Seeing You

by Michelle Lynn

  “Hey, guys. You want to go for a walk?” I attempt to inflect some sort of excitement in my voice.

  Bette’s ears are always pointed and on alert, like her dogs.

  The two Egyptian Pharaoh Hounds’ ears perk up, and they hop off their toddler-size loungers. I grab their leather collars, pink for Jasmine and blue for Jackson. Bette has no originality, even in her dogs’ attire.

  Escaping through the back door, I inhale the cool fall air that breezed into New York a few weeks ago, mixing with the stench of trash. But I would rather endure a few minutes of this than have to pass by Bette’s office again. As I slowly stroll down the alley, the foul smell soon disappears, leaving me with only the warm sun heating the back of my neck. The dog park is only a few blocks away, and I’m happy the punishment, as Bette sees it, frees me from her for an hour.

  I wrangle Jasmine and Jackson through the black iron fence, and I unleash them to run around. Completely exhausted, I plop down on a nearby bench and pull out my phone. Of course, a half-naked picture of Todd, that he posted himself, is the first thing on my News Feed on Facebook. He’s starting to develop a big head, and his abundance of selfies in front of the gym mirror is slightly annoying. Laughter erupts out of me when I read his caption: You need me to come over and put out the fire I just created?

  “That’s a beautiful sound,” a male says as he winds around the bench.

  I look over from the corner of my eye to find Davis taking the seat next to me with an English bulldog at his feet.

  “Oh . . . hi,” I stutter.

  I straighten my back against the warm metal as he bends over. A sweatshirt and jeans cover his body with a pair of sneakers. This casually dressed Davis is easier on the eyes than the chef-jacket or suit look I’ve admired him in all week.

  His head twists my way, and he smiles. “Hi.” His tone is smooth and sexy.

  His attention veers back toward his dog, and my eyes drift to his exposed back where his sweatshirt has risen up. His white underwear is embroidered with Flint and Tinder across the waistband. It costs as much as the blouse I’m wearing.

  He finally unhooks the dog and leans back on the bench, his arm resting along the back. The hairs on my neck rise as I’m on high alert from the closeness of his fingers to my exposed skin.

  “You look nice today.” His eyes take in my black blouse, black slacks, and black heels.

  It’s Bette’s dress code.

  “My other job.” I shrug. “I know. Drastic difference than the usual white.”

  “I might have to think about changing the dress code for CHOPs. You look pretty sexy in black.”

  I watch his eyes rake over my body again, and my stomach does a giant flip.

  “Pretty sexy?” I give a cocky attitude, not sure why such a foreign side of me emerges in his presence.

  He leans closer to me, and my breath hitches as the scent of his cologne wafts around me.

  “If I told you what I was really thinking right now, I’d have to fire you.”

  Before I can truly appreciate the presence of him so close to me, he’s back on his side of the bench. My neck scalds like boiling water, and heat flushes up my face from his flirting.

  “Why is that?” My voice trembles, but he doesn’t skip a beat.

  “So you wouldn’t sue me for sexual harassment.” He laughs.

  I love the sound of him chuckling at his own wittiness.

  “Oh.”

  He finally accomplishes the reaction most receive out of me—mute. I’m not the sassy, funny-comeback kind of girl.

  “Your dog doesn’t seem to be very into the park.” I nod at the bulldog lying down on its back under the tree while all the other dogs are running around, chasing one another.

  “Yeah, he’s not much into exercise. I bring him here for a change of scenery. Plus, usually, there’s no shortage of women here.” His eyes light up in humor when he looks over at me.

  Is this where he picks up his women? At the dog park?

  “I have to say though, today, I’m feeling pretty damn lucky,” he says.

  My shoulders tense when his fingers play with the collar of my blouse.

  “Why is that? Do you usually have to carry—what’s your dog’s name?”

  “No. Apollo might rest once we get here, but he manages the five-minute walk.”

  He leans closer again, and my whole body stiffens.

