by Staci Hart
She took the cue and stepped back, beaming. “You’re the best, Greg. I am so glad we’re friends.”
Friends. Whoopee, I thought.
But I said, “Me too.”
She slid back into the booth. “Did I interrupt you? What are you working on?”
“Just the schedule. Nothing that can’t wait.” I waved a hand at my laptop. “You know, we just got a new root beer in, and I’ve got some vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Want a float?”
“Oh, that sounds like exactly the thing to turn my day around.”
I scooted out of the seat. “Be back in two shakes.”
She just smiled up at me and began unbuttoning her coat.
I snagged a couple of chilled mugs from behind the bar and made my way back to the freezer.
I could have let her talk to Cam. I should have let her fight her own battles, but I had a feeling that I could ensure Cam wouldn’t say no, that she wouldn’t turn Annie out—the girl with the hole in her heart, the girl who had just gotten her first job in the big city. The girl who wanted to live, and Cam might say no. And Annie wouldn’t argue. She would hang her head and drag her feet out of here, and I would never see her again.
I wasn’t quite ready to let any of that happen. So I’d fight that battle for her.
Worst case, I’d tell Cam I had a crush on Annie, and she’d let Annie stay on that merit alone.
Out I went again and to the bar, which was starting to pick up, where I grabbed a couple of root beers, twisting the tops off with a satisfying hiss. And, supplies in hand, I headed back to the table where Annie was bent over a notebook.
“What’s that?” I asked as I set the mugs and bottles down.
She snapped it closed. “Nothing.”
One of my brows rose with the corner of my lips. “The look on your face says it’s definitely not nothing. Let me guess…a list of conquests?”
She snorted a laugh at that. “Hardly.”
I nodded my appreciation. “A hit list?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. A list of donut shops?”
“No, although I might like to get my hands on one of those. Do you have one?”
I ignored the deflection. “Come on, what is it? I won’t judge.”
A flush crept up her pale neck, but she was smiling. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes, yes, I really would like to know,” I joked. “Bad poetry? Band names? Baby names? Puppy names?”
She laughed. “It’s a secret, and you’ll never know.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Guess all you want.”
I frowned. “Aw, come on, Annie. I’ve got root beer floats, and I’m campaigning our boss on your behalf. Is it really embarrassing?” I asked, leaning forward with a smirk on my face. “A list of future husbands? Tell me I’m on that list.”
I tried to ignore the genuine hilarity she expressed at that, my pride wounded.
“That list doesn’t exist.”
“But if it did…”
“You wouldn’t be on it because you’re my boss and my friend, and you’re old enough to be my uncle.”
I narrowed my eyes in jest, but I really was pissed. “Fine, if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll find out myself.”
My hand snapped out like a cobra and snagged that little yellow notebook off the table, and she watched my hand in slow motion, stunned, her mouth hanging open.
“Oh my God, Greg!” She jumped out of the booth, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach for it as I held it well out of her reach.
“Now, what do we have here? God, I hope it’s bad poetry. I’m gonna read it to the whole bar,” I mused as I opened it to the page where the ribbon bookmark lay.
“Greg, gimme it,” she whined, hanging on my arm in an attempt to lower it.
“Living Out Loud—or Things Annie Daschle Has Never Done and Is Ready to Do Already.” I laughed, trying to concentrate as she hung her weight in the hook of my elbow.
“Dammit, Greg, I’m serious!”
Way in the back of my mind, I knew she was, but I kept going.
“One, get a job—crossed off. See snow—you’ve never seen snow?”
“Nope, that’s the big secret! You win! Now, give it back!”
I laughed. “Make a snowman. I think you’ll be able to manage that.” I scanned down the list, looking for something juicy, and when I found it, my smile fell. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?” I asked quietly.
She went still. “It’s on the list, isn’t it?”
I looked down at her. She’d stopped fighting and was just standing there like a deer in a floodlight.
I glanced back at the list. “And you’ve never been on a date? And you’ve never—” My head swiveled around again to face her.
“Oh God,” she moaned, letting me go so she could drop her head into her hands.
I looked back at the list and then back at her. “Are you serious? You’ve never been kissed?”
She dropped her hands, her face crimson. “I’ve been kissed!”
My brows rose.
“Just not since the second grade.”
I didn’t know what came over me in that long moment that I watched her, something deep and fierce and elemental, something that made me want to go back in time and change her past myself. Worse, it gave me flashes of visions of helping her cross that particular first off her list. I imagined the sweetness of her lips, the wonder she would feel, mused over being the man who would make her feel it.
But I shook the thought away and turned back to her book, fixing a smile on my face.
“Well, I’m pretty sure you’ll have no trouble checking off the vast majority of this stuff. Some of it is doable sooner than later—kissing aside. Like this one: Eat hot dogs on the steps of The Met. That’s an easy one. Just make sure you go to Phyllis’s cart and not Enrique’s. I don’t trust his meat selection. Learning to ride a bike is a good one; you can rent bikes all over and walk them into Central Park. You’re not supposed to ride anywhere but the bike paths, but I think you could sneak a good session in, if you’re careful. Do it on the grass, that way, it’s better if you fall. Get a tattoo. I’ve got ins at a great shop. I can get you an appointment, if you want.”
