WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR: a nostalgic romantic comedy (Boston Classics Book 1)

by Karen Grey

  “Thank you,” I croak.

  “Proud of you, William,” she says simply.

  After she closes the door behind her, I look around the empty room. Echoes of the sounds I unleashed have faded. Surprisingly, instead of feeling weighed down by what I dug up, I feel freed of a burden I hadn’t known I’d been carrying.

  A rough laugh escapes my lips when Kate’s face pops into my mind. All the time we were together, I thought I was the one making her feel things more fully. After all, I’m the actor, the one who’s supposed to be aware of that stuff, yet I was the one completely out of touch with my feelings.

  Until I met her.

  Remembering the letter she sent, fresh pain slices through my heart. She’ll be moving to Philadelphia if she gets that job, which of course she will. She’s so smart, so good at what she does, she can get any job she wants.

  A broken sigh, a mix of anguish and humor, blows over my lips. Because, really, the joke’s on me, but it’s too late for the punch line.

  The next day, with ten-out-of-twelves for Romeo and Juliet on the horizon for the weekend, I’m glad to pick up a lunch shift at the bar. I got the first two checks from the film, but the final one hasn’t arrived, so I have a bit of a cash flow problem. Deb said I could be a few days late with my rent, but I hate to do that. I don’t think I can take owing her money on top of the looks of concern I keep catching on her and Pam’s faces. I might be a bit fucked up over losing Kate, but it doesn’t help for them to keep reminding me of it. I need to figure out how to move on.

  Reaching into the fridge to pull out lemons and limes, I wonder if I should call Jay to try to find out about the missing check. Moments later, as if I conjured him up, the casting director steps through the pub door, backlit by the midafternoon sun. When the door closes, I see that someone’s behind him. Hot Steve. Just what I need right now.

  I bow slightly. May as well put on a show. “‘Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.’”

  “Okay, Shakespeare,” Jay laughs. “Can we have a late lunch at the bar?”

  “Of course.” I refuse to let Steve’s presence throw me. “Here’s the menu, and our specials are up on the board. Though I’ll have to check, we may be out of the chowder.”

  Steve settles on a stool next to Jay. “No problem.” He seems to be avoiding my gaze. Interesting. Did something happen between him and Kate after all? I fill water glasses to give myself a moment to calm down. After all, it’s really no longer my business.

  I set waters in front of them. “Can I get you something else to drink?”

  “I’ll have a pint of that Harpoon Ale,” Jay says.

  Steve’s eyes are locked on the row of taps. “Yeah, me too.”

  Pulling the beers with a steady hand, I take their lunch orders with a smile. After delivering them to the kitchen, I take my time clearing empties left by the one waiter still on duty. When their lunches are ready, I grab the plates and a couple setups, figuring I’ll drop them off and then make myself scarce again.

  However, I do need to ask Jay about the check. “You guys need anything else?”

  “I’m good.” Jay gives Steve a pointed look.

  “Uh⁠…” Steve lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag on it. “Yeah, uh. I… feel like I should tell you something.”

  I hold up a hand. “Listen, I know you kissed Kate at that wedding. Yeah, I was angry when I first heard about it, but it’s fine. I mean, things with us were never that serious and now it’s over, so… don’t worry about it.” I paste on a smile, take in a breath and turn to ask Jay about the check.

  Steve starts up again before I can get my mouth open. “Oh. Well, that’s good. I mean, I’ve been feeling bad about it. She seemed pretty broken up about you, uh, breaking up. And I felt like maybe it was my fault, at least in part. But, really, nothing happened. Yeah, I kissed her. But, man. She was unbelievably hot in that dress she wore to the wedding.” Steve chuckles, regaining some of his frat boy swagger. “I mean, who knew that body was hiding under those horrible suits she wears? She’s got great tits and legs.”

  Jay winces. “Steve, don’t be a douche.”

  “Bite me, asshole,” Steve shoots back. “Anyway, that night I figured, hey, we’re here, we get along, we’re away from work, maybe she’ll want to fool around.”

