To See You

by Rachel Blaufeld

  It had to mean something—me being seated in 2D on my way to Chicago and then again as I headed to New York. I slid into the leather seat and asked for a bottle of water rather than a drink; it was a Tuesday and I had to go straight to a meeting and dinner.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled to the attendant and then squinted at her. I must have had something in my eye because I was pretty sure she winked at me.

  At me?

  “Have a good flight, and let me know whatever you need,” she said, and winked again. Maybe she had something in her eye.

  Scrap 2D being lucky. It was making me crazy.

  And then it got worse when a curvy redhead in a Princess Leia tee and hip-hugging jeans squeezed in next to me.

  “Hey,” she said on a breath.

  “Hi,” I muttered.

  Ignoring her, I grabbed my laptop and headphones, busying myself with listening to some of the music repped by SoulTime Records, the label I was meeting with later.

  “Ooh, I like that song.” She reached across the center armrest and pointed at my screen. Her arm was covered in bangles and a large Darth Vader tattoo. My type. Usually.

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked, my eyebrow raised.

  “Yeah. That song, ‘Loving Like a Hero,’ is the bomb.”

  “Say it ain’t so?” I said, my voice condescending and gruff.

  She crinkled her nose up at my rebuff. When did I become a dick?

  “Yeah.” This time her response was muted, and I decided to never take seat 2D again.

  Nothing good ever came of it.

  My meetings were a blur of wooing, fancy food and beverages, and music. These SoulTime dudes meant business; they had a full roster of clients and they wanted to get maximum exposure. They’d gotten my name from a guy on a few movies back—that one had made the chick from reality TV famous, and I’d put her song in the credits.

  Finally, back in my hotel room on Wednesday afternoon after twenty-four hours of being pursued, I sat down at the small desk, kicked off my Chucks, and opened up my e-mail. I’d purposely avoided checking it while in meetings. Mostly out of fear that Charli would cancel.

  I had a few messages from the studio about filming updates and when they would be sending some footage, and there was the one I was both fearing and wishing for.

  FROM: Charleston_Richards@BubblePOP.com

  TO: LaytonG@darksidemusictracks.com

  SUBJECT: Re: Dinner

  Hi, Layton –

  Hope you are having fun here. I have a staff meeting until six, and then I’m free. How about Chowww? It’s close to where you said you were staying, and I can easily grab a cab up that way. I probably can’t get there until about seven. See you then.

  —Charli

  That was all she wrote, and I started to climb the walls trying to decipher what that meant. Curious, I googled Chowww and found it was a sushi restaurant. Shit. But I’d gone and suggested that.

  It was hip. Shit again. All I had was T-shirts and jeans, and of course my Chucks.

  But she hadn’t said no. That was a start. She’d agreed to a second dinner with me.

  Pacing my hotel room, I found myself absently reaching for Harriette’s leash. Where was the damn dog when I needed her? And when had walking become a source of tension relief for me?

  Where was the freaking minibar?

  Oh, fuck it.

  I grabbed my earbuds and phone from the desk, shoved them in my pocket, and stomped toward the elevators. Outside the hotel, I stuck in my earbuds and hit the pavement.

  With a bundle of nervous energy in my gut like a high school girl on prom night, I crossed to Central Park and merged with a group of runners, joggers, power walkers, and narrowly avoiding a bicyclist.

  People passed me on the left and the right, and I quickly was lost in the pack of pedestrians sweating it out in the park, but I kept walking. I passed an iconic rock, the reservoir, and the dormant ice skating rink. It was closer to summer than spring and the park was in full bloom, kids and New Yorkers getting their fitness on and roaming every nook and cranny of the park, dressed to impress in their brightly colored workout gear.

  I stuck out like a sore thumb in my Converse sneakers, loose jeans, tee, and hoodie, but I kept going. Soon, I was in the Upper East and then Harlem. I went until the bend in the road and headed back toward where I came from. As I passed the Upper West, Central Park South came into view. As dusk fell on the city, I could see the rooftop of my hotel peeking out above the trees.

