by Leah Sanders
In the back of my head I heard my sweet Grandma Bessie's voice, Now, Jory, don't you go judging people by their looks. The best people I've ever known were ugly as sin on the outside, but pure as gold within.
The guilt of what I was about to do to the poor guy got the better of me.
"Yes. Are you Dem?"
"That's me! Here. Climb on. You can ride the pegs."
I looked from him to the back wheel of his bicycle and back to his face. Surely he was joking.
"Is it safe?" I finally asked. No doubt the concern was written in my expression.
Dem cocked his head to the side and frowned. "Of course it is. I ride my bike everywhere."
"We could take my car if you'd rather. I don't mind driving."
"No. We're not driving. I don't believe in wasting our fossil fuels and polluting our atmosphere for something as trivial as transportation. Pedal power. It's clean, safe for the environment, and good healthy exercise. Now climb on. You'll love it."
I propped myself up on the back pegs and took a deep breath to soothe my anxieties.
Big.
Mistake.
His pedal power smelled a whole lot like air pollution.
I turned my head for a breath of fresh hair and mumbled, "Ready."
We set off through the park, thankfully, at a brisk enough pace that the breeze pushed the odor out of reach of my nose. I would like to add, however, that Dem was able to find every crack and every pothole in the path between the fountain and the street.
To keep my mind off the ride, I tried small talk. "So, Dem… I haven't heard that name before. Is it short for Demetri?"
"Nope. It's short for Demeter."
"Demeter? Really?"
"Yep. My parents loved Greek mythology. And they loved nature. Hence…" We lurched off the curb, jolting every bone in my body.
I grunted on impact. It just kind of burst out of me. Then, I finished his sentence. "Demeter."
"What's wrong with that?" He tossed a look over his shoulder that kind of scared me.
"Oh, no. I'm sorry. That was the curb. I like your name."
A few seconds later we rolled into a corner market-slash-gas station. So much for the ban on fossil fuels.
"They have the best organic snacks here."
"Organic snacks?"
"Yeah. Remember? I told you I'm a vegan."
I didn't remember that. In fact, I'm pretty sure that little tidbit never came up in conversation. Ever.
Not that there's anything wrong with it, you understand. It's just that I eat meat. And I like to go to places that serve meat. Lots and lots of meat.
I followed Demeter into the market and down the snack aisle until he stopped in front of the organic section. He grabbed a couple packages and headed back up to the register, so naturally, I followed him.
He laid his items on the counter, and the clerk checked him out. He paid in change — nickels and dimes mostly. It took him about three minutes to count it all out. The clerk snorted and rolled her eyes, scooped his change into her hand, then dumped it into the drawer.
"Do you want a bag for this stuff, or what?" she asked.
"No! Don't waste any paper on me. Not unless you use one hundred percent recycled material bags that are biodegradable and safe for the environment." The passion in his voice seemed to take the clerk off-guard.
There was a flash of fear in her eyes and she took a step back from the counter. "Hey, man!" She lifted both hands like she was surrendering. "Do I need to call the manager here?"
Then it was Demeter's turn to snort and roll his eyes. "Chill, woman. I'm a pacifist." He glanced over his shoulder at me, and his gaze dropped to my empty hands. "So… what are you getting?"
"What?" I asked, understandably confused. Wasn't he buying the snacks? This was a date, right?
"Your snacks. Aren't you going to get anything?"
"Oh. I see. Yeah, I'll just go grab something." I turned back down the snack aisle and searched until I found a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and a beef stick, then headed back to the register and plopped my items down on the counter.
The clerk eyed me suspiciously at first but after a moment began to ring me up.
"What is that?" Demeter asked. It was barely above a whisper. So quiet, I didn't realize he was talking to me at first.
"Pardon?" I asked.
"What. Is. That?" he repeated, punctuating each word with a spray of saliva.
"This? Potato chips and a beef stick. My snack."
"I told you I'm a vegan."
"Oh, I know. I won't ask you to eat any." I smiled at the clerk to reassure her. Beside me, Demeter's face grew red.
"I see. You want to throw your meat-eating in my face, do you?"
"No, no, I—"
"You know, I kept my mouth shut when you balked at my boycott of fossil fuels. And I bit my tongue when you made fun of my name, but this is just—just the last straw. I think we should go our separate ways, Jory."
Okay… I just want you to know, that under normal circumstances, I try to be kind. And you heard me say that I really try not to judge people based on their appearances… or body odor, but this guy… this guy made me crazy.
And maybe it had something to do with it being the third horrible date in a row, I don't know, but I kind of snapped. I'm not proud of it, but it's true.
"Let me get this straight. You pick me up on a bicycle, looking like you spent the night on a park bench. You make me ride your pegs to a gas station, where — by the way — they SELL FOSSIL FUELS! You buy yourself a snack and leave me to pay for my own, but when I do, you get offended that I didn't choose olive oil fried bean curd. Then, you announce that you're dumping me in the middle of our date?" I could hear the blood rushing in my ears and I knew I had to be as red as a sun-ripened tomato. "Oh no, Mister Pedal Power. You don't get to dump me! I am going to dump you!" I pushed past him and shoved the door open. The bell hanging on the handle danced frantically, sounding like a million tiny cymbals in my ears. I swung back toward him for one parting shot. "And Demeter was a god-DESS, buddy! Your parents named you after a girl!"
