned better volume control later, though.” Aleshia forced a smile, but waited, heart heavy, for the inevitable question.
“So, I have to ask,” Cameron said, leaning forward, eyes raised, making his forehead crinkle with jagged lines. “Are you single? I’m really enjoying this evening. More than expected, and that’s been hovering in my head for a bit.”
Fragments of her heart started chipping off. “I’m single.”
Cameron saw the dismay in her eyes, heard it in her voice. “You don’t sound so happy to admit to that fact.” Puzzlement appeared. “I thought… you seemed interested. I’m sorry. I went beyond myself.” The excitement in his eyes faded as well. Sudden tension formed in the air.
“No. I’m the one who is sorry.” Aleshia had no idea how to explain it. The words filled up her throat like vomit. “It’s just, I’ve been enjoying this evening. Enjoying you. I’m glad you’ll be helping out with the property hunting, and with all the effort you’ve put into arranging this. And believe me, I wish I could start dating you. I’m feeling… something. A spark. But I’ve left quite a mess behind in Minnesota, and brought a little of it here. I can’t drag you into that.”
Cameron Lovell stopped eating his food completely. “I’ll bite. What is it that makes you single and yet not able to consider a date?”
Aleshia appreciated the bluntness, the dispassionate tone. She suspected somewhere that Cameron Lovell had been rejected a few times before, in damning manners from the lovers of his past.
“I came to Miami to escape my controlling ex.” Aleshia deliberately didn’t look at Cameron Lovell’s haunting dark eyes. “I still have his number on my phone, though my sister and her friend tell me daily to block it. And they’re completely right, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. So, it’s too soon for me to go into one. The guy I select might be nothing more than rebound material. The attraction I feel at that point could be just out of a longing for some sort of attention.”
“Okay…” Cameron digested the words. He took his time to answer, wanting to give Aleshia fair judgment. “I understand the rebound thing. That’s something that can be solved with time. I also get maybe you can’t erase someone out of your life who has been a part of it. Is there more?”
“The other thing, which will be the massive elephant in the room, is that I’m pregnant.”
The atmosphere turned icy. “Pregnant?” Cameron repeated, consternation on his features.
“Yup. I moved here because my sister could help support me, and because there was no way I could stay around Peter – my ex. Part of me thinks having the kid is going to wreck my life, the other is going, eh, fuck it. May as well try.”
“I… see,” Cameron responded stiffly. A long, awful silence, like a chill wind sweeping over their skin passed. “Does your ex… want the child?”
“No. He doesn’t give a shit about it.”
“Did you intend to have it?”
“No.” Aleshia sighed in irritation. She saw the prospect of their blossoming friendship vanishing under the heavy rock of her recent past and upcoming future with the child. “I’m allergic to the pill. And he insisted he wouldn’t wear
a condom, because it made the sex less pleasant.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He also thought I couldn’t get pregnant if he pulled out in time. I… knew otherwise. But… I. I wanted nothing more than to please him. So now,” she patted her stomach. “I’m going to be paying for that mistake.” She knew she was over-killing it with the words, but couldn’t stop her need to explain, to tell him why everything was so fucked up.
Cameron’s lips thinned. “Looks like it. And it’s a shame. I like you, Aleshia. I do. I hoped maybe we could try our hand at dating. With your permission, of course. But I don’t think somehow I can be dealing with a kid. It’s a lot of responsibility. Sudden responsibility. I hope you understand.” His eyes stared at her blankly. His voice came out cold.
“Believe me, I relate to the term ‘sudden responsibility,’ only too well.” Crimson flushed across Aleshia’s cheeks. She struggled hard to not cry. “Drat. I really fucked up. And just when I met someone who I actually like, too.”
She drew back her tears with a sniffle, noting Cameron’s darkening expression. She understood. She wouldn’t want the person she was facing to suddenly burst out in tears. With her heart still raw from Peter, and crumbling from the realization she couldn’t date, or perhaps be part of that life ever again, the facts stung. “Ah well. I’ll have to deal with it. Thank you for the nice evening. It’s been the most fun I’ve have in a while.”
“Yes.” Cameron pushed his plate aside. “I’ve liked it, too. I’ll be looking for the property you need tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll come up with some good results for you. You probably could do with finding something stable.” His face, hardened with the mask of caution, then softened. “Thank you for being honest.”