“Sounds good.” Her voice was chipper and everything in her body language said she was relaxed, but I noticed how restless her eyes were—darting from mine to my chest, to Stephanie in the back, and then to the ground. Knowing she was probably interested too was only making everything harder.
“Hey,” I said to Stephanie, once I was in the back and out of ear-shot from Emily. “You’re on your own for a little, I’ve got—”
“Oh. My. God.” Stephanie slid to the corner and peeked out at Emily. She bit her lip and then turned to me with bulging eyes. “She is so freaking adorable. I want this. I need this. She’s so perfect for you. Look at that outfit!” Stephanie gripped my shirt and shook me a little. “She’s all covered in paint and grungy but still cute and peppy. Go to her!”
I shook my head, laughing softly. “I’m glad you approve of the artist I’m hiring in a purely professional context, for purely professional purposes.”
Stephanie made a very serious face and nodded enthusiastically, then flashed me a wink. “Oh, absolutely. I totally understand. Completely.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yes! That’s the line you should open with. Go right up to her and say it, but try to make it sound a little sweeter and a little less… Disgusted.”
I walked over to Emily, making a conscious effort to ignore Stephanie, who was sticking her head out from the back with as much stealth as a dog who heard the crinkle of a bag of treats.
“You’re late,” I said as I pulled out a chair and sat across from her. It was only ten minutes past the time we’d agreed on, but one reason I’d had so much success getting The Bubbly Baker back up and running was my ability to judge character. I wanted to see if she was the type to make excuses or own up to her mistakes.
“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m kind of horrible with directions—more horrible than I realized, apparently. I’m going to just print out walking directions next time to wherever you need me to go and still leave fifteen minutes early. You know, in case I have them upside down or something.” She was talking very fast, and she ended her sentence with a breathless, nervous little laugh.
Her lips had a way of curving upward as she spoke while her eyes stayed lock-focused on mine. It had an arresting effect that made me realize how addicting her attention could become, and quickly.
I nodded. I liked her response. Truthful, with a touch of an excuse, but also with an explanation of why she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. “Fair enough. So I was hoping you could get the posters ready by the end of this week, and everything else by the 30th. I have no idea what kind of timeframe these things usually have, but I can pay extra if that’s too quick.”
She looked down at the table, eyes searching the table top for a few seconds before she looked up to my eyes and nodded. I liked the determination I saw there. From the look on her face, I’d asked something that would stretch her abilities, but she was also up for the challenge.
The damn woman wasn’t helping me out in the emotional distance category. The more I talked to her, the more I wanted to know about her.
“Supplies are on me, obviously,” I added.
Her eyebrows twitched up at that, but she regained her composure quickly. She wasn’t expecting me to offer to cover the cost of supplies? What kind of people had she been working for?
“I really appreciate this chance. I won’t let you down.” Her words sounded stiff, and she was having trouble meeting my eyes. I wanted to reach across the table and grip her hand, which I was surprised wasn’t trembling from her body language. There was a strength and fire in her that was at odds with the way it looked like she was about to throw up from nerves. Go figure, I liked that too.
“Great.” I grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser and slid it across the table to her and set down a pen. “Just write down what you’ll need on here and I’ll get it for you.”
“Well, I’ve already got most of what I’d need,” she said. She looked serious as she tapped the back of the pen between her teeth and chewed idly on it. Then she quickly jotted down some brands of paints, colors, and dimensions of the paper she’d need. She also added some kind of computer software and specs for what she’d need to print the posters. I thought she was done, but then she quickly scribbled something I couldn’t quite read upside down and leaned back in her chair.
I slid the napkin to my side of the table and turned it upside down. At the bottom of the napkin, she'd written: "a workspace" in apologetically small, sloppy letters.
I hadn’t thought of that. “You don’t have space at your place?”
“Ever tried to paint in a closet? I can do it, but my place is already crammed with my own stuff. It’d be a lot easier if you had somewhere I could keep all the supplies and work.” She waited for my response with a lopsided smile.
I ran a hand through my hair as I tried to work through my options. None of the bakeries would be a good space, unless I set up a canvas in the middle of the lobby. I couldn’t ask her to come to my place, not with Steve… Shit.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure I could figure something out if—”
“No. no. It’s okay. I have an idea. It’s not a good one, but it’s an idea.”
Emily was going to come to my apartment tomorrow afternoon. She’d left with a chipper, casual goodbye, and I had a lump in my throat. All my confidence that she’d end up just like every other woman of the last few years felt like it was evaporating. I wasn’t so sure she’d gradually burn out of the romantic portion of my thoughts and into the platonic side.
Stephanie sighed dreamily at me when I came back behind the counter after Emily had left.
“Looking at you two was like magic. The tension. The chemistry. The suppressed emotion.” She was talking through gritted teeth now and her fists were balled. “I was wondering if you were just going to leap across the table and claim her. Right then and there.”
I grinned. “Maybe next time.”
Stephanie punched my chest a little harder than I would’ve thought she could. “This is your problem. Fate is staring you in the face and you’re just grunting and shrugging about it. Do something. Go get her. Sweep her off her feet. Give her a full-frontal romance!”
