Like a Fox (3 page)

I finally move. Daylight has just begun to settle, so there’s still plenty of light to see by and plenty of people are still roaming about, cars continually driving by.

“I would never hurt you,” he informs me as we make the short distance to my place.

“You’re very talkative
after
dinner,” I can’t help but retort.

A smirk emerges.

“He smiles,” I tease.

It instantly disappears.

I laugh.

At my door it gets awkward. For me at least. Who the hell knows what
he’s
thinking?

I stand there, unsure if I should wait and see if he kisses me or go in. Do I even want him to kiss me? I do. I really, really do.

“Good night,” he says first.

“Good night,” I respond in a hushed tone, not wanting the night to be over.

We stand there for what feels like a minute but it’s probably only about five seconds.

He nods at the door, “You going in?”

Shit, that’s embarrassing. I fumble with the key I pull from my shoe, unlock my door, and slide in, waving as I close it. I peek through the hole to find him already walking across the street and entering into the inn across the way.

“How’d it go?” Maya excitedly asks, coming into the living room.

She’s in one of Flynn’s shirts, so I know he must be having a “sleepover.”

“Epic fail.”

Her shoulders slouch, “Bummer.”

We both take a seat on the couch.

“What happened?”

I explain every bizarre moment of it.

“And you don’t think he was interested?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “He gave no indication whatsoever that he was.”

“I bet he did. You’re oblivious to that stuff.”

“Why didn’t he try kissing me?”

“Maybe he was nervous.”

“I don’t think he gets nervous.”

“Old-fashioned?” She suggests, trying to ease my obvious disappointment.

“Maybe.”

“Would you want to see him again?”

I’m not sure. A part of me wanted him to treat me like the men do in books and movies, whispering sweet nothings and sweeping me off my feet, but even
I
know those men aren’t real. The other part of me desires him with a strength that knocks the wind out of me. Either way, it doesn’t matter; not unless he stops coming to the café.

Chapter 4

At nine o’clock on the dot Vic enters, untucking the newspaper from under his arm and taking his usual table in the back so there’s nothing behind him.

I head over and pour him coffee, “The usual today?”

“Yes, please,” he says, folding out the paper.

His lack of attention is nothing new. This is exactly how he begins every morning at this time.

I come back fifteen minutes later with a glass of orange juice (he prefers it brought at the exact same time as his meal) and a plate of eggs over easy, sourdough toast, and two slices of bacon.

My sister arrives late as usual, after I have made a round of coffee refills and I pour her one.

“Did he talk to you?” She whispers next to me by the cash register.

“Only the usual.”

“Damn, I’m losing my mojo. I could have sworn I felt the
vibe
.”

“What vibe?”

“The one people give off when they’re digging on someone. They have a vibe.”

“Have you been hanging around Arty again?” He’s Dad’s oldest friend, and loves to read peoples’ auras.

“Don’t judge.” She nudges me with a knowing smile, “Here he comes. Total
vibes
. Tell me you don’t feel it.”

I glance up to find Vic walking over. I don’t have a clue what he’s feeling; all I can handle at the moment is my own present state of unhinged.

“I’ll be waiting out front at four-thirty-seven.”

“Today?” I ask, trying not to let my mouth hang open in shock.

He nods, turns, and leaves.

I admire his rear end, “Should I be offended that he never waits for me to accept?”

Maya is also watching him through the window. We both tilt our heads to the side as though it will give us a better view of his glorious behind.

“Is he arrogant?”

“No.”

“Cocky?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

We straighten out our necks when he is out of view.

“Then I think that’s just how he operates. Does it bother you?”

“Is it strange that I’m not sure?”

“No. That’s why it’s called dating. You’re finding out if you like a person or not.”

“You must not have liked anybody,” I tease; she used to have a new date every night before she became exclusive with Flynn. She doesn’t have the same no sex rules as I do.

