“Here,” he said. “Take my hand.”
She did, and as their hands touched, she felt a flutter in her chest. He squeezed, smiled, then continued, weaving them through the throng with confidence. At last they reached the crêpe booth; Alex couldn’t have found her way back to the car without help. She looked up at the red menu boards, which had a ton of options — combinations she’d never considered for crêpes, both sweet and savory. She completely ignored the waffles and sandwiches; why get those when visiting a place specializing in French crêpes?
“What do you recommend?” she asked, genuinely having no idea what to order.
She’d said she didn’t want anything sugary, but the difference between a churro and a dessert crêpe was a culinary chasm. Yet she’d worked hard to lose the weight she’d regained and prided herself on the fact that she weighed seventy-one pounds less than she had in eighth grade.
“Each one is pretty big,” Michael said. “I could order a savory one, and you order a sweet, and we could split them.”
“And we each get a full meal, including dessert,” she finished. “Brilliant.”
“You don’t mind sharing?”
“I’d prefer it. See, I—” She cut off. No need to reveal things like how there had been a time when she would have wanted both a savory crêpe and a dessert one and could have easily polished off both. As much as she still enjoyed food, she never wanted to go back to everything the weight had brought with it. A preteen shouldn’t be bullied, for starters. But a preteen should also never have joint pain or be pre-diabetic.
In her case, those things were results of being shuttled between foster homes. The chaos of constantly moving, never knowing what the future held, frequently changing schools, trying to make new friends again and again. It all added up to food being the only “love” she could count on. Unlearning that had taken far more work and time than she’d ever imagined possible. Chances were good that she’d always hear food’s siren call, would always have to fight to keep her health.
“You okay?” Michael asked.
“I’m great,” Alex said. “Just trying to decide.” She purposely put her hands on her hips as she thought; feeling them was a tangible reminder of how far she’d come. “Honestly, all of the savory crêpes looks great, so you pick your favorite, and then we’ll split a strawberry and Nutella dessert crêpe. That’s calling my name.”
“Mmm. Berries and chocolate,” Michael said with an approving nod. “Can’t go wrong there.” He looked over the savory menu. “How about the veggie crêpe?”
She found the description, and immediately her mouth started watering. “Sounds divine. But you’re welcome to get a whole one for yourself. You don’t have to share with me. I can always get a box for what I don’t eat.”
“Nah,” Michael said. “I don’t eat that much.” He stepped forward to order, adding offhand, “Not anymore, anyway.”
Wait, what?
But the forty-something man on the other side of the counter turned to them and exclaimed, “Michael, is that you?”
“Sure is, Carlos.” They shook hands, and Michael introduced the owner to Alex.
After starting on their order — ladling batter onto hot metal rounds — Carlos reminisced about when he hired Michael and they worked together in that very booth.
“Still don’t know how you didn’t put on pounds like the rest of us.” He took a wooden tool — a thin handle with a dowel attached perpendicularly at the end, which he used to shape the batter into perfect circles. “I mean, even after spending a summer at fat camp, most people wouldn’t be able to keep it off, let alone by being surrounded like things like Nutella and whipping cream all day.”
“It’ll always be battle,” Michael said with a shrug. “But I won’t go back there.”
Alex stood frozen in place, not believing her ears. How in the world could this hot guy have ever struggled with his weight? How had someone who looked like that ever been sent to a fat camp?
She’d thought the only thing they had in common was a love of crêpes. Apparently not.
He’d experienced something few people ever had. Suddenly, she wanted to tell him about her past, something she rarely did, because most people couldn’t handle even one part of her history, let alone the crazy mess that was being orphaned, bounced among foster families, and having a brief marriage to a dying teen.
Back at the pier, she’d welcomed the attention of a good-looking guy who clearly had money. At the time, she’d had no intention of telling him anything about herself beyond vague things like how she lived in Arizona, where she’d grown up — keeping past cities out of it, because she’d lived in at least eight. Maybe she’d mention that she had her own company in the fashion industry. She’d become adept over the years at avoiding uncomfortable topics and focusing on areas she could talk about easily.
She couldn’t help but let her eyes trail from Michael’s shoes up to the back of his hair. He used to be fat? She understood his words better than his friend across the counter did. They both be fought the urge to medicate with food and always would.
On the first anniversary of his death, she’d promised herself to lose the weight she’d regained, and to do it for herself as much as for Jason. As of two months ago, she’d lost the last pound. She wouldn’t throw in the towel again.
Michael laughed at something Carlos said, then waved, ending the conversation as he turned to Alex and gestured around the corner to one side of the booth, where four stools stood beside a short counter. She climbed on one, and he took another. “I’ve always loved sitting here instead of at one of the little tables,” he said. “You can watch the magic from here.”
She got to see how the savory crêpe was expertly folded and slipped onto a plate. With her feet on the bar at the bottom of the stool, she pointed as Carlos used a metal spatula to fold up the berry one, using quick, precise movements as if the spatula were an extension of his own hand. “You know how to do that?”