I grinned. “I just met the woman yesterday, and my problem is that I’m not giving her full-frontals?”
“Of romance,” she corrected.
“I don’t know anything about her. She could have a boyfriend. Her favorite hobby could be drugs or taxidermy. Maybe she doesn’t even like men.”
Stephanie gave me an impatient look. “She was looking at you like a dog looks at a strip of bacon. Trust me, she likes men. And she likes you. And so what if you don’t know anything about her? That’s why you take her on a date. You talk. Let the sparks fly.”
I leaned back against the prep table. I didn't want to have to come clean to Stephanie, but I didn't think she'd ease off unless I explained my reluctance. "I don't have the greatest history with relationships. I'd kind of prefer to keep things cordial and avoid the inevitable blow up that would come if things got serious between Emily and me."
“I have a newsflash for you. Every single person on the planet in a happy relationship didn’t have the greatest history with relationships either. And then they found the one. That’s the whole point. It won’t work until it does, but you keep trying.”
“I wish you didn’t have a point.”
She beamed. “So you’ll do it?”
“Only to get you to get off my back about it. But there’s no telling what she’s even going to say, so don’t get your hopes too high.”
“Wow, just like that?” she asked. Her eyes were wide again and she was leaning in like I was some kind of mysterious specimen. “Shouldn’t you at least be a little nervous to ask her on a date out of nowhere? What if she says no?”
I grinned. “First, you push me into doing this, and now you’re trying to convince me I should be scared?”
“No,
no. Not scared. You’ve got nothing to be worried about at all. I mean, look at you! I was just thinking it’d be really awkward if she did say no, since you two are kind of working together. That’s all.”
I looked at the napkin Emily had written supplies on and studied the phone number she’d left at the top. I hadn’t asked for her number. Maybe it was some kind of subtle hint that she wanted to be asked. I probably should’ve felt nervous like Stephanie was saying, but now that I knew I was going to call, the overpowering emotion pulsing through me was excitement. That, and maybe a little bit of cold dread mixed in there—dread that I was setting myself up for the next disappointment in what had been a long line of disappointments.
3
Emily
My apartment was kind of like what you might see on an episode of hoarders, except if the hoarder lived in a ninety square-foot apartment. It looked more like if somebody grabbed a random, small section of a hallway, covered it in brick, and slapped a dingy window on one end and a door on the other. For perspective, the walls were only one foot wider than my single mattress.
Oddly enough, I kind of liked the cramped living space. I knew where everything was, and I’d become very good at deciding exactly what was essential for my life and what I didn’t need. It felt like my little hobbit hole. My escape from the bustle of the streets. It was cozy, even if I didn’t really have room to work on my art projects like I’d have wanted. I found ways to work around it, like staying late at the retirement home and using their space.
I had no plans for the night, which meant I was deep into my I’m-not-stepping-foot-out-of-the-house wardrobe. I wore an oversized, fuzzy cat-face sweater with sleeves that dangled over my hands. I’d shed my pants hours ago, and even if the police came to the door, those puppies weren’t going back on. It was going to be that kind of night: the perfect kind.
My mind still traced over the memory of talking to Ryan in his shop a few hours earlier. Like idle fingers moving over something out of place, my mind revisited every word and phrase, every hint of body language and moment of eye contact. I knew Paris was more important than anything right now, but I also knew it was only October. Art school wasn’t until January. Would it really be so bad to just have a little fun in the meantime? I mean, was I supposed to live like a nun for the next few months?
I wasn’t doing a great job of convincing myself, though. Getting into a relationship now would be like adopting a puppy with a terminal illness. I’d only be setting myself up for heartbreak, no matter how much those puppy eyes and those bulging, perfectly sculpted biceps were making me want to pull the trigger. I shook my head at myself. My brain couldn’t even keep the thought of Ryan and his biceps out of my puppy analogies.
I ran a longing eye over the posters on my wall. I had at least one from my favorite artists. I’d admittedly focused a little more on artists I might actually meet while I was in Paris, chief of which was Valeria Purgot. I fangirled over her hard enough that I’d actually sent a ridiculous letter with some samples of my work a few weeks ago. I liked to think it was subtle enough of a letter that it wasn’t obvious I was basically begging to be her apprentice, but it was probably obvious. I cringed a little just thinking about how quickly she’d probably dismissed it and thrown it aside, if she’d even seen it.
I pulled an instant cup of hot chocolate out of the microwave and cradled it in my sleeves as I sunk down onto the bed and got back into my latest horror movie marathon. The city nightlife was just getting underway outside. In New York City, it started at sundown and didn’t stop until sunup the next day, and I’d always found that invigorating and oddly comforting. It was like when I was a kid and I knew my parents were still awake downstairs while I slept. Somebody kept the light on. The reset switch never truly clicked, instead, the torch just passed from hand to hand and life rolled forward.
My phone rang. I half-heartedly checked the number, because the only people who called me at this hour were nurses confirming appointments or telemarketers. I considered hanging up when I saw the unknown number, but with my luck they’d leave a voicemail. A voicemail would join the two un-checked voicemails and stress me out for at least a week before I finally checked it.
