by Cach, Lisa
Ian smiled wryly. “It makes me sound insecure, doesn’t it? Needing to be needed like that.”
I shook my head, still dazed. ” ‘Need’ is part of love. I sometimes wonder if it isn’t impossible to fall hopelessly in love unless you have an empty space in your heart that needs to be filled.” It was my turn to make a wry face as I listened to my own words. “That doesn’t sound like a foundation for a healthy relationship, does it?”
He laughed away my protest. “Any psychologist will tell you that being in love is a form of insanity.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to losing our minds, if we’re lucky enough.”
I clinked my glass with his, smiling, but I felt a tremor inside. His words of wanting to be needed by a woman had struck deep into my heart. I wanted to be that woman for a man; wanted to be that woman for Ian. I wanted to be the only woman he’d ever truly loved; I wanted him to feel like he’d found in me an acceptance and an understanding and an adoration that no other woman could ever offer.
Don’t let me fall for him, I silently pleaded to whatever God might be listening. Don’t let me lose my heart to someone who is leaving in two days, and who is not going to love me back.
After lunch we stood outside in the chill air, leaning on the rail at the end of the pier and watching the ferries and boats ply the bay, the seagulls begging for scraps from the few hardy tourists out in the cold with us. We stood together in silence for several minutes, our elbows touching. I stole a glance at him, trying to guess what he might be thinking. He caught me looking, and smiled.
I smiled back, and the moment stretched between us. The wind lifted a strand of my hair, blowing it across my chin, and I saw his gaze lower to my mouth. He shifted, turning more toward me, his body blocking the breeze and creating a cocoon of warmth. His eyes met mine, the smile fading from his face, and I could feel the possibility of a kiss hanging in the air. My heartbeat quickened. Maybe there was possibility here, after all.
I reached up and pulled the strand of hair away from my mouth, my hand shaking. A small, quick frown pulled between Ian’s brows, and then he looked away from me. His stance changed from that of someone relaxed to that of someone who has had enough of a place and is ready to go, his hands going into his pockets and his chin rising. Although he had not moved away, I felt the chill of the winter air sweep between us.
“Ready to go?” I asked, trying not to let my disappointment soak through into my voice. Stupid, stupid me, getting my hopes up again for something that was not going to happen! I was an idiot.
He nodded. “Where next?”
“Pike Place Market.”
I led the way back to land, and then under the two-storied Alaskan Way Viaduct that carried the highway we had taken on our failed journey to the airport. The city sloped steeply upward from the water at this point, and we had several flights of stairs to take to climb our way up to the bottom floor of Pike Place Market. The market was built along the side of a hill, its top floor at street level, its long lower floors layered down the hillside.
I was getting a headache by the time we had wandered half of the serpentine lower halls of the market, the air stuffy from the heat of too many bodies and infused with the smells of moldering antiques, incense from the import shops, and cheap synthetic leather goods. The top floor that opened onto the street had more air and was where the fresh produce and seafood stalls were, along with flowers and handicrafts and about eight people per square foot moving through the clogged corridor between the stalls, at the pace of a heavy meal through an intestine.
“Is it always this crowded?” Ian half shouted near my ear, trying to be heard over the din as we inched past a stall selling an assortment of winter squash.
“A lot of the time. Christmas doesn’t help!”
A foot traffic blockage stopped us completely, and I realized we were in front of Pike Place Fish. “Oh! You have to see this,” I hollered to Ian, and grabbed his arm as I wormed us through the crowd to where we could get a better view of the seafood counter. “This is where they throw the fish!”
“What?”
“Throw fish!”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because it draws a crowd?” I wasn’t feeling like much of a tour guide, between the headache and the lingering sense that I had embarrassed myself on the pier. Ian had been quiet during our window-shopping in the market, and the dismal suspicion had lodged in my brain that he had seen how open I was to a kiss and was now distancing himself, not wanting to encourage a crush.