  “I’m lucky because you’re here. My day will just go downhill after this.”

  I’m not sure how to respond.

  Do I say ’fuck it’ and sleep with my boss? God knows, I’d bet he’s worth it a hundred times over. The dream is tempting, but I have bills to pay, and sleeping with Davis would only bring the red stamp on the outside of the envelopes in my mailbox.

  I divert the topic to a safer subject. “How did you come up with Apollo? Are you some NASA junkie?”

  “Nah, I just thought it sounded manly. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I shrug. Trying to stay composed and uncaring is slowly becoming harder with every interaction with Davis.

  “Which one’s yours?” he asks, looking around at all the dogs jumping and running back and forth in the small confines of the space.

  “None of them,” I answer.

  He scrunches his eyebrows. “Are you just here to meet some hot guys? I guess it’s your lucky day then,” he says, complimenting himself with a wink.

  A girlie giggle escapes my mouth.

  Seriously, Amelia, hold yourself together.

  “Maybe.” I smile over at him. “Those two big brown dogs over there, basking in the sun.” I point to Jasmine and Jackson, sitting upright with their backs straight and noses raised, facing the sun.

  Davis nods.

  “They’re my boss’s dogs. I was late today, so the punishment is always to take the dogs to the park. Although, I’m thinking it’s not much of a punishment today,” I say, flirting back. I couldn’t help myself; the words just spilled out of me. Damn, I need to get on the same page as my mind.

  Brain and vagina must agree, I silently instruct them.

  “So, you don’t run late only for me?”

  “No, I’m an equally shitty employee,” I joke.

  But he doesn’t laugh. He stares at me for a few beats, making the atmosphere tense but electrifying. His eyes search mine, and I allow myself to become lost in his warm and welcoming chocolate-colored irises.

  He closes our moment with a shake of his head. “Can you watch Apollo for me?”

  “Um . . .” I fly back down to reality. “I really need to get back to the gallery,” I say, rising to my feet.

  “Please.”

  He places his hand on my arm, and goose bumps travel up my skin from his touch.

  “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  I nod, knowing I’m not about to tell my other boss no, even when I’m not on his time.

  I sit back down on the bench, and Davis disappears through the iron gate. Not wanting to read about Todd’s workouts on his abs or biceps, I decide not to check my Facebook account, so I sit in the silence, basking in my own spot of the warm sun. The days are starting to grow shorter, and soon, fall will be here. Might as well enjoy not having to be bundled up with gloves and hats to stay semi-warm.

  Maybe Todd’s idea from last night isn’t so bad. Being swept up with Davis in order to help make Todd’s dream of opening his own restaurant happen sounds pretty damn good. After all, it could greatly benefit me.

  Davis was right; it took him all of five minutes to get back. He’s smiling from ear to ear with two scones.

  Handing me one, he claims his seat again on the bench. “This is the best cinnamon-and-apple scone.”

  The warmth from the freshly baked pastry heats my palm. I twist around and spot the food truck on the corner.

  “They park here every day at this time. I wish I owned a coffee house just so I could sell these.” He takes a bite, and his eyes close from the happiness the pastry brings h
im.

  I tentatively nibble mine, and the cinnamon and chunks of apple mix in my mouth. Davis is right. It’s the best scone I’ve ever eaten, and it would go great with a hot chocolate on a cold morning. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Davis’s eyes pinned directly on me.

  “So, what do you think?” he eagerly asks.

  “It’s okay.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No . . . I love it. It’d go great with a cup of hot chocolate.”

  “It would.” He nods in agreement. “Next time, I’ll make you my hot chocolate to go with it.”

  “Nah. You pick up the scones, and I’ll make the hot chocolate.”

  He tilts his head, confused, as if I’m challenging him. It’s almost like he’s asking himself how I could make something better than him.

  “I didn’t know hot chocolate was something bartenders made very often.”

