All The Ways You Saved Me

by Jamie Howard

  There were five people ahead of me, and so far, no one behind me. I rocked back on my heels, then forward onto my toes. Back and forth. Back and forth. I glanced over my shoulder, still no one.

  C’mon universe, give me a break here.

  I switched to tapping my foot against the floor, until a woman sitting at a nearby table pried her eyes away from her laptop to glare at me. My foot stilled, and she immediately turned back to her screen.

  The door opened and closed behind me with the jingle of a bell. I casually turned to see a middle-aged businessman sporting a lavender button-down shirt and silver tie step behind me. Hm. He looked friendly enough.

  I rehearsed in my head what I might say. Everything I came up with sounded utterly ridiculous. Why was it so awkward to do a nice thing? A phone rang as I stepped up to the register. “A large coffee, light and sweet, and another large coffee, black.”

  The girl behind the counter nodded and set to work fulfilling my order. Less than sixty seconds later, she pushed two navy blue cardboard cups across to me, and I handed her a five dollar bill. Dumping the change she handed back into the tip cup, I took a deep breath and turned around.

  My mouth dropped inelegantly open, and I snapped it shut. Luckily, the new guy standing behind me was glancing down at his phone and didn’t notice. My eyes darted to the side of the room where the older guy I thought was standing behind me was involved in some intense debate on his phone. He waved an arm through the air, nearly upending someone else’s iced latte.

  In a heartbeat, I took in his replacement. Descriptors flashed through my brain—tall, serious, imposing, colorful. Strike that last one. Other than the vibrant and exquisitely detailed tattoos curling up one arm, everything else about him had a distinct lack of color. A light gray thermal clung to his broad chest and the long sleeves were shoved up, showing off the aforementioned ink. His hair was a deep brown, like dark chocolate, and cut short on the sides with more length and texture on top. My heart beat out a staccato rhythm when his eyes flashed up to mine—nearly the same exact gray of the shirt he was wearing.

  He raised a thick, dark eyebrow at me in question, and I cleared my throat.

  “Here, it’s coffee.” I held out the steaming cup to him, shifting my fingers where the liquid started burning my skin through the thin cardboard.

  Really, that was the best that I could come up with?

  My brain abandoned all rational thought and managed to focus solely on the fact that he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and why in the world would anyone be wearing that in the summer? Wasn’t he hot? Hah. Hot. He was definitely hot.

  “Why?” he asked.

  I frowned. “Why is it coffee?”

  “No,” he said. “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “Oh, umm . . .” That was a very good question, but it wasn’t like I was going to stand here and give him the real explanation. “It’s a good deed?”

  Now he was frowning, and my gaze was drawn downwards to his wide, full lips. “Is this some type of weird pickup line? Are you trying to get my number or something?” He slipped one hand over to tug down the sleeve of his shirt.

  My eyes snapped back up to his. Laughter tumbled out before I could stop it, and I quickly bit my lip. God, my parents would throw a fit if I brought this guy home. I cleared my throat, trying to tuck away my amused smile. “No, it’s definitely not that. It’s just a thing.”

  “A thing?”

  The guy behind him cleared his throat—loudly. We were blocking the line.

  “Please,” I said. “Just take it.” I pushed it toward him until it was almost bumping him in the stomach. Tentatively he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cup, brushing mine in passing.

  He looked so confused it was almost comical. Stepping around him before the conversation could get any more awkward, I made straight for the door. A smile settled on my lips, and stayed there all the way down the street, around the corner, and through the front door of Blackrose.

  Harper looked up from where she was sweeping. “Whoa, what’s with the smile?”

  My lips immediately flattened. “It’s nothing.”

  She shook her head, swiping the crumbs into a dustpan. “It’s gotta be something if it finally convinced you to stop frowning.”

  Frowning? I considered it as I pulled a seat up at the bar. I thought I was faking it pretty well, but apparently not. At least not when it came to Harper. She’d been nothing but nice to me since the first day, but there was something about her that reminded me of Renée. And that something had me keeping her at arm’s length.

  Maybe it was time to let down my walls a little.

  I drummed my fingers against the bar top. “If some random person bought you coffee at the café, what would that make you think?”

  “Umm.” She lifted an eyebrow at me. “That the person was hitting on me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can’t someone do something nice without having it construed as some type of sexual innuendo?”

  “So, he thought you were hitting on him too?”

  “Pretty much.” I took a sip of the coffee, and grimaced as it scalded my tongue.

  She tossed the broom and dustpan into the closet and casually made her way over to me, like she was afraid a sudden movement might spook me. “If you weren’t hitting on him, then why bother doing it at all?”

  I flicked the plastic lid with my fingernail. “It was just a . . . thing.”

  She hmmed under her breath as she took the stool next to me, swirling a glass of water in her hands. “Was he hot at least?”

  I shrugged. “He wasn’t really my type.”

  “He wasn’t really, or he wasn’t?”

  I stood and stretched, putting some distance between us as I fished an apron out from the cabinet. “He was hot, but I just don’t need any extra drama with my family right now.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  No one ever understood. A few months ago, no one would have blinked twice at my father’s name, but that wasn’t the case anymore. I’d always lived my life under a magnifying glass, but recently that magnifying glass had been upgraded to an electron microscope.