I thought I would feel better after that tirade. I felt worse.
Luckily I had an hour walk back to my car to cool off.
"I called him later to apologize." Shame seemed to fill her, and Jory shook her head mournfully.
Andy held a tan, muscular hand over his mouth. Jory couldn't tell if he was in shock or trying to contain his laughter. After a long moment, he cleared his throat, lowered his hand, and said with a completely deadpan expression, "You called him to apologize?" He couldn't hold it for long though, his voice cracked on the last word and his whole upper body lurched forward in a hearty laugh. And amidst his uncontrollable cackling he managed to spit out, "And what (ha! ha! ha!) pray tell (hee! hee!) did Mister (snort) Pedal Power (squeal) say to that?" He narrowly avoided falling out of the chair.
"He refused to take my call."
That set him off again. A massive laughing fit.
It was contagious. Jory had to admit that. Before she knew it she had joined in and they were both laughing until tears streamed down their faces.
When they finally caught their breath, Andy sighed in amusement. "Man, you have the absolute worst dating luck I've ever heard of."
"Don't I know it."
"You know, it's almost personal now. You can't let it win."
Jory rolled her eyes. "Is that a dare?"
"Oh heck, yeah. Let's see how many of these guys there are out there." Andy pumped his fist in challenge. "You with me?"
"That's easy for you to say, I'm the one who has to actually go out with these guys."
Andy smiled that almost perfect smile, and the twinkle in his blue eyes convinced her.
How much worse could they possibly be?
CHAPTER FOUR
JORY SHOULD NEVER HAVE TESTED FATE. That much was certain.
She was almost afraid to face Andy at the coffee shop that morning, but as she s
tepped through the door he was there smiling at her with that twinkle in his eyes she had been looking forward to since the last time she saw him. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when their eyes met. What was that about? She barely knew the guy.
Well, that was stupid. She barely knew any of these guys she had been out with the last week or so, but there wasn't a single one of them Jory ever wanted to see again.
Andy was different.
Easy to talk to. Funny. Genuinely concerned about her.
Add that to the dark wavy hair, crystal blue eyes, broad shoulders, tapered waist… why couldn't someone like Andy ask her out?
Oh yeah. Guys like Andy weren't desperate enough to try online dating. Guys like Andy were already taken.
"Hey, Jory!" His almost perfect smile mocked her pain. "How was last night? Got another good story for me?"
"Kind of."
"Oh no. Kind of?" He grabbed a mug and turned to the machine on his left, casting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Well, this story will be much shorter, I'm afraid."
"Another winner, huh?"
"Let's just say I won't be introducing him to my parents." She watched him go through the motions of fixing her coffee. "Um, you know what you're doing there?"
"Quad grande breve with caramel sauce, two pumps of white mocha and whipped cream, extra hot and extra stirred." Andy tapped his temple with a finger and shot her a wink. "Got it memorized."
Her heartbeat raced momentarily, sending a surge of heat to her face. Easy, Jory. You're in here every day. He's good at his job. That's all that means. It had to be. No use in getting the wrong idea.
"Reese, I'm going on break," Andy shouted toward the kitchen, and a young redhead barista came out wiping his hands on his apron.
Reese glanced past Andy to Jory, and recognition leapt to his eyes. "Yeah, alright, dude. I got the counter."
He had waited on Jory probably a hundred times, but she was pretty sure Reese didn't have her order memorized.
Andy pointed to the corner where the RESERVED sign was taped to Jory's favorite chair again. Jory met him there and sank into the soft, welcoming cushions. She accepted the offered mug and took a moment to admire his foam art before sipping.
"Almost got it perfect now," Andy said, gesturing to the little heart-shaped swirl.
"I'm sure the Association of Fine Art will be calling you within the week," Jory teased.
"Oh, I hope not. Between my Nobel Prize for Literature and my He-Man of the Year duties, I really don't have time for the AFA's demanding tour circuit."
The combination of his deadpan expression and what had come out of his mouth pushed Jory over the edge. She burst out laughing. Unfortunately, she had just taken a long sip from her cup.
Coffee shot forcibly from her mouth and nose. Extra hot. And now extra, extra stirred.
Grabbing for napkins, Jory launched toward the coffee table. She could feel the burn all through her sinuses, and she knew her clothes were drenched. A trip back home to change before work would be necessary. As she dabbed a napkin over her face, she cast a glance at Andy.
He had shot up from his chair the second it happened, but now she could see coffee was dripping from his face as well.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She stood and shoved a handful of napkins in his direction. If the coffee hadn't been so hot, it would be easier to tell where the burning stopped and her embarrassment began. Her frantic blotting shifted from her face to his. She didn't realize she was crying until he grabbed her wrists.
