by Ranae Rose
Black and faintly bitter – just how he liked it – his coffee scorched his tongue as he strode down the sidewalk, still in the same suit he’d worn when he’d showed up at Hot Ink earlier that evening. He’d been wearing it for a good 15 hours now, thanks to work demands. He would’ve changed into something fresh for dinner, but after his tattoo appointment he’d received a half-frantic call from his work partner and one thing had led to another.
Shoes slapping against pavement, he shook his head, trying to clear work stuff from his mind, for once. He spent enough time dwelling on the job; he could take a break for a couple hours. In the most depraved – and deprived – depths of his mind, he vividly imagined taking a break for the entire night.
He was thoroughly lost in memories of how Zoe’s simple black t-shirt had clung to her body when he rounded a corner, stepping into a bright pink and orange haze that put Hot Ink’s blue neon sign to shame. Half blinded by the colors as much as the neon, he blinked.
Sugar Panda. Maybe it was a Pittsburgh chain, or a mom n’ pop shop – he’d never heard of it before. Boldly colored signage starring a cartoon panda blared the place’s message, letting passers-by know without a doubt that it was a frozen yogurt shop. He was almost past it when something – someone – caught his eye, a flash of perfection beyond the glare of neon.
Zoe. Even with the distracting panda ears perched on top of her head, the woman behind the counter was obviously her. He recognized the glossy black chin-length hair, the round, dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. Not to mention the curves straining her bright orange polo shirt. Obviously, he’d found her secondary place of work without trying. It was so close to Hot Ink that he had to wonder why she hadn’t wanted him to meet her here. It wasn’t like you could miss the place – with all the neon, it was probably visible from outer space.
He pushed the door open, stepping into the shop’s cool, sweet-smelling interior.
The place was busy. A group of teenagers – a highschool sports team, maybe – were queued at the register, which was manned by a girl with a short blonde fringe. Zoe was dishing out toppings onto the kids’ frozen yogurt – ladling hot fudge, to be specific.
A part of him imagined the liquid chocolate coursing over her fantastic curves, and what it would be like – what it would taste like – to—
“You in line?” A man with three kids in tow barreled through the door, nearly colliding with Noah.
“No.” Noah stepped aside, frowning. “Go ahead.”
Hopefully all the business wouldn’t mean that Zoe’s shift would run over. He was eager to have her all to himself. They’d barely had a chance to talk at Hot Ink and now that he knew she was the type of woman who looked absolutely alluring even in panda ears, he was more intrigued than ever. Fading into the background, he watched, admiring, as she dealt with customers. She had a graceful way of moving, even when she was dumping spoonfuls of gummy bears into a Styrofoam cup.
The mob of teenagers moved away from the counter, and the blonde girl who’d rung them up looked relieved. “Have a nice evening,” she said.
One of the kids smirked and dropped what looked like a penny into the tip jar.
The blonde’s eyes narrowed for the briefest of seconds, then she stood straighter, raising her eyes to the ceiling.
Zoe must’ve sensed it, or maybe she’d heard the coin hit the bottom of the jar. She looked to the left, toward the blonde, eyes widening in an expression of … pain? Dread?
Noah stared, perplexed.
The blonde belted out a note, bursting into a song the popular hit stations had been playing a lot lately. As she sang, she nodded at Zoe, eyes shining, encouraging, it seemed.
At that moment, Zoe looked directly at Noah, like she’d sensed him standing there, staring.
Her eyes went wide, and a tiny line appeared between her finely-arched brows. For several seconds, she was the picture of horror. As she stood frozen, staring at Noah, the blonde sang on, moving closer to Zoe, nudging her arm.
Maybe Zoe was supposed to join in. She didn’t. Instead, she gaped at Noah for several more long moments, then dropped her gaze, staring down at a bin of chocolate chips with a look of utter dejection.
