Date and Dash

by Susan Hatler

  Despite stupid initial strikes I’d been drawn to Trevor since the first moment I’d laid eyes on him. Now it seemed that he actually liked me. Grammy always told me how she’d fallen for Grampy right away when they’d met waiting in line at a deli and she’d ordered a roast beef sandwich on rye. She’d told me I’d fall in love one day too.

  I’d thought I’d been in love with that awful Rick Mulroney in college, but that had been child’s play compared to my feelings for Trevor. Plus Rick had turned out to be a total loser whereas Trevor was the exact opposite. He was sweet, thoughtful, generous, and so hot I could fry eggs on him. Well, if I cooked I could anyway.

  “Good morning, Tara.” I practically sang the words as I breezed toward my desk at work Thursday morning.

  “Hi, Mary Ann.” Tara glanced up and gave me a quick smile. She was our compliance specialist in charge of maintaining the integrity of this on-site property in accordance with our corporate office’s policies and procedures. In a nutshell, she did her job, was pleasant to work with, and if she thought Elliott was a tweed then she was too busy to say anything.

  There was always something vaguely tense or spacey in her demeanor. Like the way she wore her hair up in a messy bun with a pencil or five stuck through it. The pencils weren’t there as a cute fashion statement either. She had told me once that she used pencils often and sticking them in her hair was the only way she was sure she’d be able to find one. Quirky, but at least she did her work unlike a certain other person who had just looked up at me from his desk.

  “Hi, Mary Ann,” Elliott said, then turned back to the magazine in his lap.

  “Hello.” I managed to get the word out through clenched teeth. My breathing grew shallow as I tensed. Elliott had been a pain since he’d started working here. And I felt helpless to do a thing about it.

  “Elliott?” Our boss, Elaina (aka: Elliott’s aunt), came out of her office with a huge grin on her face. “I didn’t realize that you’d arrived yet. Come in here, won’t you? I’ve got some exciting things to talk to you about.” She smiled wider at us, and looked directly at me. “Isn’t he the greatest?”

  “Mmph.” My face contorted and I knew what I’d mumbled was unintelligible but it was better than what I wanted to say. I busied myself shuffling through the papers in my in-box. We had several showings later this morning, and as the senior leasing consultant I knew I’d end up taking most of them. That was my specialty. I could sell our apartments like nothing else, and we hoped to be fully rented by the end of the month.

  Just as I was booting up my computer, the bell over the door jangled. I looked up and saw a young guy, probably one of the college students we rented to, standing next to Tara’s desk.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in her distracted, slightly high-pitched voice.

  “I’m Mark. I’ve got a problem in building two. Is maintenance around?” he asked.

  Tara glanced over at me, asking a silent question with her eyes.

  “Hi, Mark.” I smiled warmly, hoping he wouldn’t need something gross cleaned up right away. Sadly, college kids barfed on the premises more often than you’d imagine. “Maintenance is off site at our east side location this morning for a fire drill. Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked.

  “There’s a cat on my balcony,” he said.

  “Okay . . .” I was relieved that no vomit was involved, but wondered how a hairy feline was a big deal.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure how it got there. But I really need to get it off, you know?” Mark shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m completely allergic. I mean, like break out in hives and run to the hospital type of thing.”

  My nerves went on red alert. A medical problem with one of our residents would so not be a good thing. I could envision the insurance claims already. Yikes. Needed to nip this one in the bud pronto.

  I rose from my chair. “Why don’t you show me?”

  He nodded, fiddling with a leather bracelet on his wrist. “I didn’t think we were allowed to have pets. Are we allowed to have pets?”

  “Only with full disclosure and permission.” I walked toward him, my heels clacking against the wooden floor. “And a pet deposit. Who in the building has a cat, Tara? Would you look that up for me?”

  She nodded. “I’ll get that info to you ASAP.”

  “Great, thanks.” I opened the door, then followed Mark out the door and into the residents’ entrance.