Annie watched me, her embarrassment shifting into bubbling excitement.
I frowned. “What?”
“Greg, you’ve gotta help me. I mean, not with the kissing thing, of course,” she added hastily, her eyes catching mine. A rush of heat shot through me. “I don’t know anybody here who can help me figure this stuff out.”
“You sure you don’t want help with the kissing thing?” I said with a coolness I didn’t feel—my insides were on fire. “I might know a guy.”
She laughed and swatted at my arm. “I’m serious!”
So am I.
“Really,” she continued, “I bet you could show me the perfect place for a picnic in the park, and I bet you could tell me where to get the best pizza or help me figure out what Broadway show to go to.”
I drew a breath and let it out slow, considering. It was a bad idea—that much, I knew as well as I knew my name and our age difference. But I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, I almost said yes and ignored the rational voice in my brain, which happened to be yelling at me to run for cover.
“I dunno, Annie. I work a whole lot, and—”
She looked up at me, so small and pretty, her eyes opening wide, pupils dilating, lips in the sweetest pout I’d ever seen. “Greg, please? It would mean so much to me.”
And it was completely out of my power to say anything but yes.
She squealed when the word passed my lips, jumping up and down and then into my arms. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” But then she sagged against me and breathed a word. “Whoa.”
I hung on to her, my arms tightening, and when I stood all the way up, I took her with me, her feet dangling. “You okay?”
“Yeah…yeah. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said gently and set her in the booth, my
hands lingering on her arms just under her shoulders. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
She stayed me with a hand on my arm. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay. Come here and sit with me. You promised me a float, and I don’t want to have to call the manager over.”
I chuckled, still searching her face for signs of distress. The flush in her cheeks had washed away, leaving her skin and lips pale but smiling, and I gave her the concession, knowing she was embarrassed.
“All right,” I said as I slid in next to her, reaching for a bottle of root beer. “Now, let’s have a look at this list.”
7
Go On And Jump
Greg
I wish I could have asked myself why I was riding up Fifth that day toward The Met or how I’d gotten myself into the mess I was most certainly about to step in, but I couldn’t. I knew exactly how it had happened and when. And I knew what a bad idea it was. Maybe not the extent, but I knew I was setting myself up for heartbreak.
And somehow, I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried. Which I hadn’t.
We’d spent the rest of that evening in front of our root beer floats and Annie’s list, mapping out a day to cross a solid portion of things off—the easy stuff at least. For the next three days, we’d kept planning until Annie had an actual itinerary. Color-coded.
As suspected, it had required virtually no effort to convince Cam to let Annie stay, allowing her a hiatus when she had surgery and an invitation to come back to work when she was ready. And Annie’s mom had agreed to let her keep working, as long as we let her sit down whenever she needed.
It didn’t seem they were able to refuse Annie any more than I was, though I had been fully prepared to fight Cam tooth and nail to secure Annie’s job. I wanted to protect her, save her.
Because she’s like a little sister, I told myself for the thousandth time, the steps of The Met in view. You only want to help her out because she’s young and innocent, and she asked you with that puppy-dog look on her face.
And because you want to kiss her, another voice in my head said.
Shut up, I shot back, hooking my back foot under the board, jumping with my front leg to shove the board around in a one-eighty. The wheels hit the ground with a punctuating clack that made me feel a little better.
When I looked up, I spotted Annie sitting on the steps with her big eyes sweeping across everything—the buildings stretching up around her, the people walking by, the fountain, the street, the cars, the hot-dog stands and back around in a circle again. It was warmer than it had been, and she’d traded in her peacoat for an Army-green military coat over a sweater the color of dusky sunshine. A sliver of her ankles showed, her jeans cuffed and worn, white sneakers turned into each other.
She caught sight of me and waved exuberantly, drawing a smile from me and quieting my nerves, though not before one final shock of warning zipped through me.
I jumped off the back of the board, popping it up with my back foot to grab it just under the trucks. Annie clapped as she walked to me, smiling.
“Man, that was cool. You just jumped off that thing and caught it in one motion. I would have been flat on my face,” she said with a laugh.
I smirked, feeling way more badass than I should for something as stupid as stopping. “With years of practice, you too can jump off a skateboard without getting road burn.” I pulled off my backpack and laid it down, pack up, to strap my board into the buckles. “I’m not late, am I?”
“No, I’m just early. I was so excited, I woke up at six in the morning like a crazy person.” She chuffed a laugh.
I hitched on my backpack. “You hungry?”
“Starved. I’ve been sitting here, smelling those hot dogs, for twenty minutes.”
“That’s some serious willpower.”
“What can I say? I’m determined. Plus, I couldn’t possibly eat one without you.”
“Good. I need a picture of your face the first time you eat a real dog. Come on,” I said, starting off in the direction of Phyllis’s stand. “Know what you want?”
She shook her head. “How do you like yours?”