Maya slaps me with a wet rag, welting the skin on the back of my kneecap. I yelp. She cackles, doing it again in the same spot.

~~~~~

“What’s that?”

“What?” I follow to where Vic’s finger is pointing at the backside of my leg. I had expected him to bring up that I’m early. Four-thirty on the dot. I wanted to see what he’d do.

He bends down, still pointing, “
That
?”

He’s angry, it’s obvious from his scowl.

He glances up, “Did someone do that to you?”

His hand touches my calf and it electrifies my skin. He’s focused on the red strip where Maya hit me with the wet towel.

“It’s nothing. I made a joke my sister didn’t find funny and she got me with a rag.”

He doesn’t let go of my leg, “Does she do this to you a lot?”

“It’s cool, we were messing around.”

Vic stands. “That’s not
cool
,” he says with disgust. “No one should ever touch you hard enough to leave a mark. No one.”

“Honestly, it’s okay. I’ve done it to her too. We’ve been doing it for years.”

He huffs and turns his body, walking towards downtown.

And we’re off to another great start. I should really start writing a how-to on dating. Women could learn a lot from me.

I hurry to catch up.

We stop at The Barbeque Pit. It’s as classy as the name makes it out to be. The French bistro and this couldn’t be any more different.

Vic opens the door for me.

I’m greeted by one of the waiters whom I’ve known since childhood.

“Freya! How’s it going?” Aaron comes and gives me a hug, “Where’s that gorgeous sister of yours?”

I pull away, never being a big fan of hugging, “Working.”

“Shame.” He turns on a flirting smile, “At least you’re here.”

Vic steps up behind me, placing a hand on my lower back, “Excuse us, we have a reservation.” He leads me to the hostess, “We have reservations for two under Fox.”

I begin to let out a laugh, but hold it in when I realize he’s serious. The Barbeque Pit isn’t the kind of place you make reservations at. They have peanut shells on the ground for crying out loud!

The hostess seems confused, then finds a paper on the stand, “Oh, right.” She tries to conceal a laugh of her own, “Right this way, Mr. Fox.”

She leads us to the far back, to the corner table. Vic takes a seat in the corner, I take the opposite one. The hostess hands us both menus. He lets her know we’ll need a pitcher of their double IPA (another one of my preferences).

Normally, all the hostess is there for is for the guys to ogle at while they wait for a table to be available. Then she usually just points to the one they can take, handing off a few menus. No one has ever been lead to a table before.

“That’s interesting,” I comment out loud.

Vic doesn’t glance up from his menu, “Hm?”

“Reservations?”

“Yes.”

“They don’t take reservations,” I urge, trying to get more out of him.

“I came in this afternoon,” he divulges, setting his menu down and placing his clasped hands on top. “Manager let me take a look around and agreed to allow me my preferred table.”

“Take a look around?”

Our beer arrives and I know that this conversation will be brushed aside as he takes the two pint glasses and pitcher. Both are a perfect pour: the kind that leaves a bit of foam on top, but not enough to give you a mustache; just enough to make you salivate from wanting a taste.

I point to his perfect pour, “That’s hard to do.”

“I learned from a man I know in Germany. They take beer pouring quite seriously.” He places a glass in front of me. “I never enter a new building without inspecting it first.”

I’m taken back then it registers that he’s carrying on our conversation from before.

“Why?” I have to ask; it’s weird.

He takes a swallow, licking his lips. How does he do that? How does he make things so sexy to watch?

“I need to know my surroundings,” he confesses.

Aaron comes and we place our order. Aaron lingers to eye my date. My date eyes Aaron. Aaron frowns and walks away.

“You never had a tour of the café,” I point out. Someone would have mentioned it if it had happened; my family over-shares every minute of their lives, even epic trips to the bathroom. We’re gross like that.

“I broke protocol.”

“Are you CIA or something?”

This gets a small smirk, “No.”

“Would you even tell me?”

“I will tell you anything you want to know.”

“Why did you break protocol?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He cracks open a peanut from the container on the table, dumping the shell in the empty basket next to it. He’s probably the first person to ever do so.

“Me?” I take a guess.

“Yes.”

I can’t speak. I have more questions but they won’t come out. It wasn’t a compliment or romantic words, yet it hit harder than anything I had ever heard before.

“You’re blushing.”

I put a hand to my warm cheek.

Vic’s hand reaches across the table, gently removing my own, “Don’t cover it.”

I still feel his fingers even though they have left.

I decide to test him and see if he really will answer any question, “You never answered my question about your last name.”

“Yes I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. I said it varies, and it does.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“No, you’re not phrasing your questions in a way that allows me not to be.”

“Why does it vary?”

“It depends on where I’m at or why I’m there.”

This is getting frustrating. More questions only lead me to being more confused, “I feel like you enjoy toying with me.”

“I do.”

The food arrives.

I don’t ask any more questions, mostly because I can’t think of a way to word them that will force him to answer with a real response.

He doesn’t seem bothered by the silence. This time I finish last, too wrapped in my own head, trying to figure this guy out.