  I’m not sure where this is going, but I am sure I don’t want to hear anymore. “Like I said, it’s⁠—”

  “Hear me out,” Steve stubs out his cigarette. “So, I kissed her. But that was it, and she shut that down pretty quick. And it’s for the best. I like her and all. But really, more like a sister. I’m gonna miss her. I just wanted you to know—there’s nothing between the two of us.”

  My heart skips a beat. “So, she took the job with the company in Philly?”

  “Yeah. She’s all excited about it, even though it’s a huge pay cut, which I think is nuts, but she’s all hyped up about how this work will be so much more meaningful, blah blah blah. It sucks to lose her. She’s good. She heads down there Monday.”

  So Kate got the job. I figured she would, but the reality’s still a blow. “Good for her. I hope that works out.”

  Somehow, I manage to ask Jay about the missing check and even entertain Steve’s suggestions on how to grow my savings. As if I had any.

  Footage of last night’s Red Sox game on the television over the bar diverts them to sports talk. After a few minutes of that, I excuse myself to fill a drink order. I keep myself busy until the end of my shift, sealing off my heart and mind from thoughts of Kate.

  Late that night, finally home after a long rehearsal, I’m on my hands and knees searching behind my desk until I find Kate’s crumpled letter nestled among the dust bunnies. I might never see her again, but I need to read her words. As I smooth out the wrinkled paper, my eyes catch on the phrase, “And I feel a lot when I kiss you.”

  Immediately I’m back to the first kiss we shared out at Walden Pond. I kissed her because I wanted to change the expression on her face, the insecurity I saw there. When our lips touched, I was totally blindsided by the passion that sparked between us. I wanted to devour her then, melt into her, possess her. All of those things at once.

  I still do, dammit.

  Should I reach out to her before she leaves? Apologize? See if she’ll give us another chance? My heart races with hope.

  And then it stalls.

  She’s moving.

  I trace the curves and loops of her handwriting. Do I have the courage to risk my heart? If we try again, odds are I’ll fall for her completely.

  If I haven’t already.

  Don’t think. Just feel.

  Opening my desk drawer, I find a pad of paper, take a deep breath, and bleed my heart onto the page.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  BEEP. MONDAY, 7:04 a.m.

  Kate, Roland would like to see you in his office as soon as possible.

  KATE

  Heading to Roland’s office after the morning meeting, I employ all my new tactics to keep my confidence as well as my chin high. I’m not worried anymore about what Roland or anyone at Rhodes Wahler thinks of me, but I don’t want to burn bridges either.

  Gail actually has an expression on her face when I approach her desk. Before I can ask if Roland can see me, she crooks a finger at me. When I step closer, she smiles. “I’ll miss you, Kate.”

  “Thank you, Gail. I’ll miss you, too.”

  She nods. “You can go in.”

  I knock on his door, waiting for his invitation to open it. On his “Enter,” I walk in and dive into my monologue before he can speak. “Thank you, Roland, for the excellent recommendation. I truly appreciate it. Almost as much as I appreciate your mentorship. I hope you won’t take my leaving personally. I just couldn’t pass up this opportunity to do work that’s more aligned with my goals.” And values, I’d like to add, but that might be rude.

  He nods slowly and clears his throat. “I have to admit the call came out of
the blue, and I am a bit frustrated to have brought you along so far only to lose you. But at least it’s not to a competitor.” Though his smile isn’t quite genuine, I’ll take it.

  I reach for his hand and shake it with as much strength as I can muster. “Thank you again, sir. For everything. As for the transition⁠…?”

  He fiddles with the papers on his desk. “Why don’t you take the next two days to fill Mark Johnson and Steven Williams in on your lists?”

  A little surprised that he wants me to wrap things up so quickly, I say, “Will do,” and make my exit.

  Late Wednesday afternoon, after doing an idiot check to make sure I’ve packed up all my personal items, I sweep a hand across the pristine desk. I occupied this office for a relatively short time, but I’ll still miss it. After fitting the lid on the cardboard banker’s box and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head for the back elevator. I’ve said my goodbyes to the people I care about.

