Authors: Amanda K. Byrne
French fries. Again. She’d ordered fries with her sandwich, that night in the hotel. The movie she’d been watching. It was as good a topic as any. “
LA Confidential
. You said it was one of your favorites. Got any others?”
Her drink sloshed as her hand jerked around it. “Oh. Um.
Memento. Chinatown. The Lives of Others.
”
“Why?”
She drank deeply before answering. The level of liquid in her glass was below the halfway point when the glass came back down. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright and animated. “It’s the story. It has to have a good story, otherwise why would I want to spend two hours or more sitting in the dark? They…make me think. They let me into someone else’s world, a believable world, not one populated by morons who think shit jokes are funny.”
Her fries arrived, and she worked her way through the basket, the pauses in the conversation growing less awkward as she told him about her favorite movies, moving on to books and reading, her preferred hobby. There was an entire wall in her dining room, she said, lined with boxes of books. She was thinking built-in shelves, once she got around to painting the damn place.
She sipped her drink and sat back, nudging the basket toward the middle of the table. “God, I’m awful. I swear I’m not normally this self-centered.” She waved a hand at the fries. “Help yourself.” Propping her chin on her hand, she looked at him, the wariness and reserve finally gone from her expression. “Now you know what I do with my free time. What about you?”
“Spend a lot of time outdoors. There’s plenty of hiking around here. Skiing, too.” He reached for a fry. “Haven’t caved to peer pressure yet and gotten a bike, but I’m thinking about it.”
“Do you hike with a group? My friends aren’t all that into nature, so the most they’ll do is walk one of the trails out at Forest Park. Trying to talk one of them into anything more strenuous requires bribes.”
He shook his head. “A buddy of mine sometimes goes with me, but I go alone a lot of the time.” He told her about some of his favorite trails, and she pulled out her phone to note a couple he mentioned that were fairly easy hikes that would have a good number of hikers in decent weather if she went by herself.
Hiking. Something they could do together. He made a mental note to ask her in the spring, when the weather improved.
She tucked the phone back in her purse. “Hate to say it, but I need to get home.” She signaled to the server for the check, then slid her gaze to Taylor. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “This was fun.”
She left it at that. No subtle hints she’d like to do it again, just a simple thanks. They busied themselves with the check and pulling on coats, stepping out into the cold, damp evening. “Where’s your bus stop? Or did you drive in?” he asked. It wasn’t late, and the streets around their office were pretty safe, but if she was walking somewhere, he’d go with her to make sure nothing happened.
And he wasn’t quite ready to leave her.
“Two blocks over. Yours?”
“Three blocks. I’ll walk you to your stop.”
She shrugged. “Okay.” Then she headed for the corner.
Sara’s bus stop turned out to be two blocks out of his way, and if he wanted to catch his bus he’d have to hurry. He scanned the sidewalk. The shelter was lit, and several people stood inside, waiting for the bus. She stopped just outside the pool of light and shot him a teasing grin. “Now who’s going to walk you to your stop?”
His lips twitched. “I’ll take my chances.” That was his cue to say goodbye, leave her for the evening. Still, he hesitated, unsure if he should make some gesture. A hug, a kiss on the cheek.
Too much, too soon. He was going to take this slow, let her lead for a while. He settled for a brief smile and a dip of his head. “Have a good weekend, Sara.”
He’d see her on Monday. It was soon enough.
Sara snatched up her phone before it could skitter off her desk. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner. Things have been crazy the last few days.” Nate’s familiar voice was apologetic. “I hope I didn’t screw up any plans you had.”
“Nah.” It wasn’t unusual for one or the other to take so long to return a phone call. Her disappointment at having to leave a voicemail hadn’t lasted long. If she got to see him, great. If not, she’d find something else to do. “What’ve you been up to?”
She chatted with him for a few more minutes before repeating her invitation to dinner. His hesitation spoke volumes, and she steeled herself for a rejection.