The crowd waited in tense anticipation for the fish-tossing show to start, and then there was an unintelligible shout from a single fishmonger behind the counter, echoed by the same shout from all the fishmongers in unison and an “Ahhh!” from the crowd. A large, shiny silver-black fish sailed through the air behind the counter and was caught neatly in a piece of butcher paper by another of the Pike Place Fish employees.
“Salmon?” Ian asked.
I nodded. “I assume so.”
“Do they ever miss?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know!”
“What type of crab are those?” he asked, nodding toward the fat orange crustaceans on display on a bed of ice.
“Dungeness. When I was kid we used to take a boat out into the sound and catch them in pots,” I half shouted over the noise. “Never eat them now, though—too expensive!”
There was another series of shouts from the fishmongers, another roar from the crowd as another fish took flight. Ian moved closer to the fish counter, clearly more interested in the assortment of oysters, clams, crabs, and fish than in the tossing. I used his diverted attention as a chance to dig around in my purse, looking for some aspirin.
Jeez, Louise, my head hurt. Hadn’t I seen some little travel envelopes of aspirin or ibuprofen sloshing around in the bottom of my bag? I shouldn’t have had the beer. I always felt a little queasy after drinking. Dammit! Where the hell had those aspirin gone?
I was only dimly aware of the crowd, dimly aware of the shout behind the counter, dimly aware of an extra-loud noise from the crowd, the people pulling away from me like a receding tide. I looked up only when I heard Ian’s frantic shout, “Tessa!”
Something dark was flying through the air toward me; something long and silvery black. I thought I saw an open mouth on it and a dull, evil eye glinting in the light, large and flat and dead. I was too stunned to move, too stunned to do more than start to lift my arms to shield myself from the missile. Before my arm was halfway up, though, Ian tackled me from the side, throwing me out of harm’s way.
We went down together, he rolling to his back as we fell so that I landed on top of him. He let out an “Oof” as I smooshed him to the cement.
Something soft hit my shoulder and flopped to the ground. I didn’t look at it; I was too concerned about Ian, lying beneath me.
“Oh, God, you didn’t break something, did you?”
He opened his mouth but was as silent as a fish, his eyes wide.
“Ian?” I rolled off him and put my hand on his chest. He wasn’t breathing! “Ian!”
His face showed the strain as he tried to speak. His lips moved in what looked like a W sound.
“‘What’? Is that what you’re trying to say? Oh, God, you’ve broken something, haven’t you?”
He shook his head and moved his lips again in the W shape.
I’d killed him. He was going to be rushed to the hospital with internal bleeding, a crushed spleen or lungs, or broken shoulder blades, or a fractured hip. Look what he got for spending time with me: Major injuries! Internal damage! “I’m sorry, Ian, I’m so sorry! We’ll get you to an operating room; they’ll patch you up, really! Don’t worry!”
His eyes widened in alarm, a look of horror on his face.
A young man spoke from the crowd. “Hey, lady, I think you knocked his wind out.”
“Wind!” Ian suddenly wheezed, then gulped air like a suffocating fish. “Just”—gulp “lost”—gulp—“my wind!”
> “Oh.” Relief washed through me, and I got up on my knees and helped him to sit up.
A Pike Place Fish employee came over and squatted down beside us, a look of deep concern on the young man’s face. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Ian nodded, then his eyes went to the flying missile that had caused the problem. I turned as well, seeking out the thing that had hit my shoulder with such surprising softness.
It was a fish, all right: a fake fish, obviously different from the ones the employees usually threw.
The fishmonger picked it up, the stuffed fish sagging in his grasp. “Sorry about that. It’s part of the show.”
“Quite all right,” Ian gasped, and let the young man help him to his feet. I got up, too, aware that the crowd had edged in a little closer, watching the drama with interest.
“Let us treat you to dinner,” the young man said. “Choose whatever you want.”