“Chili and cheese, nice and simple.”
“Well, I have a lot of faith in your sandwich choices, so I think I’ll have what you’re having.”
I laughed as we approached the counter and ordered jumbo dogs from Phyllis herself, who incidentally had no idea who I was. And with dogs and a couple of water bottles in hand, we headed back to the steps.
Annie’s eyes were locked on the dog, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips as she sat down. “I’m salivating.”
“Wait, where’s your camera?” I asked, setting my dogs down before taking off my backpack.
“Oh! Here.” She rummaged around in her bag, extending the instant camera once she had it in hand.
“All right, open wide.”
Annie laughed, and I snapped a photo—it was too real of a moment not to.
She made a face. “I wasn’t ready.”
I shrugged. “That’s the danger of handing me the camera.” I slipped the photo into my back pocket and raised the camera again. “Go for it.”
And she did. I snapped it just as her eyes closed, her face softening with pleasure.
I set the camera next to her—she already had chili all over her hands—and took a seat next to her, reaching for my hot dogs, my mouth watering once it was in hand.
When I took a bite, a soft moan rumbled through me. “There is nothin’ like this in the whole world.”
“There really isn’t,” she agreed. “I had a hot dog at a baseball game once, but it had nothing on this. Like, this is what I imagined that would taste like, but it was just a cheap imitation.” She took another bite, humming her appreciation again.
“My brother and I used to come here all the time. We’d come to the park to skate and eat at Phyllis’s cart for lunch.”
“Huh. I didn’t realize she’d been here since the Clinton administration.”
“Hyuck, hyuck, baby. Laugh it up,” I teased. “Not my fault you weren’t even alive when Kurt Cobain was.”
She gave me a look. “And what were you? Seven?”
“Five,” I corrected.
She laughed. “And who got you into Nirvana at the ripe old age of five? Aren’t you the oldest?”
“My dad loves grunge. I knew all the words to Alice in Chains’ ‘Rooster’ by the time I was ten, and my younger brother, Tim, and I used to have air-guitar competitions. He preferred Soundgarden.”
“Please, tell me you got that on tape,” she said, still smiling.
“Our little sister, Sarah, was the camera girl.”
Annie laughed. “My older sister, Elle, would have been the camera girl in our family band. She’s…well, she’s shy and quiet, and she would much rather let me have the attention than to have it thrust on her. We’re polar opposites, which is why we’re so close, I think. She complements me, tempers me, and I complement her. My little sister, Meg, is a lot like me though, maybe even more gregarious. She would have taken home all the air-guitar medals.”
“Maybe we should set up a concert.”
Her smile widened. “Maybe we should. I can’t wait for you to meet Meg. She has a knack for remembering almost everything she reads, which mostly consists of National Geographic books, and wants to be an archaeologist.” She took a bite of her dog.
“How about you? What do you want to do?”
She thought while she chewed and swallowed. “Something in music. I’d love to play piano professionally, but there aren’t a lot of jobs for concert pianists, if I was even good enough to get hired.”
“Why don’t you try?”
Annie thought for a second, rearranging her hot dog in her hands. “You have to get a degree in music and need credentials to apply. I don’t have either. And my grades in high school were good, but…I don’t know. It just didn’t seem possible to leave home. Maybe once I have my surgery, I’ll feel better about taking the leap.”
She smiled. “One thing Mama and Daddy always saved for were my piano lessons. I think Daddy must have had a deal with my piano teacher, Mrs. Schlitzer. She always seemed to get his best work.”
I must have looked confused because she added, “He was a carpenter. They owned a shop on Main Street, packed with furniture and these little statues he used to whittle. He was always whittling something.” She laughed. “I swear, he never went anywhere without a block of wood and his pocket knife. And he could carve anything. He used to make me unicorns and ponies and princesses and knights. I still have them, but they’re not all here yet. The rest of our stuff is supposed to get here next week.”
“My dad worked with his hands too, but nothing so cool as a carpenter,” I said. “He was a plumber before his arthritis got bad. When my mom died, he just…he sort of fell apart. We had all moved back home to help out, but after that, we couldn’t leave him.”
Annie’s hands cradled her mostly eaten hot dog in her lap as she watched me with earnest eyes. “How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Lupus. It was long and cruel. And Pop couldn’t afford the medical bills, even after their insurance. Their savings disappeared right along with his ability to grip a wrench.”
“I’m sorry, Greg.”
I forced a smile. “It’s all right. I didn’t really have anything else going on. I have no passion that I can monetize. I figured out somewhere around sixteen that I was never going to be a pro skateboarder. I have a bachelor’s degree, but I don’t want to sit in some cube all day, pushing paper. I mean, maybe I will someday, but for now, I’m happy enough. And I make good money running the bar—really good money, considering. We’re taking care of Pop, and I’d never admit it to my brother and sister, but I actually like living with all of them. There’s something safe about it. That’s one place in the world I know I can go and will be loved without condition. Plus, they get it, you know? We’ve all felt the same loss, and some days, it feels like they’re the only people who will ever understand.”