Noah frowned and took a step backward, making way for the latest family to come through the door. Was it his fault Zoe looked so stressed? Maybe there was a reason she hadn’t wanted him to show up at Sugar Panda. Maybe he’d creeped her out by making an unexpected appearance at her place of work. Beneath her perky panda ears, she looked so utterly unhappy…
The teenagers shuffled out the door in a snickering queue, and the blonde’s song died down. For several moments, the only noise was the hum of frozen yogurt machines as customers helped themselves to their chosen flavors.
Then a loud male voice boomed from behind the counter, carrying through the shop as a door behind the cash register was whipped open.
A short man with glasses and close-cropped grey hair shoved his head through the gap. “Zoe! I need to see you in my office. Now.” He closed the door, nearly slamming it.
Zoe’s frown deepened as she approached and opened the door, not quite closing it all the way as she stepped inside.
“Why was Kayla the only one singing just now?” The man’s voice wasn’t muffled much by distance or the door. “You know we need all yogurt artists on deck when it comes to singing. Customers expect it, and you’re disappointing them when you don’t take part.”
“Sorry, Dennis.” Zoe sounded about as happy as she’d looked just moments ago. “I dropped the ball. It won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not! You’ve been here for a week now. That’s long enough to know that a tip means a song. Every. Darn. Time.”
“Okay. Got it.”
“It’s company policy.” The manager – Dennis, apparently – didn’t relent. “Did you read your new employee manual?”
“Yes.”
“From front to back? Because I can tell you that when Kayla started here, it didn’t take her a week to get the basics through her head. I’ve been listening from in here, and this might be the first time you’ve skipped a song altogether tonight, but you’re always slow on the uptake. It’s like you don’t want to participate, and if I can tell, customers can tell. That sort of attitude won’t fly here at Sugar Panda. So if you think you can’t change…”
For the first time since Zoe had stepped into his office, Dennis was quiet.
“I’ll be faster next time. Sorry.”
“Just don’t let it happen again. I’ll be monitoring your performance closely – remember that.” Silence. “You can go now. Your shift is over, anyway.”
Zoe emerged from the office, and Noah might as well not have even been there. She didn’t look up, didn’t so much as glance in his direction as she retreated to an employees-only area behind the counter.
Feeling like a dick for intruding on her job and overhearing her getting chewed out by her boss, Noah stepped back outside and waited for her on the sidewalk.
After several minutes, she emerged, her hair shining dark and panda-ear free in the shop’s neon glow. Instead of her lurid orange uniform shirt, she wore a black pea coat, buttoned nearly to her chin. “Hey,” she said, meeting his eyes.
CHAPTER 2
Zoe wasn’t frowning anymore, but she didn’t look happy, either.
“Hey. I know you said to meet at Hot Ink, but I got there early and decided to go for a walk.” He tipped his head toward Sugar Panda. “I saw you inside. Sorry if I was intruding.”
“It’s okay, though you seeing me in my panda ears wasn’t exactly how I imagined tonight starting off.” She frowned. “My plan was to bury them at the bottom of my purse and hope to God you didn’t ask me what my second job was.”
“Hate it that much, huh?” He couldn’t really blame her after hearing the way her boss treated her.
She made a face of disdain. “Hmm, let’s see – I wear prison-orange and fake panda bear ears. On top of that, I’m forced to s
ing off-key every time some snotty highschooler drops a penny into the tip jar. I feel like some sort of demented panhandler, wearing panda ears instead of a tinfoil hat. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but…”
“You sure your singing is off-key?”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure.”
He raised a brow. “I bet it’s not that bad. If your voice is anything like the rest of you, it’s gotta be beautiful.”
Her fair skin turned pink – or maybe that was just the neon glow from Sugar Panda’s sign. “I don’t harbor any delusions about my vocal abilities. Music just isn’t my forte. When I applied at Sugar Panda, I had no idea singing was in the job description. That was a surprise I discovered on my first day.”
“Uh huh. I see.” He had to fight a smile – the pull on his tired face muscles incited an ache in his cheeks. Not that he minded. “I still wouldn’t mind hearing you sing sometime.”