“Really, it’s not necessary; I’m quite all right,” Ian said as the man led him toward the case.
I started to follow, but then someone tugged on my sleeve. I turned and saw a teenage girl grinning madly. “Hey, I caught a picture, if you want to see!” She turned her camera phone toward me. “I was trying for a picture of the fish in the air.”
It took me a moment to make sense of what she was saying, and then to tilt the screen so I could clearly see the photo. But there it was: my face in profile, mouth open in a silent scream; the edge of Ian’s face looking harshly determined as he lifted me off my feet, and the dark photographic smear of a fake flying fish.
“Cute guy,” the girl said, chomping gum. “Wish I had someone to save me from a fish.” She grinned again. “Want me to send the picture to you?”
My heart leaped. “Could you?”
“Sure! What’s your e-mail address?”
I spelled it out to her as she worked the buttons of her phone, and a minute later the picture had been sent. I knew it wasn’t free to do that, so I dug in my purse and found a five dollar bill. “Here, treat yourself to a latte.”
She waved away the money. “Nah, it’s Christmas. Just give him a kiss for me.”
“If he holds still long enough, I will,” I said.
I rejoined Ian just as the Pike Place Fish man was handing him a bag. They shook hands and laughed, and exchanged the sort of male-bonding words and noises that seemed required.
“Thanks for saving me from the fish,” I said as we left Pike Place Fish.
“I’m a real hero,” he said, laughing. “But at least I got us dinner.”
“What’d you get?”
“You’ll have to wait and see. Is that a wine shop?” he asked, pointing to a glass door.
“Gourmet imported foods and wine. Want to go in?”
He nodded and opened the door for me. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, quickly tossing jars into a plastic shopping basket and then going to survey the meats and cheeses in the case. I caught sight of some imported chocolates and wandered over, intent on a few minutes of private worship.
“Tessa?” a woman said, as I debated the merits of Toblerone versus Lindt.
I blinked in surprise, then grinned. “Carolyn! And baby Grace!” I held my arms out to eighteen-month-old Grace, a cheerful, outgoing little mite. She recognized me, and easily released her mother and settled on my hip, tugging at my hair and pounding her fist on me in happiness. Carolyn was a good friend in the theater department, and I’d spent many lunches with her and Grace.
“Are you getting your last-minute Christmas shopping done?” Carolyn asked.
“No, I’m playing tour guide.” I briefly explained the situation, and pointed out Ian over at the cheese counter. His back was to us, but then his head turned slightly, displaying his profile.
Carolyn’s eyes widened. “Poor you, stuck with him for three days! You have all the luck. Hey, if you get tired of playing tour guide, I’ll trade you Grace for him for a night.”
“What will Mike think of that?” I asked, laughing.
She waved away the issue of her husband. “I’ll tell him he can stay up all night playing online poker. He won’t hear a thing.” She looked again at Ian, then leaned closer to me, lowering her voice. “So is anything going on between you two?”
“I’ve only known him for half a day!”
“Long enough to know if you’re interested.”
I rolled my eyes, but felt the heat of my cheeks betraying the truth.
“Ha-ha!” she said, sounding like a movie villain discovering the enemy’s secret flaw. But then she wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t make much sense, though, considering the guy is flying out of your life in a couple days.”
I raised a questioning brow. “I thought you’d say I should lock him in my bedroom and make the best use of the time available.”
“I would, except I have someone I want you to meet; someone who actually lives in town: Mike’s cousin Kevin. I think I told you about him before? Thirty-five, good-looking, owns his own house over in Magnolia. Sweet guy.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, and remembering as well that there had been something that turned me off of meeting him. “What does he do again?”
“Mortgage broker.”
“Ah.” That was it.
“Don’t say ‘ah.’ It’s a good career. And he doesn’t have a salesman’s personality, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that. I just think I’d get along better with someone more… intellectual. Less business, more arts.”