  Checking my watch as the elevator descends, I realize that I’m leaving work before market closing for the first time ever. As I exit the staid old building, I breathe in the air of a perfect late summer afternoon. I need a bike ride along the Charles.

  Swaying with the movement of the T on the way home, I give myself a mental pat on the back. I did everything I set out to do this past year. I overcame my fear of speaking in front of a group and moved up in the firm. I succeeded without being male, having family connections, or holding an MBA.

  To my surprise, I’ve learned that those accomplishments aren’t as important to me as doing good in the world. I am beyond excited that I’ll be able to use what I learned to make positive change.

  As happy as I am about all these things, I can’t seem to let go of the desire to share them with Will.

  Back at my apartment, I pick up my mail and drop it, the box and my keys by the front door. I’m itching to get back outside; I’ll deal with that stuff later. Changing into exercise gear—oh, I will miss the free samples from Nike and Adidas—I look around for my shoes. Ah, I left them by the door yesterday morning to dry after a run in the rain.

  Just like the last time I saw Will.

  Using the hall table for balance as I toe into my shoes, a familiar script catches my eye in the pile of mail. I fan out the envelopes, and my heart skips. Speak of the devil. There’s a letter from Will.

  I hesitate for only a moment before opening it. I wrote him over a week ago and haven’t heard back, so I’ve been doing my best to accept that he doesn’t want to try again.

  His cursive is beautiful, but I need a PhD in English to understand this letter. I can’t even tell what’s Shakespeare and what’s Will. Whoever’s words they are, the message is not clear.

  If he spoke them aloud, I’d probably understand.

  One word stands out loud and clear, though: Farewell.

  He’s saying goodbye.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, press my lips together.

  Just do it, Bishop.

  Carefully, I set the paper on the hall table, smooth it out, bend to tie my shoes, grab my keys and walk out the door.

  Once I’m biking alongside the river, the rhythmic pumping of my legs settles me down.

  For about two minutes.

  Never doubt I love.

  Does he love me? Or is he just talking about love in general?

  Journeys end in lover’s meeting.

  I guess we’re the lovers, but what’s the journey? Didn’t he say I took his heart when I left? But I’m only across town. Can’t he just call? Or come over?

  Apparently not, because only God knows when we’ll see each other again.

  Stupid Shakespeare.

  Oops. I think I said that out loud. Maybe really loud, as two people having a romantic picnic on the grass are looking at me funny.

  I wave as I pedal past. “Sorry! Just talking to myself!”

  I shake my head to rid it of the chatter. Unfortunately, this makes my bike wobble, and I have to brake and drop a foot to the ground to keep from falling over. Since I’m stopped anyway, I pull my water bottle out of its rack.

  When I tip my head back to take a sip, my eye catches on a familiar structure peeking through the trees. Could it be that I’ve steered myself to Shakespeare Boston? I really only saw the stage from the other side, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m seeing just over the rise. Perhaps my body knows what it’s doing. It seems to have taken over in any case, because I find myself close enough to hear voices and see a corner of the stage.

  An oh-so-familiar voice reaches in, grabs my heart and pulls it up to my throat.

  Will’s.

  He’s shouting at another man. Something about a rat. Maybe a cat. He pulls a knife—no, two knives. Lunges. Blades flash as he and another guy fly around the stage, dodging and weaving.

  Someone steps between them. The first guy uses the distraction to flip around and stab Will.

  He screams in pain. Doubles over. Chaos.

  Will staggers, shouting. Stumbles. The stupid guy who got in the way catches him. Will’s voice is hoarse when he yells at him. Then he’s pressing a hand to his side to cough up blood.

  I can’t breathe.

  Will’s on the ground, his body convulsing.

  Blood roars in my ears. I stumble back, get caught by a tree and land heavily on the ground, face in my hands. Sobs engulf me. I squeeze my head.