“You’d have to hold me at gunpoint,” she said. “And I might not even be able to make myself do it then. When I saw you from across the counter … I froze.” She lowered her voice. “Until today, my worst work-related fear was that someone from Hot Ink would come in and hear my horrible singing.”
“Until today?”
“Seeing you there was even worse. I mean, embarrassing myself in front of my friends would’ve been bad, but embarrassing myself in front of a date takes the cake.”
A wave of guilt swept through him. Yeah, it was his fault she’d gotten chewed out by her boss. He should’ve waited for her at Hot Ink, like she’d asked. “Sorry. If you want, we can pretend it never happened.”
“Deal.” She didn’t hesitate. “Now let’s get out of here before the glow from all the neon scorches our retinas. Are you parked in the lot near Hot Ink?”
He nodded.
They made their way there together, and when they reached his car, he opened the passenger side door for her.
She hesitated for the briefest of seconds.
“If you have a car here, I can drop you off after dinner,” he said. “Or if not, I can take you home.”
Her eyes darted up to meet his, and her face definitely went pink.
“Your home, I mean,” he clarified as an answering heat crept into his veins. “I can drop you off at your place after dinner.”
“My car’s parked nearby,” she said, slipping quickly into his vehicle. “Here will be fine.”
“All right.” He settled behind the wheel. “You know this city better than I do – where do you want to have dinner?”
* * * * *
It was a relief that Noah had allowed Zoe to choose where they ate. After the humiliation she’d suffered at Sugar Panda, the last thing she needed was the added stress eating at an unfamiliar place always brought, thanks to the medical diagnosis she’d received about a year ago. Picking up her menu, she hid behind it and pretended to study the options as she breathed a sigh.
God, the incident with Dennis still stung. She knew Noah had heard every last word, even if he didn’t say so. Now all she could think about was how he was sexy and suave in his suit and drove a shiny, new-ish sedan that made her ancient Honda look, well … ancient. As he sat looking refined in his suit and tie, she perched on the edge of her seat, her purse tucked beneath, hiding her panda ears and hideous orange polo shirt.
“How’s the chicken parmesan here?” he asked.
She lowered her menu just a couple inches, her heart picking up pace as she met his eyes. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve never tried it.” So the awkwardness began… A sense of foreboding crept over her like a shadow.
He nodded. “Think I’ll stick with the steak, then. Can’t go wrong with steak.”
She pounced on the opportunity to offer a suggestion. “I have had the steak. It’s good – you won’t be disappointed. Do yourself a favor and get the sour cream and chives mashed potatoes on the side – they’re amazing.”
He flashed her a smile. “I’ll do that. What are you having?”
The waitress appeared before she could reply. Steeling herself, Zoe sat a little straighter in her seat and met the woman’s eyes instead of Noah’s. “I’d like one of your gluten-free options,” she said. “The grilled shrimp skewers with rice pilaf and a side salad, please. Italian vinaigrette dressing.”
“You want me to hold the croutons on the salad, right?” the waitress asked.
Zoe relaxed a little as a sense of relief settled over her. “Yes, definitely. Thank you.”
The servers at this restaurant always seemed to know what they were doing, and Zoe had never had reason to suspect that any of the meals she’d ordered here were anything less than 100% gluten-free. Which was exactly why she’d rattled off the name and address of the restaurant as soon as Noah had asked her where she wanted to eat.
Noah put in his order for steak and potatoes, and as the waitress disappeared, Zoe braced herself for the inevitable.
“Gluten-free, huh?” Noah asked, like there was some invisible script he was reading.
Zoe nodded, prepared to say her part, too. “Yeah. I always eat gluten-free. I have celiac disease, so it’s a must.” There, it was out.
Was it just her imagination, or did Noah’s eyes flicker toward the far corner where the restrooms were located?