  I jerked the apron strings tight, debating the pros and cons of letting her in on my little secret. The pros won out. “If I tell you something, can you keep it to yourself?”

  She nodded, looking thoroughly intrigued.

  “My dad is a senator.”

  “Okay . . .” She drew the word out into three syllables.

  I ran a hand through my hair, shifting my gaze to the neon Grey Goose sign that hung behind the bar. “Senator David Marcus Easton.”

  Harper promptly choked on her water. “Holy fuck. As in the guy that just announced he’s running for President of the United frickin’ States of America?”

  “The very one.”

  “Wait, back up. Why would you dating some guy cause drama?”

  I fidgeted, kicking my sneakered foot against the wooden leg of the stool. “If I do anything, anything, that can even be slightly construed in a negative light, then my dad’s opposition can use it against him. For all I know, they’ve got someone tailing me now just waiting for a juicy story.”

  Brow furrowing, she strode across the room and inserted her fingers between the blinds, prying them open. She looked both ways down the street. “Well, if they are following you, they’re being discreet.”

  “It’s possible they don’t even know I’m here. As far as everyone else is concerned, I’m supposed to be back in Texas, getting ready to take the bar.”

  She turned, one hand finding her hip. “You’re just full of surprises.”

  I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and reached for my coffee. “That’s not something I’ve ever been accused of before.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she made her way back toward me. “I’m sensing this is your very first act of rebellion?”

  I grimaced. “Maybe.”

  “So, enjoy it
. You’re flying under the radar. Incognito. If you see something you want, grab it. Although, maybe not literally. That might get you arrested.” Harper laughed and flipped a strand of electric blue hair over her shoulder. “Keep it on the down-low and no one will ever find out. What’s the harm in enjoying yourself?”

  I considered her words as I took another sip of coffee. Could it be that easy?

  Mick poked his head through the back door, his bushy black eyebrows drawing together. “Do I pay you girls to sit around and chitchat all day?”

  Harper spun on her heel. “Nope, Mick, you don’t really pay us at all, we’re all about the tips. Besides, you see any customers in here?”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth then the door swung open, and our first guests of the day drifted in. Mick offered her a smirk before letting the door slam back closed behind him.

  She gestured toward the front. “You’re up, rookie.”

  Chapter 7: Bianca

  I tucked my feet up underneath me on the couch and shifted my laptop onto the cushion. Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling. My very plain, very white ceiling. Kind of like my walls. They were white too. And bare.

  I’d stopped by Pier One last week, looking to pick up something that would make this apartment homey. But after an entire hour of picking things up, carrying them around, and then eventually putting them down—I left empty handed. There were plenty of things that would have looked fine on the wall, but I was trying to find something that said it belonged in my apartment.

  I found things my mom would decorate with, several things that were straight-up Renée. The problem with trying to find something that appealed to me was that I had to figure out what actually appealed to me.

  Who was Bianca Easton? Sure, I knew the Bianca Easton who was the senator’s daughter, the one who loved crown molding, pastel colors, and watercolor paintings. But beneath that shiny, polished, and fake exterior, I imagined there was a different Bianca. One I hadn’t met yet who was as blank as the walls surrounding me. I just wasn’t sure how deep I’d have to dig to find her.

  Or, if I continued to dig, if I’d really like what I’d find.

  I glanced down at the computer screen where I’d been searching StubHub for some front-row tickets to a Yankees game. I had the option of paying one arm, two legs, or both of my kidneys. Christ, they were expensive. And then of course was the other question—should I buy one or two?

  The thought of going by myself was depressing. Maybe I could buy two and just hope for the best. I snorted out loud. Yeah, I should do that, because, ya know, it was totally probable that I’d find someone who’d want to go with me. I was a master at making friends. Although things had been going pretty well with Harper, I didn’t have any clue if she even liked baseball.

  Mental note: ask Harper if she’s a Yankees fan.

  Slamming the laptop lid down, the sound of it bounced off my empty walls. I was going stir-crazy spending so much time alone in this damn apartment. I wasn’t used to the quiet. Now, there was nothing but silence. Silence, silence, and more silence . . . with a side of pathetic loneliness. I tapped my feet on the wood floor, letting my eyes dart around the room. Yup, I was losing my mind.

  Making a split-second decision, I dashed off into my bedroom, stripped off my pajamas, and tugged on a pair of well-worn jeans and a half-faded tennis T-shirt from high school. Sliding my feet into a pair of flip-flops, I ran a hand through my hair, smoothed out my eyebrows, and tucked the laptop under my arm.

  A police car sped by, siren screaming, as I pushed open the front door. The blue and red lights ricocheted off the brick exterior of my building before it swung around the corner and disappeared. Hopping off the curb, I scooted behind a taxi and hurried across the street before I managed to get run over.

  One of the first lessons Renée ever taught me about the city was to always keep my head down. Seriously, the people here really are not that friendly. Some of them are, but for the most part, if you make eye contact with someone, they’re more likely to bite your head off than offer you a smile.