“Sara, I’d love to. And I’d love to keep seeing you, but there’s casual, and then there’s what you and I’ve got. I’m not saying I’m looking to get into anything serious…no, I am. Something a little more serious than what we are would be good.” He sighed. “I mean it, I like hanging out with you, and yeah, I’d be up for making it more regular.” He lapsed into silence, and her stomach tightened. Her move. She should say yes. Yes, she’d like to do this more regularly. Yes, she’d like to keep seeing him. Yes, she’d like to entertain the possibility of sex.
She missed sex. Missed everything about it. Sex with Nate would be good. He’d proven himself in the kissing department. More, he’d never pushed her beyond her comfort zone.
Maybe she needed something different. Someone who
would
push her out of her comfort zone. Then she might get laid sometime in the next decade.
Fear crept through her. “I can’t,” she whispered, hating that her voice sounded so tiny. So easily broken. She swallowed. “I can’t. I know it’s a terrible cliché, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m not ready for anything more…regular than what we’ve got. And it sucks.” It really did. She wished she could be stronger, be ready for a guy like Nate, be what he deserved, and it hurt that she couldn’t.
The conversation ended abruptly after that, and she locked the phone in her desk so she wouldn’t be tempted to call him back and tell him she’d give it a shot.
She couldn’t ignore the screaming
NO!
at his admission he wanted more.
She spun her chair toward the window. Staring hard at the rain pelting the streets of downtown Portland, she fought off the self-loathing slinking into her brain. She could only curse Sam for so much, and for so long. Eventually she’d have to suck it up and get on with the rest of the business of life.
There’d be other guys. Other decent men like Nate. They weren’t an anomaly. Harder to find, sure. She wasn’t in a hurry. That, ultimately, was what caused her to say
no
when
yes
was on the tip of her tongue. Nate had the misfortune of being a guinea pig, the way she’d kept coming back, pushing a little further each time, instead of cutting it off after a few dates.
Rain struck the windows, pinging like flying gravel. The black continued to encroach, sinking into her limbs, making her want to curl into a ball and hide under her desk.
Enough
. If she couldn’t focus on work, she’d distract herself until the nastiness inside dissipated.
She slid the bottom drawer of her desk open and tugged her purse free. She wanted to be surrounded by noise and left alone. Stumptown was the perfect spot.
The small shop across the street was about half full, the rain keeping her co-workers from crossing the street for their mid-morning caffeine fix. Creamy walls were highlighted by black framed photos, and after grabbing a cup of coffee, she found a table tucked away in the back.
The words on the page swam and reoriented themselves. Tears collected and threatened to fall, a lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t indulged in a pity party this dark in almost two years.
And she wasn’t about to do it now. She was being ridiculous. There was no hard and fast rule for recovering from a traumatic incident, and she was allowed to backslide every once in a while. As long as she didn’t let it take over. She forced her attention to her book. Word by word, she picked her way through the sentences, then the paragraphs, until the pages sped by without effort.
It swirled around her, the story and the characters and their ups and downs pulling her to and fro. She forgot about her disappointment, her anxiety, whether she’d ever manage a normal relationship again. The story swallowed her whole and held her there, like Jonah in the belly of a whale.
“Hey.”
She jumped, dropping her book into her lap. “Jesus. Ninja skills, much?” Taylor stood in front of her, holding a cup of coffee, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
He bent down and picked up her bookmark. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Right,” she growled. The too-cushy chair made getting up difficult, and he cupped a hand around her elbow to help her to her feet, the gentle touch sending a thrill up her arm. “Thanks,” she mumbled, cheeks heating.
“Hiding?”
“Yeah.” She picked up her empty coffee cup. “I needed a break, and I didn’t want to sit in the break room where anyone could shove their nose into my space. What time is it?” The shop didn’t boast any wall clocks.
“Almost eleven.” He waited while she deposited her cup in a plastic tub. “If you want to stay, I won’t tell anyone.” His grin was lightning quick and shifted his expression into something more approachable.