  It’s just a play, you idiot. Will is acting.

  But I can’t talk myself out of this loss.

  It’s real.

  “Kate. Are you okay?”

  When I look up, I scream. Will stands over me, covered in blood.

  My heart stops. And then it’s a freight train. Hurling myself at him, I scale his body. I need to touch his skin, feel that it’s warm.

  “I’m sorry,” my voice scrapes out.

  Strong hands grip my upper arms. “Are you okay? Did someone attack you or something?”

  I choke out a strangled laugh. It is actually kind of funny. Here he is, covered in blood having just died, and he’s making sure I’m all right. “No, no… I… uh… was riding by.” Panting, I point back toward the path where my abandoned bike sprawls. “And I saw you die. And I got… upset?”

  He looks at me like I’m an escapee from McLean Mental Hospital. “You saw the scene where Mercutio died, and you thought I was dead?”

  “Well, obviously, I knew it wasn’t real. But”—I fling a hand toward the stage where the other actors play on—“some part of me believed it.”

  His wicked smile morphs into a full-out howl of laughter.

  I smack him on the chest. “Don’t laugh at me!”

  “I can’t help it.” His grin is unapologetic. “That’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever received.”

  My heart flips.

  And then it melts.

  WILL

  Still holding Kate upright, I watch expression after expression flit across her beautiful face. I don’t ever want to let her go. Still I wait, my chest tight, for her to make a decision. When she steps back into my embrace, I heave out a sigh of relief.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper into her hair.

  “I missed you, too,” she croaks.

  She pulls back just enough to tilt her face up. My lips meet hers, tentatively at first, but before I know it, my hands are in her hair and I can’t tell where I end and she begins.

  Abruptly, she breaks the kiss. And licks me. Twice. “Whoa. This stuff is sweet.” She sniffs my chin. “Is that chocolate?”

  Right. I’m covered in fake blood. “Yeah, we use chocolate syrup and a few other things to make stage blood⁠—”

  She licks me again. “Yum.”

  “Including dishwashing liquid,” I finish. She sticks out her tongue and coughs like Frankie trying to rid himself of a hairball. I pull her shirt away from her body so she can see that it’s stained as well. “Good thing this stuff washes out.”

  Large splotches of the bloody stuff dampen the front of her shirt. She
giggles. Within moments, she’s laughing hysterically—so hard I have to take her elbow to steady her again. Finally, she lets out a big sigh. Her gaze is sheepish, her cheeks rosy pink.

  A shiver runs through me. “I love you.”

  Another giggle escapes. “I know.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  She grasps my upper arms and drops her forehead on my chest. She rolls her head back and forth, oblivious of the blood.

  “I got your letter.” She pokes a finger in my chest. “I’m still bad at the Shakespeare translation. I got that you love me and that you were saying goodbye. That’s about it.” She kicks a toe in the dirt before hugging me hard. “I love you, too.”

  “I thought you⁠—” I start.

  “Maybe we⁠—” she begins at the same time.

  “You go,” I say.

  She looks up at me with brave brown eyes. “Maybe we could try again?”

  “Yes.” I frame her face with my palms. “I don’t care about the long distance. We’ll figure it out.”

  She pulls back. “Long distance?”

  “Did you not take that job? In Philadelphia?”

  “No! I mean, I’m doing it. I start next week.” Her face glows. “It’s really exciting. I’ve been wanting to tell you all about it!”

  “So, we’ll have to try to date long distance. I don’t think I can just move to Philadelphia.”

  “What? No! It’s here. That was the whole point. They’re opening a new office here.”

  “Oh.” I shake my head, trying to catch up. “In your letter you said you were going down there, so I assumed⁠—”

  “Ahhh. I guess I didn’t include some of the pertinent details.” She looks away. “I was kind of upset when I wrote that letter.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she sighs. “I didn’t really want to break up with you.”

  I step close, finding her warm hands. “You didn’t?”

  Shaking her head, her gaze meets mine. “I didn’t.”