“That’s been your problem all along,” Carolyn said, exasperation creeping into her voice. “You choose ‘intellectual’ sticks-in-the-mud like Alan, then wonder why they don’t excite you.”
I looked down at Gracie and walked my fingers up her arm, her wide hazel eyes watching them in anticipation. When they got to the top I made animal noises and tickled her, and she screamed in delight.
“Tessa,” Carolyn said, either scolding me to respond or scolding me for getting Gracie wound up.
I looked up at her. “I’m just trying to find a good match. I thought that Alan was going to be the one for me. He seemed to have everything I was looking for.”
“Ah, sweetie.” She sighed. “Everyone you’ve dated looks good on paper, but you need to start listening to what your heart has to say. Does he make you laugh? Does he make you feel special? Would you trust him with your life?”
I felt a smile pull at the comer of my mouth. Ian had taken a fish for me.
“Come to the party,” Carolyn implored.
I made a face. “Alan will be there.”
“Alan.” She made a rude noise. “He shouldn’t keep you from having a good time now; he did enough of that while you were together.”
I shrugged. “I just don’t feel like going. I can meet Kevin after the holidays.”
“Going where?” Ian asked, joining us. “And who is Kevin?”
“Ian! This is my friend Carolyn, and this little cutie pie is her daughter, Grace.” I turned so that he could get a clear sight of her. Grace stared at him with the wide-eyed uncertainty of a baby for a stranger, then suddenly broke out in a grin and a gurgle. I caught Ian making a contorted monkey face, and started giggling myself.
“She’s a heartbreaker,” Ian said to Carolyn. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Carolyn shook it, then made a face at me as if to say, Not bad!
I turned my attention back to Grace, the safest companion of the three.
“You have to talk Tessa into going to the party tomorrow night,” Carolyn said to Ian. “There’s a man I want her to meet. I think they’re meant for each other.”
“Indeed?” He sounded nonplussed. “Ah, but Tessa would rather stay home with me tomorrow night,” he said, recovering. “She’s promised to give me a pedicure, and I’m very much looking forward to it.”
I gaped at him. “I promised no such thing!”
“You aren’t going to do it?”
he asked.
“I’m sure your feet are beautiful, but I’m not trimming your toenails for you.”
“No? Then you mean you’re not busy tomorrow night?”
I scowled at him, and then at Carolyn, who was looking far more amused than a good friend should. “He knows perfectly well why I don’t want to go,” I said to her.
“Alan was never right for Tessa,” Carolyn said to Ian. “All her friends know it, but we’re not sure she’s ever believed it herself.”
I rolled my eyes and talked to Grace in cooing tones. “What nonsense are they spouting, huh, pumpkin? Your mommy’s being silly. A silly goose, yes, she is!”
“Na-na-na-na!” Grace said.
I looked up just then and caught Ian watching me. He had lost his smile, and his dark blue eyes looked almost black. For a moment there was an illusion of utter stillness about him as he looked at me, the noise and color of the busy shop around us becoming but a river passing by a silent stone. I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, but knew I was at the center of it.
“Do you want to hold Grace?” I asked.
The question seemed to shake him from his reverie. “Thank you, but I think I’d best go find a wine for dinner tonight.” He gave me a quick, preoccupied smile and then extended his hand again to Carolyn. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, too.”
When he was gone Carolyn pretended to mop sweat off her brow. “Phew! Now there’s a man! Are you going to sleep with him?”
“Carolyn!”
“I don’t know, Tessa, maybe it would be worth it. Kevin can wait a week. No, I’m joking. Joking!” she said as I gaped at her.
“I should hope so.”
“He looks like he’s considering sleeping with you, though. He seemed pretty unhappy when I mentioned Kevin.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t mean anything. Lauren warned me that he’s a womanizer. And he told me himself that he’s never committed to anyone. He wouldn’t care if I hooked up with someone else. Probably be happy for me.”