"Jory, it's okay. Really." He gently pulled her hands away from his face and took the napkins from her. His hands seemed to be shaking too.
Wait.
Was he laughing?
He wiped the dripping coffee from his face while his shoulders trembled with barely-contained laughter.
Finally, he looked at her and smiled. "That was seriously the best laugh I've had since Monday."
Mortified, Jory busied herself with swiping at the coffee on her skirt.
Andy sighed. "Well, my shirt is drenched." Before Jory knew what he was doing, he pulled it over his head and tossed it over his shoulder.
Jory stopped what she was doing and stared at Andy's sculpted abs.
"Dude," Reese said from behind the counter. "Put those away. This is a family establishment."
"Oops." It didn't sound like he meant it. "I'll grab a shirt in the back." He strode to the back room and was out of sight in seconds.
Stupid Reese.
Jory cleaned herself up as well as she could, and Andy returned a few minutes later fully-clothed. He carried a gray Abercrombie sweatshirt, which he held out to her as he lowered himself into his chair.
"You can change into this if you want," he said.
"Thank you." She accepted it and headed back to the bathroom.
"You, on the other hand," Reese hollered after her, "are welcome to change out here if you want."
Jory shook her head and glared at him over her shoulder. "I'm fine. Thanks."
"Geez, Reese," Andy said.
"What? It's not like you weren't thinking it."
The door clicked behind her, so she didn't catch Andy's response.
Changed and feeling much better, Jory plopped into her seat across from Andy.
"I'm sorry about that," she apologized one more time just to be sure they were good.
"No big deal." With a wave, he dismissed her sentiment. "Now I can cross that item off my bucket list… Shower with a beautiful woman. Though that wasn't exactly the way I had thought it would go."
"Du-u-u-ude." Reese groaned in disgust as he wiped the coffee table with a wet rag. He pretended to stick his finger down his throat and made a gagging sound. "Get better material."
"Go back to work, Reese," Andy told him, shaking his head. He turned back to Jory with an apologetic smile. "So… I wanna hear about short-lived Number Four."
Jory looked at the mug in her hands, inhaled a deep breath, and released it slowly.
"Okay, but it might not measure up to being sprayed in the face with coffee."
Phillip Marcus was his name. He told me ahead of time that he'd be coming straight from work and wouldn't have a chance to change. I knew from his profile that he was in the entertainment business. I figured that meant he was a standup comic or a musician or something. Of course the way my luck had been, I was fully expecting it meant he was a ticket taker at the movie theater.
None of those things were right.
Not even close.
About 6:15 I stepped into the restroom to make sure my hair and makeup were okay. Five minutes later, I heard Shelly calling my name. Her voice was strained like there was something wrong, so I came out right away.
There, standing on the table in the reading alcove, in full makeup, was a circus clown. Bright blue afro wig, multi-colored hoop pants, polka dot bowtie, and giant red shoes.
"What. Is. That?" Shelly whispered, grabbing my hand and squeezing like she was afraid I would bolt and leave her alone with him. Her worst fear in life.
"I-I don't know," I whispered back. I wasn't sure if I should get his attention or just call the police.
I tried to pull away from Shelly and reach for the phone, but she squeaked in protest against my movement.
"Ah!" The clown shouted, raising both hands up by his face to feign surprise. A giant creepy smile enveloped his whole face, and his eyebrows were drawn well up on his forehead, giving the impression that he was way more excited than any human had a right to be.
My heart was in my throat. Shelly's fingers were like ice digging into my arm. She seemed paralyzed with fear. In a voice almost inaudible, she hissed into my ear, "Get. That. Thing. Out. Of my. Store."
Before I could do what she asked, the clown cleared his throat, and with a booming voice, belted out,
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
At the last word, he swept into an awkward bow that almost sent him toppling off the table onto his head, but somehow he managed to hold his balance and his position.
I'm not sure if he was waiting for applause or what. As for me, I could only stare in utter disbelief. Had he really just recited Shakespeare?
Shelly trembled beside me. I knew her knees would give way any moment, and with the death grip she had on me, we would both go down.
By sheer force of will, I helped Shelly to her desk chair and pried her fingers off my forearm. I spun her swivel chair around so she was looking at the wall, then cautiously moved toward Shakespeare's last revenge.
From my place on the floor near the edge of the table, I peered up at him.
"Hi," I said. "Um… can you—"
"Hi!" he shouted. The energy of his reply seemed to bounce off the walls.
Behind me, I could hear Shelly's whimper.
"Um… hi," I said again. "Can you please get off the table?"
"Sure, sugar pie!" He swung his arms back and launched himself into the air, landing with a loud slap against the hardwood with his giant red shoes. Then he spun around, opened his mouth wide, and did jazz hands. "Ta-da!"
I shook my head and held a single finger to my lips to quiet him. I was pretty sure Shelly was on the verge of a heart attack. I had to get this clown out of the store, but he seemed oblivious to Shelly's plight or my request for hushed tones.