  “I live on the fourth floor.” He gestured toward the stairs, even though it would’ve been nicer to take the elevator since I was in heels. Plus I was huffing by the third floor landing. I totally needed to go to the gym more.

  When we arrived at his apartment, he unlocked the door and stepped aside so I could enter.

  He lived in what we called a “mansion” because his balcony was double length and contained a hot tub with a privacy fence. Mansions tended to be party rooms, but I couldn’t remember getting complaint calls about him. If I had to guess, I’d say Mr. Allergies didn’t seem to be the drinking type either.

  I stepped gingerly through his rather messy apartment, and opened the sliding glass door.

  Sure enough, there by the edge of the hot tub was a fluffy white cat with a bell around its neck. I sighed. How was this even remotely part of my job description?

  I’d leave the cat for maintenance or its owner, but it seemed to be stuck and I was afraid it might be hurt. Plus, the chance of Mark needing a trip to the emergency room seemed riskier than getting the cat.

  Then I saw that the cat was on the other side of the privacy fence. And we were on the fourth floor. And I was afraid of heights. Plus, why had I dressed in a short skirt and heels today of all days?

  From behind me there was a knock at the apartment door. I could hear voices from inside and a moment later Elliott appeared on the balcony. Great. As if the situation couldn’t get any worse.

  “Hey.” He stepped toward me. “Tara says that there are only two cats in this building, and a girl on the sixth floor reported hers missing yesterday,” he told me as he leaned against the doorframe. “Its name is White Russian.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I sighed, suddenly longing for my days of lower pay at the corporate office. I peered over the side of the building, squinting in the sunlight. Then I glanced back down at the cat, which was out of Elliott’s eye line since he hadn’t bothered to come all the way outside. I may have been slightly paranoid, but I really felt like White Russian was pleading for help with the look in his eyes.

  Elliott checked his watch. “Do you see it? Are you going to get it?”

  I glanced over at Elliott, guessing he’d never pull out a chair for a girl like Trevor had for me. I’d even bet Trevor would rescue the cat. “We can’t leave him there or he might fall. So, yes.

  I’m going over and getting the cat.”

  “Don’t let it die!” Mark called from inside the apartment. He looked seriously concerned and then he pulled the collar of his shirt up over his mouth. “Don’t let any hair get in here either.”

  My heart rate increased. Great. Not too much pressure.

  “I will save you, White Russian.” I took a deep breath, hiked my skirt up a little, then swung my foot over the railing. My heel caught, causing me to wobble, but I managed to get my leg over. My breath hitched and I gripped the railing.

  Then I did a very stupid thing and looked down at the ground, which was way too far below me. Gulp. Oddly, the cat hadn’t moved. He just stared up at me curiously, his tail flicking back and forth.

  Now how was I going to get it out of here without taking it through the guy’s apartment?

  Then an idea struck me and I shrugged off my jacket. Of course it was my black blazer, and now it would be covered with white cat hair. Because it was just that kind of a day. Holding my breath, I scooped up the cat, and wrapped it in the jacket.

  Holding him tightly, I scrambled back over the railing, taking a moment to try and calm my racing heart. Wrapped
completely inside my blazer, I cradled White Russian in my arms and glanced over at Elliott. “Do you know which apartment the resident who lost her cat lives in?”

  “I think Tara said it was 6C,” he stammered as he scrunched his face up.

  “I’ll go see if this belongs to her.” I kept the jacket secured tightly around the cat as I hurried through Mark’s apartment. When I was in the hallway, I let the kitty peek out. “See? You’re okay?”

  “Thank you so much.” Mark peered from behind the door and the relief in his voice was evident. “I’ll tell all my friends about how awesome it is living here. Are there still apartments available?”

  “Definitely.” I smiled, thinking a referral would be an amazing coup from this disaster. “Just have your friends call the office for a showing.”