  “It’s not. I wasn’t always a bartender. Being the only girl with four brothers, surviving cold New York winters, I learned fast that a cup of hot chocolate could warrant some peace and quiet. It’s probably the first drink I ever learned to make.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I just rambled on about fucking hot chocolate, like Davis gives a shit.

  “What do you care to wager?”

  “Wager?”

  He leans in closer and whispers, “I did an apprenticeship in Italy. I make a mean hot chocolate, too.”

  “What does the winner get?” I sit up a little straighter. I never turn away from a bet, especially one I won’t lose.

  “Let’s use our talents. If I win, you take me on a tour of your favorite art pieces in the city. If I lose, I cook you whatever meal you want.” He slides closer to me, placing his hand out.

  I stare at his open palm and look back to his eyes. The hope and eagerness he displays make me think he might throw the competition just to spend the day with me.

  That only has me agreeing instantly. “Deal.”

  I shake his hand, and a wide grin forms across his mouth.

  “Apollo!” he calls out while his eyes stay on me, unnerving me to the core. The small dog waddles over to us. “Saturday, after-hours. Do you need any special ingredients?” he asks, releasing my hand and standing up.

  The way the waist of his jeans hugs around his hips makes me wish I could hook a finger and pull him close, so my hands could explore every ripple of his stomach.

  “No,” I breathlessly respond, hypnotized by his stare.

  “All right. Have a good day, Amelia.” He winks and turns around.

  I don’t watch him leave the park. Instead, I sit there, trying to figure out what I got myself into. Regardless of the winner, is this a date? No, it’s just a friendly bet between two people, right? An employee and her boss. Right?

  * * *

  I drag myself up the steps to the apartment. These are the days I wish I had a boyfriend waiting on the other side of the door for me with a candlelit dinner. I can practically smell the imaginary sulfur from him blowing out the candles before we’d take our filled wine glasses to the couch. Then, he’d wrap my feet in his hands, massaging them back to life after I’d spent a day in high heels, as I’d sip my wine and complain about what a bitch my boss was. If I’m venturing off to Neverland, the spoiling from my prince would happen after my very successful art show instead of a day spent with Bette.

  My daydream continues unfolding in my mind as I insert the key into my lock and open the door. Suddenly, I’m jarred into my real life.

  “Hey, Lia!” Tatiana screams over the blaring Beyoncé.

  She’s stirring a wooden spoon in a pot, and the whole house smells heavenly. My mouth waters, knowing it’s chicken marsala. I realize I don’t need a man—I’ve got Tatiana. She knows me best anyway.

  “What made you cook?” I toss my bag and keys onto the stool and then weave past the island to meet her.

  She takes the spoon out of the pot and positions it in front of my face. “Taste.”

  Steam rises from the light-brown sauce, and I blow on the mushroom to cool it down before my lips tentatively cover the spoon. My eyes close, and I inhale a deep breath from the skill of my talented roommate. “So good.”

  She smiles and stirs it again. Sorting through the stack of mail, I spot my credit card bill, and my gut clenches when I remember that shopping spree two weeks ago. That cute outfit for Saturday night doesn’t seem worth it now. Thank goodness the tips at CHOPs have been steady. It’s a profitable bar, and I need to make sure I don’t jeopardize my job.

  I climb on the breakfast barstool and watch Tatiana comfortably move around the kitchen. Her confidence in everything she does always amazes me.

  “So, when did your dad drop off the food? Or was he here all day, cooking it?”

  She whips around and places her hand over her heart, as though I’ve offended her. A boisterous laugh erupts. Pointing the wooden spoon at me, she says, “You know me too well, Amelia Fiore.”

  “I’ve known you since the ninth grade, and you can make five things. Chicken marsala isn’t one of them.”

  “Hey now, I try new things. There was that one time I made the flan for Spanish class, remember?”

  We both laugh.

  “You are talking about the hard brick of substance resembling tofu, right?”

  “It was beautiful.” Her lips pout, and her shoulders slump.

  If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think I’d upset her.

  “No, it wasn’t, Tatiana.”

