Hardest to Love

by Sidney Ivens

Until the electrician can get here, we’re Abe Lincoln-ing it, log cabin style, candles flickering everywhere. Women eat and laugh, and at the cash register, Elena accepts a twenty for a customer’s paperback, another sweaty male torso book. I squint. What’s the title of this joyous tome? “He’s Got a Big Un?”

  Near the shelves where the Shakespeare bust sits, Elena approaches Tiffany, who’s wearing a purple umbrella-shaped dress. The two of them are in a huddle, heads close together. Tif throws her head back and laughs, and I wonder what the hell they’re talking about. Now Elena’s patting Princess Patton on the arm. They’re like long-lost dorm roommates. This cannot be good.

  Cos approaches me, scrunching a napkin in his fist. He shoves his hand in his pants pocket, his tweed sports coat falling behind his arm. More of the Ken Doll wardrobe.

  He looks at our two ladies engaged in conversation. “You two sure had a moment. I’m surprised you didn’t try a belly shot.”

  “It’s the vibrating electric massager. Brings out the animal in me.”

  “Nick, almost anything brings out the animal in you. The food was fantastic, by the way. Tif wants all the recipes.”

  “Chris, her brother, helped make it. Ma—my mother’s—recipes.”

  “What’s the deal with him?”

  “Brain injury. IED went off near his Oshkosh unit. Elena says he’s light years better than he used to be.”

  Blinking, Cos pauses with his red Solo cup mid-air. “You should hire him for the sports bar.”

  “Maybe.” I hadn’t thought of it until now. The pressure would probably be too much. And hiring him would cause problems between Elena and me.

  “The joint’s got good bones.” His gaze roamed upward. “You’ll turn it into something epic.”

  “This is the perfect location. A millennial magnet.”

  “I don’t know, Nick. I see different ages here tonight. Moms and daughters. Grandmothers.”

  “Cos.” I hold up my hands. “A woman’s spa demo is no way to gauge the demographics around here.”

  “Don’t remind me. In shallow water, you can see to the bottom.”

  “Clear as day.”

  He sips more ginger ale and belches slightly, pounding his chest with a light fist. “You see the old man in that water?”

  I try not to jerk in response. My father was here?

  “Some blonde was with him. Major double lattes.” He makes a half-circle on his chest. “The way she was glaring, I’d say she was an ex.”

  Rhymes With. I say nothing, continue to sip on my drink.

  “What’s her name again?”

  “Lexi.”

  Lips turned downward skeptically, Cos turns toward Elena and his wife. “She doesn’t look like a Lexi.”

  “I thought you meant the blonde. That’s Elena.”

  “Yeah. Her name suits her. Tif says she’s got an Ellis Island face.”

  “What?”

  “Ellis Island face.” He straightens and aims the used Solo cup at the centrally located wastepaper basket. It flies across three feet and hits the rim, goes in. “Tif says she’d stand out among the thousands of immigrants at Ellis Island; women wearing their headscarves and babushkas.”

  “Yeah, that’s sexy.”

  “She meant it as a compliment. I’m talking about quality. She has quality.” He turns to look at me. “She’s good for you.”

  “The timing isn’t right. I need the restaurant to be a success first. Make my first mil. Then I’ll settle down.”

  “You think the right person comes along when everything in your life is perfect? You think you can time this so it’s convenient? Like some film director ordering when to let off the explosions? Real love isn’t an app. You get blindsided. Oh. Tif’s signaling. I gotta go.”

  “Hey.”

  He’s grabbed Tiffany’s coat and pivots to look at me.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Tif said you already thanked her.”

  “Never hurts to tell a friend again.”

  Cos’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops a little. “Why, you old softie.”

  “All that soy I’m chugging.” I mimic gulping from a bottle. “You know. Soyboy.”

  He claps me on the back. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  “The building inspector I hired is one of the best. My electrician guy will be here in a half-hour. I’ve got everything under control. I won’t fuck it up. I can’t.”

  “Wasn’t talking about the building, Nick.”