  “Right on,” he said, then smiled at me.

  The girl on the sixth floor was thrilled to see her beloved White Russian, so I felt pretty good as I headed back down to the office. I had saved the cat. That was a pretty good day’s work and I couldn’t wait to text Trevor.

  When I reached the office door I could hear Elaina’s laughter floating through.

  And then I heard Elliott say, “So I climbed over the balcony and scooped him up. The guy was so grateful he said he’d rave to all of his friends about our new apartment complex. We’ll have this whole place rented out in a week. I had Mary Ann take the cat back up to the owner on the sixth floor.”

  “Great work, Elliott. You really saved the day.” Elaina’s voice held pride.

  A cold chill rolled through me. He was taking credit for my work again. I wanted to run in there and tell my boss the truth, but Elliott’s story sounded so believable even though I knew he was lying. What if she took his word over mine?

  Tears burned my eyes. I hurried to my desk, pulled open the drawer, and pulled my cell from my purse. All I wanted to do was call Trevor and hear his voice. I scrolled through my contacts and tapped on his number. “Hey. It’s, um, me.”

  “Hey, me,” Trevor said with a teasing lilt in his voice. “What’s up?”

  “Can you meet me at Bernie’s Bakery? I’m having the worst day ever and I could use a friend right now.”

  Silence hung in the air and my stomach coiled. I was on the tip of retracting my request, to apologize for even calling. What had I been thinking? We were just pretend dating.

  Then Trevor said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Tingles ran through me and I felt better already.

  ****

  When I arrived at Bernie’s Bakery, windswept and out of breath, my gaze connected with Trevor’s—and he was waiting for me at our table. He must’ve rushed over from his work to arrive so quickly. A wave of warmth washed over me. I was important enough to him that he’d dropped whatever he’d been doing.

  “I’m sorry for calling in the middle of your day.” I dropped into the chair across from him.

  My gaze drifted to a plate on the table with biscotti, next to what I’d guess was a cup of mocha.

  My eyes watered. “You ordered these for me?”

  He gave me a side-glance. “Well, yeah. They’re your favorites.”

  “That’s so sweet.” I bit my bottom lip, which trembled. “I know you were probably really busy assessing risk or whatever, but thanks so much for coming.”

  “Of course I’d come.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his. “Now tell me what happened.”

  “Wait.” I put my other hand to my forehead. “Did I drag you from something important? I didn’t even take that into consideration. I just called you. See, Ginger’s right. I am impulsive.”

  “I’m glad you called.” He gazed into my eyes and I could tell he meant his words. “My client was very understanding. We rescheduled for tomorrow. Don’t worry about me. I wanted to be here with you.”

  A wave of warmth washed over me. “Well . . . thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He released my hand and gestured toward the plate. “Now eat your biscotti and tell me what happened.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little as I lifted one of the delicious biscotti. Even though my stomach was in knots, I took a nibble then set it back down. “There’s this guy at my office who always takes credit for my work . . .”

  As I described the situation to Trevor I felt tears prick my eyes, but I also felt a sense of relief that I’d confided in him. Talking to my sister or my friends resulted in advice. It felt amazing to have someone listen to me without judgment. When I was done explaining the horror of Elliott, I splayed my fingers on the table. “I just don’t know what to do about it. If I tell my boss, she might not believe me. But if I don’t tell her this will keep happening.”

  Trevor was silent for a long moment. “You deserve so much better than this. I get why you don’t want to go to your boss, though. It can be hard to confront the things that are happening at work.”

  “It’s just . . . I mean. What right do I have to turn someone in when I’ve done something wrong, too? I basically eavesdropped both times. Plus I completely lied about Elliott being wonderful. What an awful lie.”

  Trevor chuckled. “I can’t believe you saved a cat. You’re a hero.”

  I giggled. “White Russian and his owner seemed to think so.”

  His brows rose. “White Russian?”