  Her eyes peek up at me, and a small smile sneaks out. “It really was awful.”

  I hop down from the stool and place my arm around her shoulders. “You have far better talents than cooking. Let’s leave the kitchen to Todd.”

  She nods, and I move to grab some bowls while she finds a bottle of wine. We go about our routine as though we were a married couple. Tatiana knows everything about me and accepts me fully. I was lucky to find her wandering, lost in the halls, our freshman year of high school. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

  “So, tell me about CHOPs.”

  I sigh.

  “What? Spill it. I’m in desperate need to get out of my own life right now.”

  “It’s my boss, Davis Morgan.” I place the bowls next to the stove.

  Tatiana hands me the ladle. “That guy from that cooking-contest show? He’s hot.” Her eyes widen, and she shakes her body.

  “Yeah, and he’s my boss. I can’t help but think he’s been flirting with me, like he wants more than an employee-boss relationship.”

  She glances over to me as the corkscrew pops the wine bottle open. I know what she’s thinking.

  I debate in my head if I should even tell her about Todd’s proposition last week.

  “Stay away, Lia. You need the money, and it’d never end good.”

  I sigh again and take our bowls to the table. Then, I slump over the counter, watching her fill two wine glasses.

  “It’s hard, Tati. Men like Davis Morgan aren’t exactly lined up outside the door for me. Hell, no men are within a five-mile radius.” I lay my head down in my arms.

  “Lia, you are beautiful, and one day, a prince is going to waltz up to that door and knock. You’ll know he’s the one you’re supposed to be with.”

  I peek up at her. “I’m starting to think you live in Fairytale Land.”

  Her jaw clenches, and her face stiffens. “You are worth so much more than you think. Davis would be lucky to have you. I just think it’s a bad idea to date your boss.” She picks up the wine glasses and ventures over to the table.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so down. It’s nice, though. When he flirts, my whole body reacts—my heart races, my skin pricks—and all I want is more.”

  She comes back over to the counter, placing her hands on my upper arms. “I know, Lia, but it’s my duty to warn you. That’s all. If you decide to date him, then I want to hear all the juicy details, too.”

  She smiles, and I return one.

  “
Thank you.”

  Her arms tightly squeeze around me as she hugs me in to her. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s eat. My dad didn’t want it to go cold, and he dropped it off an hour ago. I had to stir it forever until you got home.”

  I laugh and follow her to the table as I wish her confidence would rub off on me a little.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Todd

  I love running at night, but Saturdays don’t have nearly the same serene streets as the weekdays. My first Saturday off in months, and my foster mom, Carol, has asked me to come over for a talk, not that I cared about that.

  My footsteps halt at the cracked steps up to the only house that has ever felt close to a home. That’s not saying much because Jim, my foster dad, never made it very homey. He wasn’t a terrible father figure, more of an absent one. He never cared what I did as long as it didn’t interfere with his television at the end of the day. Still, he took me in, fed me, and most of all, didn’t hit me like the other ‘good Samaritan’ foster parents.

  “Well, are you going to come and give me a hug or stand there all night?” Carol says through the darkness of the porch.

  “You and Jim going on a trip?” I slowly climb the steps with the feeling that something bad is about to happen. Think of it as a foster kid’s intuition.

  Carol and Jim have only been to Niagara Falls, and that was before I entered their lives. They don’t do vacations, and it’s easy to know that from the giant plaid suitcase propped at her feet.

  Her frail arms wrap me in a hug, and she inhales a big whiff. “I missed you.”

  “You missed the smell of sweat?”

  We draw back from one another and my stomach twists seeing the sadness in her eyes.

  “You, silly.” She smacks my arm, and the smile falls from her face.

  “I’m here.”

  I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t come around often. Usually, I meet Carol out at a restaurant, or she comes over to my apartment. They aren’t a warm, cozy family. Hell, I’ve never even met extended family members.

  A dark sedan pulls up along the curb, and Carol waves.