  Drenched in sweat, I looked at my phone. Fuck, I had forty-five minutes to get to Chowww. I ran across the street to my hotel and headed toward the elevators before changing course to catch the attention of the bellman.

  “Excuse me, but how far is the big loop of the park? All the way around?”

  “Six,” he barked.

  “Six what?”

  “Miles,” he said curtly, frowning at me like I was the weird one.

  Hmmm. Six miles, and I’d successfully avoided the minibar.

  As I stepped onto the elevator, I fist-bumped the air. Harriette was in trouble when I got back home.

  I finger-combed through my layers in the cab and ran my tongue over my teeth before popping a mint into my mouth. Of course, we ran late at work and now I was stressing about getting to Chowww on time. Well, I wasn’t, but I was silently wishing the cabbie would step on it.

  Eh, I muttered to myself and sat back. There was nothing I could do, and why was I rushing like this for Layton? The last time I saw him, he was an ass. Of course, I’d been a bitch the time before that, but who cared? He wasn’t my type, not even close.

  My phone dinged.

  JANIE: You up for drinks?

  CHARLI: Can’t tonight, have a thing.

  JANIE: A thing? Be that way.

  CHARLI: Seriously. No biggie. Tell you tomorrow.

  She wasn’t going to let this go, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her yet. How would I explain my unnatural attraction to the big dude? The one I’d sent out an SOS to have her rescue me from.

  My phone dinged again, and I almost ignored it.

  MOM: Why are you ignoring my e-mails?

  Yep, I should have ignored it. My mom only resorted to texting when she felt it was the only way to get me to answer. She was sort of right.

  CHARLI: Because I am not going to date Garrett.

  MOM: Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth.

  Oh God, she was getting all cliché on me, and to make matters worse, was mixing them like metaphors. I thought groupies avoided clichés?

  CHARLI: No, it’s just no. Love you. I will call you over the weekend.

  I tossed my phone in my tote, refusing to look at it anymore.

  Closing my eyes, I drew in a long breath. This was it. One dinner with Layton, and then I’d let him down easy and move on with my life.

  I repeated the mantra to myself all the way to the restaurant, then flipped the fare toward the driver and hopped out of the cab at quarter after seven. Pushing through the double doors, I left the humidity outside for a thumping bass and cool air-conditioning.

  As I made my way into the bar area, guilt ghosted over me. Guilt over predetermining how this evening would go. Shame over how I texted my mom, and even more guilt over leaving Janie in the dark.

  “Charli!”

  I heard my name called over the crowd and looked up to find Layton sitting on a couch, nursing a cocktail. He looked relaxed in loose jeans and an AC/DC T-shirt, his legs spread wide, his hair mussed and damp from a recent shower. He would have looked badass except for the broad smile on his face and the excitement brightening his eyes.

  Yes, I was a bitch.

  Oh, and I’d suggested sushi without thinking, and I already knew he didn’t like it.

  Determined to shrug off my attitude with my coat and apologize later, I made my way over to where he was sitting and dropped my jacket on the sofa.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey!”

  We spoke at the same time and
chuckled awkwardly as Layton gestured for me to sit.

  As I sat next to him, I was surprised by the heat radiating from his body. His scent titillated my senses, so fresh and clean with notes of rain, and I felt dirty taking my fill.

  “I ordered a drink so they would let me keep the seat,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I didn’t know what you would want.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. Sorry I’m a few minutes late, but . . . no buts. Work ran late and then I had to get a cab.”

  Layton motioned for the cocktail waitress, and I asked for a glass of cabernet before turning my attention to the guy in front of me. I drank him in despite telling myself he wasn’t my type. Although, there was something different about him . . . a little bit of a tan and something else, a glow maybe? Did men glow?

  “So, how’ve you been?” He cocked his head and focused on me.