“Hello?” I said into the phone. I popped a few stale pieces of popcorn into my mouth and waited for the inevitable, robotic recording to ask me if I was registered to vote, or if I’d been experiencing any unusual itching in my nether-regions.
“Emily?”
I almost choked. “Ryan?” I stammered, then coughed. “Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”
“Oh. If you’re busy I can call back at a better time.”
“No!” I cleared my throat and made a gesture to myself to calm down before I sounded like even more of a freak. “Sorry. I’m just on edge. I’ve been watching horror movies all night. I’m not busy. What’s up?”
There was a distinct pause, and I wondered if he was distracted, or trying to form the right words.
“I thought we should get to know each other a little better. We’re going to be working together on this project, after all.”
I chewed my lip and smiled. “How much are we going to be working together, exactly? I thought I was just making a poster and some props for you.”
“I’ll need to approve everything.” His voice sounded a little defensive. It was cute.
"Oh, right." My eyes wandered past the TV to the desk where my acceptance letter to Paris sat. I pinned the phone to my ear with my shoulder and then made the sign of the cross at the letter. Responsibility could be damned, at least for a little while. "Maybe you're right. How do you suggest we get to know each other? Should we play an icebreaker game over the phone?"
“The phone won’t work. I was thinking something in person. Tonight.”
I sat up straight and took a despairing glance down at my outfit. “Tonight?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“No reason. What were you thinking?”
“You said you’re watching horror movies? My roommate and his girlfriend are hogging the TV. Would I be an ass to invite myself over to watch some with you? I’m a huge horror movie buff.”
I caught myself chewing my lip again and made myself stop. I needed to have some damn self-control if I was going to survive this thing and still make it to the airport in January. It was just temporary. Just a little fun. I had to remember that.
“Well, I could use something more sturdy than a pillow to hide behind during all the scary parts.”
“Deal. I’ll bring takeout and some beers. Or does wine sound better?”
“Beer is good.”
“Perfect. I’m on my way.” The phone clicked off and I looked at it in confusion. How was he on his way when he didn’t even know my address?
It rang again a second later. I picked up with a knowing smile. “Forget something?” I asked.
“Yeah, where do you live, exactly?”
Ryan knocked on my door just over an hour later. I made a few strategic moves with the time since getting off the phone. Move one was putting on pants. Next, I kicked all my dirty clothes and random bits of underwear into nooks and crevices where he wouldn’t see them. After that, I spent a really long time perfecting the I-didn’t-spend-any-time-getting-ready,-I-just-always-look-his-well-put-together look in the mirror. I opted to keep the oversized sweater on. It might not be the most flattering look, but if we were actually watching horror movies together, I needed my armor.
My heart was pattering away when I opened the door. I smiled in a way I hoped said, "Oh, hey, welcome to my crib. I wasn't expecting you, and this is exactly how me and everything in here always look."
He hoisted a six-pack of beers and the classic brown bag suspended in a white plastic bag that universally signified Chinese takeout. You knew it was serious to-go food when it needed two bags to be safely contained.
“I forgot to ask what you like, so I just kind of got a little bit of everything.”
“Oh, don’t even worry about it.
I don’t eat, anyway.” I opened my mouth, frowned down at the floor, and then shook my head. “I mean, I eat. I eat all the time. Tons of food, actually. Human garbage disposal, practically.” I pressed my lips together to stop the verbal diarrhea that seemed intent on flying out of my mouth.
When I’d been purposefully trying to keep things strictly North and South Korea with him, it had seemed easy. Now that I was starting to let my fantasies wander again, I’d apparently lost the ability to communicate like a normal human being around him.
He met my rambling with an easy smile. “It sounds like I don’t need to worry about the food selection either way, then.” Ryan paused for a moment to take in all of my apartment, and it literally was a second, because there wasn’t that much to take in. I braced myself for a sarcastic or worried comment about how small it was, but he only moved beside the bed and set all the food down on the table beside it, which doubled as my kitchen table, drawing space, microwave food prep space, and sometimes as an extra surface for piling dirty clothes.
“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but the table is facing the wrong way to watch TV. Does this mean we’re eating in your bed together?”
“Is that weird?” I asked. “I hadn’t even thought about it, but I could try to move the table or something.”
“It’s only weird if you make it weird.”
"I promise, no weirdness from me, but I shotgun the wall side. I feel safer in the corner."
“Deal.”
Ryan spread out the food across the bed on paper plates in a mini buffet and set two beers on the windowsill for me. It was probably highly unhygienic to be eating this much food in my bed, but I could always wash the comforter. Besides, it's not like I didn't already do it all the time.
My horror movie marathon was a self-composed collection of a combination between Netflix movies and movies I still had on DVD from the dark ages of my childhood.
I popped a piece of sweet and sour chicken in my mouth and turned the first movie on. Scream. “Hopefully you’re okay with my selection, here,” I said, “because you may have brought all the supplies, but I’ve been planning this movie night for hours. I had a very specific order in mind.”
His Treat Page 4