Suppressing a sigh, Zoe did her best to pretend that she didn’t know Noah was probably picturing her doubled over a toilet. General public ignorance: that was the curse of celiac disease. Most people didn’t have a clue what it was, and the majority of the rest only had vague inklings of it being an illness associated with digestive trouble. Ergo, the average person heard “celiac disease” and instantly thought of all the embarrassing problems that might be referenced in a Pepto-Bismol commercial.
Which wasn’t exactly what she wanted Noah to think of when he thought of her. Not that the notion was even accurate – celiac disease was an autoimmune disorder with over a hundred possible symptoms, most of which had nothing to do with toilets. She barely resisted the urge to blurt that out, not wanting to make things any more awkward than they already were.
Noah looked like he was about to say something, but the waitress swooped down on them first, depositing a basket of rolls in the center of the table.
Noah held up a hand. “No thanks. We’ll do without the bread.”
The waitress nodded and left, taking the basket with her.
Zoe’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you not eat bread?” For a split second, she entertained a wild fantasy of Noah also being gluten-free, but then she remembered that he’d asked about the chicken parmesan, which was basically a gluten-bomb.
“I do,” he replied. “But it seems like it would be a dick move to sit here and eat it in front of you when you can’t have any.”
Forget skipping beats – Zoe’s heart practically stopped, freezing before bursting into a frenzy of activity. Was he serious? “I… No one’s ever done that for me before.”
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Really. Most people just… Well, they eat. And eat. And eat. All the things I wish I could, right in front of me.”
She’d only been diagnosed with celiac disease a year ago, and at first, dining out had always felt like a visit to the seventh circle of hell. Sometimes – namely, when people ate pizza in front of her – it still did. Not being able to eat gluten-containing grains like wheat meant that most dishes were off limits, including almost all of her old favorites. Wheat, she’d discovered over the past twelve months, was added to almost everything.
“People can be dicks,” he said, and in that moment, a part of her fell instantly and irrevocably in love with him.
Not that she ever would’ve admitted that out loud in a million years, but his refusal of the bread rolls was basically the most epic display of chivalry she’d ever witnessed in her entire life.
“So tell me about your work,” she said, suddenly eager to know more about him. “You said your job brought you to Pittsburgh.”
“I co-own a
mixed martial arts promotion company. Technically I’m also the VP of Marketing and Communications.” He shot her a wry grin. “We’re small, but we’re growing and the move has been a big leap. So basically, I only stop working to eat and sleep.”
A mixed bag of emotions flared to life inside Zoe – surprise, excitement and a tentative sense of hope. “And you’ve moved your business to Pittsburgh? What does that mean for the area, exactly?” Butterflies flip-flopped to life inside her stomach as she thought of her brother, Paul. Maybe – just maybe – she’d have some good news to take home, for once.
Noah leaned forward, eyes flashing. “We deliberated about this location for a long time. In the end, a lot of factors led us to choose Pittsburgh for what will be our biggest event ever – a championship. Pittsburgh will be the host city and the permanent location of our company’s headquarters. We’re calling it the Elite East Championship Tournament.”
“Wow.” The butterflies inside her stomach tripled in size. Wait until Paul heard about this.
“Yeah, just don’t tell anyone.” He winked. “That’s top secret information until tomorrow, when we’re going to announce the details at a press conference.”
“Oh. Okay.” Well, maybe she could wait until the next day to tell Paul. Either way, it’d be nice to have some good news to share. “So, what kind of fighters are going to be able to compete? I mean, is it … open to anyone?”
The local competitions Paul fought in were more or less open to anyone who was willing to train, jump through the state athletic commission’s licensing hoops and step into a cage. Most of the guys who participated had at least some skill, but the local MMA circuit was a far cry from the UFC.
“There’ll be a series of rounds over the course of several months. The idea is to start out big – inclusive – and let the cream rise to the top. There’ll be fighters you’ve never heard of before – not the big names you see on pay-per-view – but the event will be conducted professionally. The fighters who make it to the top will be in a totally professional class.”