“Ready?” He asks.

I nod and we leave. I follow as we head to my place.

He speaks when we are close, “You’re quiet.”

I shrug.

At my door he says a “good night.”

“Night,” I say over my shoulder, unlocking the front door. I take a peek through the hole. He is already crossing the street. I’m crushed and I don’t understand why. I shouldn’t like this guy. I shouldn’t care that he seems to be playing some game with me that I’m not even aware of.

It’s only fair to let me know the rules so I can play along.

Chapter 5

I’m lost in my thoughts as I put away the fresh bagels, thinking about Vic and wishing I could better understand him because I’m having too many conflicting emotions over him. I mean, I know I like him, but he’s so different from me and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing.

“Did you go on my computer?” My dad hollers from his office when I pass to put the bagel box away.

I pause at the entrance, “No, why?”

His usual laid back features and posture are now hunched over, shoulders to his chin with tension and brows knitted together as one. “It says I last logged in at two in the morning.”

I roll my eyes. My dad is over-paranoid about his computer. I blame the pot. He always thinks someone is trying to hack into it. Honestly, if someone was going to break in wouldn’t it be for expensive items or the safe with money, or just take the whole darn laptop?

“Someone’s definitely been on here,” he reiterates.

“Dad, you’re being paranoid again.” This happens a few times a year. By now I brush it off. “Why would someone want to hack into it?”

He scrubs his face, “That guy you went on a date with, he get access to the key at all?”

This is what I’m talking about. Paranoid.

“Why would I give him a key?”

“He might have stolen it.”

“He never came into my house,” I assure him. “And why Vic? Why not Flynn?”

“Flynn’s not the type.”

True. “And Vic is?”

“He looks too
city
to live around here.”

By “city” he means anybody outside of our town.

I roll my eyes again, “Stop forgetting to bring it home.”

He almost always brings his laptop home, but on days he forgets he always assumes someone’s out to get him.

I leave him in his frazzled state, knowing he’ll just smoke a bowl and come out happy again.

The morning rush keeps my dad distracted, and before the hour is up he’s singing show tunes and making people his special omelets that he won’t even tell Sammy what the secret ingredient is.

Rudy comes over from next door, waving around a record, his cheeks glowing with excitement, “I found it, Sammy! I found it!”

Sammy comes rushing out of the kitchen, grabbing hold of the album. He stares down at it, gripping it tightly in both hands, tears glistening his eyes. Then he hugs Rudy, a long, strong one. Rudy looks like he’ll cry himself, patting Sammy on the back with affection.

Sammy starts going table to table to show everyone.

I set down the coffee I had been drinking, wanting to see Rudy’s latest find.

A large smile forms when I see what album it is. It’s a rare Bessie Smith record, the one Sammy and his wife loved to listen to together. One of the songs even had the honor of being the first song they danced to as man and wife.

“Go put it on,” I cheer, wiping away a few tears with my apron.

Sammy hurries, and within a minute we hear it coming through the speakers from the record player he keeps with him.

I smile even bigger and we all carry on with our day, now a little lighter and happier feeling.

“What was all that about?”

My stomach lurches at the sound of Vic’s voice and the heat of him standing so close behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck.

I tell him quickly about the fire and Sammy’s wife, whom he loved so deeply, and how this was their favorite album to listen to together because of the memories it held.

Vic frowns, brows pulled together while going to his regular seat.

Maya lets out a loud whoop when she arrives and hears the music, knowing the only reason it’s playing is because someone had finally found it.

The happiness and excitement is contagious, and I’m too busy enjoying the new music to really give Vic much thought.

“Four-thirty,” Vic confirms on his way out.

“I have plans.”

He frowns, opens his mouth, shuts it, and then walks away. He turns around at the door and walks back. “Is it me or do you really have plans?”

“It’s not you…well it’s kind of you, but I really do have plans,” I reluctantly reveal, though I’m looking forward to some distance and time spent with friends even if all we’re doing is catching a movie.

“What have I done?”

I’m taken back from his vulnerable tone, even though his features and posture remain poised. “Nothing really, you’re just confusing and I’m not sure if I like it. I come from an open family, so you’re hard for me to understand.” Plus, it’ll be good for me to have a night off from him to calm my nerves and constant state of butterflies.

“Mm,” is his response before he leaves.

I’m crushed and I wasn’t expecting to feel that way. I like him more than I want to admit.

Maya comes up and smooths out the crease between my brows, “You’re so serious today. This guy really has you all twisted up inside doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Is it him or his aloofness?”

“Both. That’s why I’m so torn.”

“It’ll work out the way it’s supposed to.” She truly believes that about life, but I don’t share her belief. I think fate is something we decide on our own; that it becomes our destiny because we choose it to be. Pretty ironic, considering I’m named after the Norse Goddess of Fate.