  “College kids.” I laughed. “Maybe she has another cat named Tequila? Or Vodka?”

  Our laughter grew until we were both out of breath.

  “Enough about me.” I lifted my mocha and took a sip of its combined sugary bitterness.

  Delish. “How do you think we’ll do in the next challenge?”

  He grinned. “Pretty well, I think. We make a good team.”

  I blushed. I knew that he was right. We did make a good team. It felt good, but impossibly scary to admit that to myself. I wanted to change the subject, but my mind felt like it had turned to sludge. “Are you ever going to tell me why you’re so generous with your charity donations?”

  “To Founding Friendships? Well, to be honest . . .” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to get out of here? Maybe we can take a walk.”

  “A walk sounds perfect.” I downed the last of my mocha and stood. Then we ambled toward the exit together and I could feel Trevor’s hand brushing my lower back as if he were guiding me. Together we stepped into the comfortable heat of the day. I pulled my sunglasses out of my purse and slipped them on.

  As we walked in companionable silence for a few blocks I realized that I had never been able to be with a guy like this before. Most of the time I was so focused on a guy’s faults—his strikes—that I rushed to fill any silences with meaningless drivel.

  With Trevor it was different. Maybe it was because he’d gotten most of his strikes right up front, and ever since that point I had been erasing a few of those strikes because of his kindness.

  Or maybe it was just because Trevor was a different kind of guy. An amazing guy. I mulled that over as we crossed the street and stopped at a park.

  Trevor found a bench in the shade of a big oak tree not too far from a fountain. I dropped down beside him, and he draped his arm along my back. “So tell me about Founding

  Friendships,” I said.

  He inhaled deeply. “When I was a kid my dad lost his job. For awhile we were okay. I think we must have had savings or something, but eventually it all ran out. We lost our house and ended up living out of our car for months.”

  I gasped. “I’m sorry.”

  His jaw muscle tightened, but he went on. “It was scary and humiliating losing our home, and to this day I still rent. But as a kid I couldn’t put the loss into words. I just tried to keep my head down and avoid getting teased. We were always hungry and tired and dirty. I had to take sponge baths in the bathrooms of fast food restaurants.”

  “I can’t believe that really happens,” I admitted, shocked. Sure, I’d seen stuff on the news.

  But I’d never actually known s
omeone who’d experienced being homeless. I reached for his hand.

  Trevor’s fingers curled around mine and he closed his eyes, as if remembering. “We finally found a bakery that would sell us day-old bread and pastries for dirt cheap. The guy who owned the place was friendly and he had kind eyes. One day I got up the guts to ask him for a job. He let my dad work at the bakery for a couple weeks and I had fun helping him. But it was obvious he didn’t really need the help. Plus, he was going through a divorce at the time so he was short on money.”

  A chill rolled through me. Something familiar about this story prickled my brain.

  “It was obvious how torn up the owner was that he couldn’t help more. But he got us a space at a homeless shelter, so we didn’t have to sleep in our car. And then my dad had an address to apply for jobs. That shelter literally saved our lives. So, yeah, I give back to charities. I owe so much to that baker for caring enough to find a shelter and connect us.”

  “Wow.” I breathed as he finished. He opened his eyes, and I could see the pain in them.

  “Was the baker’s name—”

  “Bernie.” His gazed pierced mine. “I heard he sold the bakery.”

  “That’s true,” I said, remembering the few times I’d met Melinda’s stepdad, Bernie. He really did have kind eyes. “He remarried recently, too. To my friend Melinda’s mom. They were at the auction where I bought you.”

  A strange expression flitted across his face. “That’s so . . . serendipitous.”

  I nodded. “Just like me finding my grandma’s bracelet after all these years.”

  “That bracelet means a lot to you.” His voice was low and soft, an unasked question lingering there.

  Somewhere in my head I could hear my grandmother whispering to trust him. To finally let out what I’d been holding in since I was seven years old.