  “Pretty good, busy. We’re throwing ideas around for the holidays already.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. It will be ninety outside, and I’m looking at ideas for low-calorie hot cocoa and how many calories we burn while sledding. Takes all the fun out of the season.”

  “Damn.” He laughed, a warm baritone more genuine and relaxed now. “How many calories do you burn sledding?”

  The server brought my wine, interrupting my time to answer.

  “Cheers.” I clinked my wineglass against Layton’s tumbler. “Something like four hundred.”

  “Wow.”

  “More than sex.”

  Layton raised an eyebrow, and it caught on a small lock of hair that had fallen on his forehead. I resisted an urge to run my finger through his hair and push it back. Instead, I gulped my wine to hide my embarrassment and nodded.

  “Hmm, interesting. I may have to move where there’s snow. Although Harriette likes the beach.”

  I giggled as if we did this every Wednesday after work. And every Friday. And again on Sunday over brunch. Sitting here next to Layton, our thighs brushing, no pretenses. Just us.

  The nice guy and the bitch.

  Beauty (him) and the Beast (me).

  I swept back my negative thoughts and released the smile that so desperately wanted to come out. “Tell me about the elusive Harriette.”

  He winked. “She’s my girl, tried and true. I love that bitch.”

  I gave him a fake scowl.

  “It’s what they call a female dog—”

  “I know,” I said, grinning as I interrupted his explanation.

  “She’s really pretty awesome. A buddy of mine got one of her littermates for his fiancé a few years back, and I went over for a drink and knew I needed one. The next day, I drove out to meet the breeder and came home the proud owner of a golden retriever.”

  “I’ve never had a dog,” I admitted.

  “Really?” His eyebrows perked up in disbelief.

  “My dad worked a lot, and then when he passed away, it was just my mom and me. Too much work, I guess.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Your dad, not the dog thing.”

  He reached out and his knuckles grazed my cheek in sympathy, starting a shiver that ran down my whole spine and shot back up again. I gave myself a mental shake, shocked that I was ready to get it on from a tender touch.

  “I grew up in Arizona,” he added, “on the outskirts of Phoenix. My parents bought in Scottsdale when it was still cheap. We always had three or four dogs at a time, mostly little ones, Yorkies and Peekapoos. My mom loved them . . . I guess they were her company while my dad worked. But those little guys were low maintenance compared to Harriette.”

  “I couldn’t even imagine having a dog in my apartment.”

  “One afternoon with my girl and you’ll be googling breeders.”

  The conversation was getting too personal, too intimate and emotional, talking about his parents and his mom and his beloved dog. So I went for a topic change.

  “How was your meeting?”

  “It was pretty good. Cool guys, from Pittsburgh originally, and they have a pretty intense pipeline of up-and-coming artists. I liked what I heard, and I’m going to take it back to the producers.”

  I followed his hand, watching it lift his lowball glass to his lips, fascinated that he didn’t have fat-person hands. I didn’t even mentally chide myself for thinking that; I just watched in wonder as his strong hand, so large and well groomed, wrapped around the glass.

  Layton’s voice drew me out of my crazy hand fascination. “If you want, I’ll send you a sample later. They’re good tunes.”

  Snapping my gaze back to his face, I smiled. “I’d like that. So, is this movie romantic?”

  “Nah, it’s an action flick. I can’t spend my whole life on romance.”

  “Why? You don’t believe in true love and love at first sight?” I tried to sound as if I were joking, but I was intrigued. Intrigued enough to delve back into his personal life.

  He almost choked on his drink as a small cough barreled up his windpipe. “Um, I don’t know. That’s not what I meant. I just meant I don’t want to specialize in one kind of flick. You know, keep my options open and all that.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in my throat, clearing out more guilt. Why would he be thinking about love with me? “In this action movie, it’s all hard rock or rap? No soft tunes?”

  “Mostly, which is why I don’t do all action either. My tastes are eclectic when it comes to music. I like it all, and when I do all types of movies, I get to use it all.”