“I’m a bit rusty, but I used to make one mean crêpe.”
They waited as the final garnishes were added, and during that time, Alex felt as content as she could ever remember. Only one thing would make it better: Michael had released her hand to pay but hadn’t taken it again. She wanted his strong, warm grip around hers, leading her confidently through the crowd. If she’d had the guts, she would have taken his.
Yeah, right. She’d never been so forward. And she’d met the guy not an hour before. So why do I feel so comfortable around him?
The savory plate was slid to them first, with the crêpe cut in half. Carlos held out two forks, which Michael took, handing one to her. “Dig in,” he said. “But I warn you, you’ll never be the same.”
She cut off a small piece and took a bite. Sure enough, the veggie filling melded into a paradise of flavors. She closed her eyes with pleasure. “Oh, wow.”
“Crazy, huh?” Michael said, cutting off a piece only after watching her reaction.
They made short work of the crêpe, then turned to the berry-chocolate one, which sat on another plate, also cut in half. Two clean forks rested beside it. Michael slid the plate over and handed her the second fork. “We’ll pretend that this is healthy because of the strawberries.”
Alex nodded with mock solemnity. “And because of the real whipping cream. The real stuff’s healthier than the fake whipped topping crap.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Michael said with an equally serious tone.
This time he cut into the crêpe first, but Alex’s bite followed shortly behind. She ate more slowly with this crepe, taking smaller bites as her appetite waned. She felt utterly satisfied, but comfortably so, even though several bites remained. Michael offered the rest of his half to her, and when she turned him down, he pushed the plate away and stood. Alex stared at the remaining food; she had a hard time grasping the reality of a man who didn’t put away twice as much food as the average woman, even if he did work out.
They walked back, through the maz
e of stores and booths, this time side by side and at a more leisurely pace. Alex couldn’t help but wish he’d take her hand again, then remind herself that she didn’t know the guy and was being ridiculous. Out of the corner of her eye, she took in his body and wondered how on earth she happened to meet someone with such a significant similarity in his past, someone who knew what a weight struggle felt like and had come off conqueror.
She had to ask, but the thought of bringing it up made her jittery. Not everyone wanted to talk about past hard times; she knew that firsthand. They had to stop to wait for a group of people to move along a cross-corridor. He looked over and caught her eye — and winked. Instead of finding the action cheesy, she felt her face warm and her cheeks round with a smile. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see her blushing.
When they kept walking, she decided to force out the burning question. She had to know, and if she didn’t ask soon, she might never know. He’d take her back to her car, and she’d never see him again. She had to clear her throat — twice. “What did you mean back there?”
“About working there? It was a long time ago, when—”
“No, not that.” Now that she stood on the topic’s precipice, she wanted to wimp out. How did you bring up something potentially painful from the past without upsetting the other person? Then again, Carlos had talked about it almost like a joke. “I mean about — summer camp.”
“Oh, that.” He took a few more steps before answering, but he didn’t seem upset, only pensive. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, making it look adorably tousled.
“Did you really go to a fat camp?” she pressed.
“I sure did.” Michael tilted his head to one side and then the other. “Of course, they didn’t call it that. But yeah, I spent the entire summer before my junior year of high school at a camp meant to help obese kids lose weight.”
“How awful.” She knew all too well.
“It was pretty miserable. You wouldn’t believe the rules. Every calorie we ate had to be accounted for. We had to take one bite at a time, put the fork on the table, and chew a specific number of times before swallowing. I couldn’t even go the bathroom alone — worry over bulimia or sneaking food out of the cafeteria and eating it there, I guess. Privileges had to be earned, stuff like being able to bring snacks to your room. There were daily weigh-ins. Group therapy.” He shook his head. “Rough, rough summer. And most of the rules didn’t really help.”
“But something obviously did,” she said, remembering fat-camp rules all too clearly. “Something must have made a difference, because look at you — you made a change.” She gestured up and down his lean frame from shoulders to feet.
“A few things helped. The nutrition classes were big. I hadn’t grown up understanding what food was made of and how it fueled the body — you know, basic stuff you can’t be healthy without knowing. My trainer and counselor were both great. But the biggest thing...” His voice trailed off, and when he didn’t go on, Alex looked up to see him blushing. His cheeks had bright pink spots on them.
“The biggest thing?” she prompted in what she hoped was in a casual tone.
“I’ve already told you a lot more than I usually tell anyone.” He shrugged and seemed to be ready to change the subject.
But Alex didn’t want him to. She playfully nudged him. “So what’s one more deep, dark secret?”
He eyed her skeptically, raising one eyebrow and laughing. But not, she noticed, answering the question.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll spill something about me first.” She paused in her step and held out one hand. “Deal?”
Michael ran his fingers through his hair again — it looked better every time he did that, as if the action released some of the gel or whatever it was that held his hair in place, letting out waves and gentle curls. She’d always been a sucker for curls on guys. She made a mental note to take a selfie with him before they said goodbye at the pier just so she could see his hair again any time she wanted to.