  Lesson number two—everything happens at warp speed. Don’t take in the sights. You’ll get mowed down like yesterday’s overgrown grass. Striding quickly and sidestepping a giant crack that splintered through the cement, I rounded the corner and pulled open the door to the Corner Café.

  I sighed in relief as the air conditioning whispered over my already overheated skin. Sweeping the hair off the back of my neck, I shouldered past a young woman chatting up her friend and laid claim to the very last table.

  I could still putter around on my computer, but at least here the sounds of my thoughts wouldn’t be the only thing keeping me company. Typing in my password, I minimized the StubHub window and moved on to something a little bit easier—yoga class.

  I’d never really had time or any reason to go to a workout class; I got plenty of that in ballet and tennis. Googling yoga, I got tons of options here in the city. I squinted as I zoomed in on the map. How about that? There was one two blocks away. No taxi required.

  I browsed through the webpage, scoping out the class schedule, pricing, and a few reviews. The place seemed legit, and if I was really to trust the pictures on their website, it looked clean and elegant. Digging my phone out of my front pocket, I keyed up a calendar entry for Thursday night, added the studio’s address, and saved it.

  Ah, satisfaction. Come Thursday, I’d have another thing to cross off my list. Mental high five, Bianca! I sighed at my inner peppiness. I was losing my mind.

  Now, to only fill my other off nights with something to do. I ran my finger over the edge of my lower lip, resisting the urge to bite my nail. If I’d learned nothing in the years I’d spent with my etiquette tutor, it was to never, ever mutilate my fingernails. Pushing up onto the balls of my feet, I leaned the chair back on two legs.

  The sudden appearance of a coffee cup several inches in front of my face nearly made me upset my chair. Gripping the sides to keep it from tipping over, I followed the navy blue cup to its destination next to my laptop where a finger tapped the lid. I let my eyes meander from that finger, up to a hand, over a multi-colored canvas of forearm, through the divots of a jet black thermal, and finally up to a somewhat familiar face—the face of my good-deed-coffee-guy.

  He surprised me by pulling out the chair opposite me, the legs scraping against the tile floor, and sitting down. Tugging the chair in, his knees bumped mine.

  He swirled his coffee cup in one hand. “I owed you a coffee.”

  I laid my hand on the lid of my laptop and pushed it down so that I could look directly at him. “No, you really didn’t.”

  “So, are you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what, exactly?” I wrapped my fingers around the coffee cup and drew it toward me, raising an eyebrow at him.

  He took a long swig of his coffee, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. A flash of color winked out at me from the underside of his left wrist, a bright spot on his otherwise plain arm. “Why you randomly decided to buy me coffee the other day.”

  “I already told you.” I drummed my fingers on the side of the cup. “Good deed.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not buying it. People always want something in return.”

  The coffee cup halted on the way to my mouth, and I slowly set it back down. “You’re telling me that you don’t believe I just wanted to do a nice thing, that I must have done it because I wanted something back?”

  “Precisely.” He arched his eyebrow at me, his lips holding in a firm line.

  “You mean, like your number?”

  He frowned.

  “Because if you’ll remember, I didn’t ask you for that.” With an internal sigh, I abandoned the coffee cup on the table and pushed it back toward him. “And I guess by accepting this I would only be feeding your cynicism, so I’m going to have to give it back to you. It’s too bad, because that caffeine smells mighty good.”


  His frown deepened, etching creases on either side of his eyes, his gaze flickering from the coffee cup back to me. “It really was just a nice thing you wanted to do?”

  I bit my lip and chuckled. “Yes and no.” Seeing that he wasn’t going to accept that incredibly vague answer, I pushed on. “Yes, it was just a good deed. No, I wasn’t expecting anything in return. But it was also part of this thing that I’m doing.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands across his lean middle. “A thing?”

  I traced circles on the laminate top of the table with my pointer finger, avoiding meeting his eyes directly. It wasn’t any huge secret, but thinking about the reason behind it made my heart cower inside my chest. My words, when they finally came out, were quiet. “If you must know, my best friend died not too long ago. She had this list of these little things she wanted to do to make sure every day was something special. I’m finishing it for her.”

  “That’s . . . kind of amazing.”

  I finally pulled my eyes back up to his and saw him smile for the first time. Man, did that do wonders for his face. His gray eyes lit up, and all the harsh edges and lines that circled his mouth suddenly softened.

  I hastily cleared my throat and re-focused my stare out the window. Damn, was I blushing? “Thanks.”

  “I’m Ian, by the way,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you, I’m . . . Bianca.” I quirked my head to the side as he practically stared through me. Lifting one hand to cover my mouth, I surreptitiously felt over my teeth with my tongue. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

  “Hm? No.” He gave his head a little shake and seemed to relax. Weird. “So, do you have a lot on this list that you need to do?”

  I pulled up the list in my head. “There were fifteen, total. Buying you coffee let me cross one off the list, another is in progress, so that leaves another thirteen.” I stopped, considering my next words for a moment. “I have plans to take care of another one on Thursday night if, um, you’re at all interested.”