  At the door, his wife hooks her arm through his elbow and waves goodbye to me. They leave, the bell on the door jingling.

  That’s a first, Tiffany being friendly.

  I kind of like it.

  Two hours later, the bookstore tidied and locked up, they rushed toward the street lights and neon signs, where the last of the traffic ebbed, toward a green-and-white striped awning that said Java and Jive. The coffee shop was situated several stores north of the bookstore, at a busy corner.

  Shivering, Elena drew her scarf closer to her neck, irritated she’d forgotten her mittens.

  “C’mere.” Nick wrapped warm fingers around her left hand, and she pocketed the right. She had to walk double-time to keep up with his longer-legged stride.

  At the café, Nick held open the door, and she dodged under his outstretched arm to enter. The walls were decorated in a linen-like toile of Paris and the Eiffel Tower, and travel stamps found on old steamer trunks that said “Tastyville” and “Sweetums.”

  Nick followed her in, coughing on his hands to warm them up. Two women in their mid-sixties stood behind the glass counter, wearing black berets embossed with the company’s logo. A half-hour before closing, the glass display had been cleared of its baked goods. Shortbread cookies and one lone chocolate iced éclair remained.

  Walking up to the counter, Nick winked at them. “Ladies. We’ll have two hot chocolates. Does that sound good, Elena?”

  The heavier-set woman scowled, wiping her hands with a white towel. Her wiry gray hair moved with her wary head shake. “This one’s got textbook bad boy written all over him, Elena.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m wearing a strand of garlic cloves under my coat.” Elena approached the curved glass containing the pastries and desserts. “Nick, this is Bea and Bonnie, the owners. And I’m paying.”

  “Two hot chocolates and two shortbread cookies . . . and let’s nab that eclair, too.” He’d already pulled out a money clip from his back pocket to pay for their order.

  Of course, Nick charmed the owners, who were both laughing. During “Spa Night,” he’d captivated the crowd. She’d noticed the nervous flutter of females around him, particularly the younger ones. They straightened, licked their lips, gaped at him, dazed by Nick’s sexual aura. His slow, audacious smile.

  While he finalized their order, Elena strolled over to the colorful coffee, tea, and mug display and picked up a polar bear mug. She’d admired it on previous visits and loved the bear’s whimsical face and big black nose. It wore a striped scarf, as well as a knit cap with a puff.

  “Did he borrow your mittens without asking?”

  His breath warmed her ear and neck.

  That was cute, him saying that. She turned too fast, and her uplifted chin brought her mouth closer to his. He leaned in to kiss her.

  “Order up.”

  The heavier woman, Bea, hovered near the counter, like a beat cop about to herd a suspect into the holding cell. A small paper shopping bag with their logo sat next to two paper cups piled high with whipped cream. “We’re in back, cleaning up, Elena.” She waggled a finger. “I’m watching you, mister.”

  He laughed. “I’d watch me, too. Elena, how ‘bout you grab a table. I’ll get our cocoa.”

  She ambled toward the seating area, several round tables and chairs with wrought-iron swirls. She looked over. Nick had gone to the back to talk to the owners.

  She sat and waited. Through the foggy window, the traffic light at the intersection turned red, and an elderly c
ouple shuffled over the crosswalk. The man crouched over, waiting for the woman to catch up. Their brief struggle and obvious affection for each other got to her. Maybe someday, she’d have that. Maybe.

  But not with Nick.

  “Ah. Excellent choice, milady. A window view.” Smiling, he returned to the front retail area, holding two to-go cups, sprinkled whipped cream at the top. He set their hot beverages on the table and went back for the small bag on the bakery counter.

  “Why did you go to the back?”

  “That’s where the elves hide the sprinkles. Shortbread or éclair?”

  “Shortbread.”

  He gave her a napkin and a cookie and settled in the chair across from her.

  The hot chocolates piled with real whipped cream and festive green-and-red sprinkles cheered her to no end.