“Maybe it’s a deal,” he said, eying her hand. “Depends on how deep and dark your secret is.”
“Okay,” Alex said lightly. But her insides tightened at the idea of verbalizing the past. If she could have emailed the information to his brain, that would have been so much easier than saying it all.
They kept walking, and with each step, she had to remind herself that telling Michael wouldn’t be scary. He’d gone through the same things she had; he wouldn’t judge her.
Besides, they’d be saying goodbye soon, likely to never see each other again. Today would be a pleasant memory during an otherwise difficult time, when a man happened to notice her, and she got the chance to flirt a little and feel feminine.
“Okay,” she said as they left the market. “Here’s my big secret: I went to a fat farm too. It was the summer before my sophomore year, and I weighed well over two hundred pounds. Those places must all be the same, because it was just like you said. It totally sucked, but I learned enough to keep myself healthy.”
The truth, if not all of nitty-gritty details.
“So,” she said, nudging him again. “Finish your story. Camp didn’t totally suck because of your trainer, your counselor, and...”
Michael’s step slowed to a gradual stop on the sidewalk. He stared straight ahead, his expression suddenly intense. “This is going to sound completely nuts, but humor me, okay?”
“Okay,” Alex said, unsure what type of shift his mood had taken. “What is it?” She wanted to add, You can trust me.
“Where was your camp?”
“Tahoe,” she said. “Wellness Meadows for—”
“Teens,” he finished, and nodded as if he’d expected the name.
Alex felt her eyes widening with surprise. “Yeah.”
She suddenly felt as if someone had drawn back a curtain, but instead of revealing some grand truth, she couldn’t make out what she was looking at. A crucial detail still hovered at the edge of her peripheral vision. She narrowed her eyes and tried to picture Michael younger and chubby. Maybe with his hair a bit longer, not as held in place, curlier...
The pieces clicked together. “Mikey?” she said with wonder. Her hand moved on its own toward his face as if she needed to feel what she was seeing to make it true, but her hand stopped a few inches short.
Before she could pull away, he reached for her hand and held it. His thumb traced the inside of her palm, sending her middle into a flurry of butterflies. His mouth curved into a smile, revealing perfect teeth instead of braces. Yes — there was the cleft in his chin. The same freckle below his right eye. She searched his face, not entirely believing, but wanting so much for the man before her to be the boy who had made that otherwise awful summer endurable.
The first person she could almost call a boyfriend. Her first kiss.
Finally, he spoke, wonder in his voice too. “Al?”
She nodded, unable to speak for a second. “Yeah.” She couldn’t manage more than that. Camp was the only place she’d ever gone by Al. She’d wanted a different identity there, a new start. No one there knew her as Alex or Dria. Back then, both names felt fat. She’d introduced herself to everyone as Al. And then she’d fallen hard for the boy with the curly hair and braces.
Michael — no, Mikey — reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “I’ve always been a sucker for gingers.”
They stood there, gazing into each other’s eyes as if time itself had stopped. Her mind spun, around and around. Was this really Mikey? How could they have found each other again after all this time? This kind of thing didn’t just happen. But maybe it had. And if it so, it was as wonderful as it was unbelievable.
“Why didn’t you ever email me?” he asked.
“I tried, but it bounced. I still have your old address memorized: [email protected].”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe that my bad handwriting is what kept us apart all these years. It wasn’t six-six; it was zero-z
ero. I’ve kept that address all these years, on the off chance…”
His gaze held hers now; however their messages had crossed in cyberspace, they were here now, together. His eyes slowly moved from her eyes to her lips, and then he stepped nearer and lowered his face to hers. She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting to feel his lips again after so long. It would be the same and yet oh, so different.
But loud sounds in the distance burst the bubble — a loud squeak followed by the roar of an engine. They startled, pulling away to look across the street, at the sound coming from the grocery store parking lot.
Where a tow truck was driving away with Michael’s car.
Chapter Four
They took off running for the traffic light; Michael hoped it would change so they could cross the busy road. When they got there, the light was still red. He mentally cursed; they had no way of catching the tow truck now. It turned a corner and went out of sight, pulling his Mustang behind it. They stopped at the intersection, trying to catch their breath.
“They can’t just tow your car,” Alex said, clearly upset. “You didn’t break any law. And how are you supposed to know where they took it?”
“I don’t know.” Michael groaned and ran the back of his wrist across his forehead to wipe off the sweat from their sudden sprint. His brain couldn’t keep up with this day. First he’d gone to the beach to get over Rachel, only to end up finding the girl he’d first fallen for so long ago. And then his car got towed.
He didn’t know what to think or feel. Or what he’d tell Nate. That would be an interesting conversation.
When the light finally changed, they hurried through the press of pedestrians, and when they reached the parking lot, they walked straight to the now-empty parking stall. Even though he’d seen the tow truck, Michael could scarcely believe his eyes. His car had been here a few minutes before, but now it was just — gone. He blew out some air and looked around, not knowing what he was looking for.
Love Far from Home Box Set Page 3