Oh. Wow.
It was like she was back in the hotel room, her brain shutting down at the sight. A low thrum of sound wound through her ears as the noise of the shop disappeared, and her vision narrowed to the curve of his lips. Upward curve. Completely out of place and yet totally natural.
His lips moved, forming shapes, and she stumbled when his hand closed around her upper arm, a spike of panic spearing her gut. Too close. Too personal. And he was all kinds of wrong for her. She inhaled, willing the tension away, and caught the scent of coffee and something else, sharp and clean, like juniper. Had to be Taylor. She almost leaned forward for a better sniff, stopping herself at the last second. “What? Sorry. No. I didn’t mean to stay away that long.”
She glanced out the front windows of the shop. The rain had let up. She nodded toward the door. “Come on. We should head back before it starts pouring again.” His once again quiet presence beside her as they walked out of the shop and across the street to the office pushed the last of the panic back where it belonged.
In a tiny box, chained shut.
* * *
Two days later she was trying not to overanalyze the incident. It was perfectly acceptable that Taylor would walk over to Stumptown for his coffee. Not everyone was willing to sacrifice good coffee to the rain, and she hadn’t been completely hidden from view. They’d had drinks together, so he’d probably felt he ought to say hello. Baby steps toward getting to know each other, although she couldn’t fathom why he wanted to try all of a sudden. She stewed over it as she mechanically ate her sandwich, sitting in the empty break room.
This time, when Taylor sat down, she didn’t jump ten feet in the air. She slid him a glance, gave him a small smile, and bit off more sandwich.
They developed a pattern. It took her a while to realize he wasn’t going to go away; a few lunches spent sharing a table in silence, a trip across the street for coffee, a few minutes in the middle of the day making idle conversation. So when she asked if he wanted to meet up for happy hour, she had more confidence that if he said no, it was because he simply didn’t feel like it.
His
yes
had her doing a mental happy dance, and she fought the urge to question
why
she was happy about it.
“So you’re a transplant, right?” They were in the same bar as before, same corner booth. She’d originally chosen it because she’d never seen anyone from work inside when she’d passed it. But the bar fit Taylor. Quiet, unassuming, and more than you’d expect.
And the sweet potato fries were excellent.
He’d ordered them as soon as they sat down, and his lips moved in a half-smile when they arrived. Then he pushed them into the center of the table.
She’d planned to resist. French fries were a weakness, a favorite of hers, and if she ate them as often as she craved them she’d have a hell of a lot more padding on her hips. Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she stared at the fries.
“Go on. Resistance is futile.” The half-smile had become a full on grin, and she had to gulp down half her gin and tonic before her mouth didn’t feel as dry as the Mojave.
“You’re going to kill me, you know that? Now,” and she pointed a fry at him, “no avoiding the question. You’re not from Portland originally, right?”
He shook his head. “Boston.” Something in his eyes locked down, and she considered poking at it.
She wanted to know his secrets. Wanted to know if he’d been thinking about her as she’d been thinking about him, curious and uncertain and eager to figure out what was happening between them. But she’d get more out of him if she let him steer the conversation where he wanted it to go. She grinned. “You don’t have an accent. I thought all Bostonians had super nasally accents.”
It was the right thing to say. The stiffness in his shoulders fell away, little by little, as he chewed on a fry. “A lot of them do. I got out of there as soon as I could, so that might have something to do with it.”
“College?”
He nodded. “Carolina.
“Tarheel. Cool. So, is the rivalry between Carolina and Duke as insane as it appears on TV?”
“They’d like to think so. Ever been to a Yankees Red Sox game?” He snorted. “
That’s
a rivalry. These other so-called rivalries in sports are pathetic. Sox fans, Yankees fans, they’re not afraid to get bloody. And they will. Did you ever read
Fever Pitch
?”
She bit a fry in half. “Hornby, right? Heard of it. I haven’t read it, though.”