  Nick discarded his leather jacket and ran a hand through his dark hair. Despite the fatigue lining his eyes, he still had those striking looks, the hollows below the cheekbones, the strong jawline. He pulled on the collar of his blue pinstripe shirt and the fabric buckled, exposing his throat. “Tiffany says you have an Ellis Island face.”

  “A what?”

  “You’re so beautiful that you stand out in a crowd.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. She never knew how to react to a compliment, mostly because she was skeptical of flattery. “Have you known them long, Marc and Tiffany?”

  “Cos and I go back to grade school. Wifey-poo hates me.”

  “You must’ve used one of her friends for recreational purposes.”

  “Someone in her sorority. Or maybe it was a cousin.” He shrugged. “Women have memories like elephants.”

  “Do you ever stop generalizing?”

  He finished another sip of his cocoa and dabbed at his mouth. “Fun fact, Elena. Everyone generalizes. I’m just honest about it.” He raised a shortbread cookie. “How about it? A toast. To my mother’s pizza puffs, Miss Indigo and the Ellis Island girl.” He tapped his cookie against hers.

  Fighting a sudden shyness, she lowered her untouched cookie and avoided his eyes, instead wrapping her hands around the base of the warm cup. Maybe if she opened up, he might. “I couldn’t have done it without you. It—it meant a lot to me. You’re a much better speaker than I am.”

  “Elena. Look at me. Teach something you love, instead of what you think you should be teaching. Then no one, I mean no one, will out-speak you.”

  Although his validation appeared genuine, she’d much rather he admit that he’d bonded with them tonight. Had he not seen how Chris roared with laughter or observed how many times her delighted aunt clapped her hands? Nick entertained everyone and brought the room together.

  Made them feel warm and included and he didn’t even know it.

  “French bistro.” His eyebrows raised as he glanced around. “Usually a little cliché, but this has a fresh look to it.”

  She tapped a nail on the table. Living with his father had led to this non-stick life. Everything slid off, and she couldn’t expect miracles. So keep the conversation breezy. “Bea used to be a teacher. So she calls this place her problem child. Bonnie sang professionally with a local rock group.”

  “Do you know how much they filed on their tax return?” Smiling, he leaned forward, elbows out, forearms on the table. “Whether they load the toilet roll up or down?”

  “Okay, okay.” She raised her hands, fanning out her fingers. “So I know details.”

  “Nosy details.”

  “You were pretty good with details tonight. About what goes into a spa, the food, everything.”

  “That’s called delegation. And I do notice details.” His eyes went half-lidded. “Like those silky legs of yours.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she fought tingles, a delicious thrill coursing through her. Futile, denying this charisma he had, as strong as any narcotic.

  He reached over to caress her hand in the loosest of holds, an offhanded way, his thumb tracing her palm. Shivers went all the way to her toes. His mere touch sent her senses into a spin. He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss over her wrist, over the pulse beating there.

  Her breaths were coming faster. She couldn’t draw her hand away; it felt too good. Getting lost in his eyes felt too good.

  “Come over tonight.” His voice deepened while his thumbnail skimmed the achingly sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “We’ll play Santa. You can sit on my lap and tell me what you want.”

  “Nick.”

  “See? I’ve even got the right name. Except for the saint part.”

  “I can’t be with someone unless I know him.”

  “You have been with me.”

  “Not . . . all the way.”

  “Yet.”

  “I don’t know anything about your childhood, what kind of foods you like, what books or movies you watch . . . or what you believe in.”

  He released her hand and pulled away, his back hitting the chair.

  “So you want to take me home, but you don’t want to open up.”

  “I want you to open up for me, Elena. Specifically your legs. I’m betting you’re very good at that.”

  Heat flamed her cheeks. “That’s a vile, coarse thing to say.”

  “Go ahead. Get angry. You’re even hotter when you’re pissed.”

  She pushed up from her chair and grabbed her purse straps.

  “No, no.” He sprang up, both arms extended, fingers touching her arms. “Don’t do that. I’m sorry. I lost my temper.”

  “You lost your temper because you’re used to getting your way.”

  “Yeah. I am. Except with you.”