  I took a sip of my wine, allowing the small burn to move down to my lungs, hoping to breathe free again. After all, I didn’t like being stuck in fitness that much, but I wasn’t bold enough to branch out.

  “I get it.”

  I turned my head to the side, pretending to take in the DJ, and the shorter layers of my hair fell over my cheek.

  “You do?” Layton reached out to brush my hair back behind my ear, searching for my gaze as if he wanted to see into my soul, to capture what I was really saying.

  “Well, yeah. You don’t want to pigeonhole yourself, to borrow a trite expression. I get it, you know? I used to be a full-fledged writer but now I’m stuck in this editing rut. So I get it.”

  “But do you want to write more than edit?”

  Warmth crept up my cheeks. How was this man pulling everything honest and real from me? Maybe because he’s so real . . .

  I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I do, but it’s not that easy. I landed this job fresh out of school and here I am moving up the company ladder, and it’s BubblePOP, which is the big leagues when it comes to online content. What would it look like to go backward, to set up shop in my apartment? I’m not Carrie Bradshaw looking for my Mr. Big.”

  Wait, that didn’t sound right. I stopped my rambling and gathered my thoughts, hoping he didn’t take that the wrong way.

  Layton waited patiently for me to continue, his focus never deviating as his hand rested lightly on my knee.

  “What I mean to say is yes, I’d love to write all the time, but I have to make a living.” Frowning, I added, “But I’m not so happy making a living at what I’m doing now, and I sort of feel like I sold out.”

  I said the last part in a low voice, praying it was drowned out by the heavy music vibrating the room. For some reason, I didn’t want to admit defeat or shortcomings to this guy. He was so confident, successful, had his shit together. Maybe that was part of the attraction?

  “What do you write? Like to write?” Layton asked. Apparently he wasn’t going to let this go.

  I finished off my cabernet and closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the way my belly burned, trying to channel some of his confidence.

  “Mostly short stories, emotional ones all woven together in a common theme.”

  It was the first time I’d shared this with another person other than Janie. She’d nearly fallen off the futon cackling when I admitted to my “hobby” years ago.

  “Wow, sounds like you’ve done a
lot more than just thought about this. I bet you have a whole book written on . . .” He snapped his fingers. “Lucy! That’s it, Lucy.”

  He didn’t return his hand to my knee, and its absence felt like a gaping hole in my gut. I needed another drink. If I hadn’t started with wine, I would have ordered a Scotch, but mixing never worked for me.

  “Sort of,” I lied. I had the whole book written. On Lucy. Line edited and ready to go.

  “Want to get a table and finish this conversation?”

  I nodded, wanting to say I’d love to get a table, but I don’t want to finish this conversation, but something was stopping me. I liked it all too much. Loved it. I wanted to hold on to it for as long as I could.

  Layton settled the tab with the bar waitress and stood, placing his hand on my lower back as he guided me toward the hostess.

  “Do you have room for two?” He waved two fingers in the air and either didn’t notice or ignored the brunette’s sneer. He wasn’t New York chic and wasn’t even trying to be, a fact she clearly didn’t appreciate.

  “We don’t have a table for two open,” she said with a disdainful sniff. “Sushi bar only.”

  “Sushi bar’s great,” I chimed in, narrowing my eyes at the rude waif. “My favorite, actually.”

  “Fine. This way.” She grabbed some menus and led us through the labyrinth of a restaurant.

  “Wait, one sec,” Layton called as we passed the signature Buddha. He winked at me and pulled me close for a selfie. “Say cheese,” he whispered in my ear. “And take a long time so we really annoy the hostess.”

  I guess he did notice her attitude.

  Seated at the sushi bar, we ordered another drink and a few rolls based on my recommendations. Layton begged and borrowed for an order of chicken spring rolls, which were not normally served at the bar. His quiet charm won out, and I watched him dip the crispy fried treats into duck sauce.

  “About the sushi, I’m sorry. I suggested this place without thinking. I should have been more thoughtful. Italian or something would have been better, but this place, it’s a New York must, and I didn’t think about you.”