  They stared—glared—at each other, their blood up and yes, turned on. She could so easily see them tangling together on his bed, rolling across silk sheets, completely lost and breathless. They would explode. Devour each other.

  A text blipped on his phone, lighting up the screen.

  He scanned it, and his face tightened. A frown matched the flint in his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  He twisted in his seat and angled his hip. Slid the phone into a dark wash jean pocket.

  “Is it your father?”

  He glanced at the exit, restless.

  “I saw them at the bookstore,” she said. “There’s definitely a family resemblance. And I saw her.”

  The “her” hovered like an unwanted moth.

  “Listen. I’m beat.” An eyebrow quirked as he rubbed at his temple. “And I’m sorry about what I said.” He rose, slipped into his jacket and reached for the bag. “Let me walk you back.”

  Chair legs scraped the concrete floor as they got up. Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she put her mostly-untouched cookie into the paper bag. They discarded their cups and went outside, the air colder than when they’d arrived.

  They walked in silence.

  The wind whipped strands of hair into her face, and she swept back her bangs. “Normal people open up when they’re upset.”

  “No. Whiners do that.”

  “From which harsh corner of your mind does that originate?”

  “People whine. I try not to.”

  She hurried to keep up with his swifter pace. “How can you help me pull off the impossible and not feel anything? How can you joke around with my brother and not see how his face lights up? How can you not see how much my aunt likes you?”

  He stopped mid-stride, brows drawn together. “Do you think I help every girl with a nutty spa expert? Do you think I’d kneel over like that, stroke your beautiful legs, feel how soft your skin is, and not want you to come home with me? Do you have any idea how many times a day I think of you? You’re this passionate, sexy girl and you’re wasting it. Waiting for the white knight who never existed.”

  “We can be friends first.”

  “Friends. Oh, yeah. You and I, friends. Friends for a guy is a consolation prize.” Jaw working, he stared down at the sidewalk. “The text was from Lexi. My father’s expanding Division One into several citi
es. She’s taking over all of them. It’s what I wanted, a year ago. I wanted it bad.” He turned his head, staring at the Chinese restaurant’s neon sign going dark across the street. “She told me to bring the electric massager over to the bar. That I could earn some great tips.”

  “She’s cruel.”

  “My father beats her by two lengths, easy.” The real Nick emerged then, that flash of boyish vulnerability that never ceased to melt her. “I’ve got to win that contest now.”

  “What contest?”

  But he was lost in thought, staring again at the sidewalk, one hand buried in his jacket pocket, the other squeezing the handles of the bag.

  “Nick. Listen to me. You’ll have your own place. Run it the way you want to. Be who you really are.”

  “And once you get the job you love, you can be who you really are, instead of a babysitter.”

  She flinched at that, and her face went hot. He had zero insight into his own behavior and had no right to say that, no room to talk. Well, he could stuff his know-it-all assumptions. She wanted to run the rest of the distance alone to discharge the pent-up anger inside her.

  But they were two feet away from the Lucky Pup entrance. She dug for her keys from the front zipper pouch of her purse. “I love my aunt and brother, Nick. I don’t babysit them. They’re my family. I’m not a baby—”

  “Okay, okay. I’ve got to go.”

  He handed her the bag.

  Except it was heavier.

  She peered down into it, and there was the polar bear mug, partially hidden by tissue paper.

  She glanced up.

  A crooked smile tugged up his mouth.

  “I could tell you liked it.” He caressed her jaw with a knuckle and then bent over to deliver a warm kiss on her cheek. His hand slid under her chin, and he brushed her tingling mouth with his thumb. “Every time you put your lips on it, you’ll think of me.”

  His bigger body blocked the cold, and she felt oddly shielded, a feeling that went deep into her marrow, feeling safe with a man, something she hadn’t felt before. Alone, she had learned to be vigilant, ever-watchful, whether riding a city bus or walking along the sidewalk. Someone larger and stronger protecting her was new.

  She was about to thank him for the mug, but he’d turned and left. Trotted down the sidewalk and across the street, to the concrete lot where the Aston was parked.