Tanner: Hanging in there today? Aspen told me you took off last night.
They talk now? Why do I feel like I’m being babysat? I don’t need to be watched over like a child. I should be allowed to feel miserable and shut the world out right now.
I drop the phone into my purse and step out of the car, feeling a little more motivated to get this whole thing with Grant over with.
I pull open the large door, welcomed by the scent of freshly baked French bread mixed with the familiar aromatic seasonings that act as a Valium to me most days, pleased that there is one thing in my life that hasn’t changed.
Grant is in the corner typing something into one of the computers when he notices me enter. “Oh man, Felicity.” He stalks toward me, unexpectedly enveloping me in an embrace. “Hon, we’ve all been so worried about you. I called you and left you messages, but I figured you didn’t want to hear from us when you didn’t call back.” He pulls away, crossing his arms over his broad chest. I think he must have been a linebacker in his earlier years. Or maybe a bouncer. He oozes intimidation, which is a good trait to have when trying to keep a restaurant at its five star rating. Although right now, he looks beaten down, tired and stressed out—a look I haven’t seen on him before. “Please tell me you’re okay. Forget about the restaurant…I’ve honestly been worried about you, kid.”
“I’ll be okay.” Someday. I hope.
“I was only trying to call you to see if you needed anything,” he says.
“Thanks. My phone burned in the fire.”
He grips my chin in his hands, tilting my face from side to side. “You’re in one piece, huh?”
“Mostly.” My heart is shattered into about a million.
“You know, my childhood home burnt down too,” he offers, as some statement of camaraderie. “We fortunately all made it out, but man, I know how scary and upsetting this all must be.” He releases my chin and looks down at me. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother.”
Brother. I don’t have a brother any more. The word is just a filler for someone who was once in my life and now isn’t. More tears. I’ve never been a crier, but now I can’t seem to stop.
I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed to be crying in front of Grant, the guy who calls me his Iron Fist. He swings his arms around me and he pulls me in firmly against his chest, walking me out of the main dining area and into his office. He helps me sit down on one of his guest chairs and hands me a box of tissues.
“I’m sorry. I thought I was starting to pull myself together,” I say, still whimpering.
“Look, Felicity, I want you to take all of the time you need to put yourself back together, however long that may be. We can manage around here until you’re okay.” By the bags under his eyes, I’m guessing my absence may have caused some stress considering the issue with Aspen.
“I need to come back to work. I need to get back into a routine,” I say.
“I think that’s a wise decision,” he says, relief filling his face. I don’t know if he’s saying that for the well-being of the restaurant or for my own good, but I don’t care. It’s what I need right now.
He’s leaning on his desk, feet crossed, arms over his chest. I’ve never asked Grant to do anything for me. I’ve never requested time off or called in sick. I’ve been his right hand in this restaurant since it opened three years ago. And while I never thought I’d try to use that to my advantage, I need to eliminate just a little bit of this strain.
“Grant, I came here to talk to you about coming back to work, but also about something else.” I lift my head, looking him in the eyes, begging without words.
“I’m guessing this is about Aspen?” His voice drops an octave, eliminating the light-hearted vibe from our conversation. This isn’t going to go well. He stands up from his desk and walks around the back side, plopping down in his chair. He jerks a pen from his drawer and taps it nervously on the desk. “Felicity, look,” he sighs, “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I’ve been thinking about you daily. But…”
“I’m living with her right now,” I add in. “I have nowhere else to go. If you fire her—if I fire her—I’m guessing I’ll be evicted from her life, never mind her apartment. Please, for me, give her another chance?”
He drops the pen on the desk and leans back in his chair. He runs his fingers through his silver hair, the red veins in his eyes brightening. “Shit. Felicity, one of the customers saw her take food from their plate, and I caught her having sex in the freezer.” He pauses for a moment, letting this little tidbit of information stir within me. “We can’t have that shit here. You of all people know this.” Crap. What the hell was she thinking? I’m dumbstruck, and I can’t defend her. “I need her gone. It’s for your own good. If you can’t tell her, I’ll have to.”
It’s for my own good?
Nothing like your boss telling you if you can’t do your job, they’ll do it for you. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it.” I stand from my seat and pull my purse over my shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He meets me at the door, placing his hand on my back. “Only if you’re sure.”
“I am…” …not. I have to figure out how to get through tonight first.
* * *
Like the mature adult I am, I have spent the greater part of my afternoon driving around town, avoiding Aspen’s apartment. Regardless of only telling Tanner and Aspen I have a working phone, the thing has buzzed with at least a dozen texts in the past hour. I’m avoiding those, too.
I should park down the street from the apartment so she doesn’t see me sitting outside. Her car is here, so she’s home and unknowingly waiting for me to come up there and say what I have to say. I’m aware of how immature I’m being about this, but I just need a little longer.
I slip out of my car, my eyes locked on her front window, checking to see if she spotted me. I think I’m in the clear. Walking at a quick pace, I pass a number of clothing stores and restaurants, noting the dozens of college students loitering in the streets—some are playing instruments, others chatting, then there’s a large group jumping in front of cars, campaigning for something about lifting the filter off of life. Whatever that means.
The farther I walk, the more the street fills with students. Anxiety blooms within me. I need to break away from the crowd.
The eyes and the stares…I don’t know why I feel like everyone is looking at me. Maybe it’s all in my head, but these anxiety attacks keep finding a way in and I can’t get them to go away. I miss having control of my life, calling the shots, and knowing what was coming next. Some might say it’s not normal to live that way. Some did say it to me—Blake, in particular since he liked to live by the seat of his pants. We were very different in that respect. But not knowing what tomorrow might bring makes me feel ill.
I slip inside a small, empty coffee shop. It’s eccentric, almost verging on bizarre, which isn’t surprising considering the area. There are actual palm trees growing out of the floor and a pile of sand in the corner. The shop smells like coffee, coconut, and maybe…rum?
A young guy with long blond dreads and a shirt branded with Bob Marley’s face welcomes me in with a fake Jamaican accent. The bizarreness forces warmth through my cheeks, being alone in here and all.
“May I have a large coffee? Regular is fine.”
The guy turns up the music, steel drums echoing through the tiny shop, as he dances in a slow rhythm while fixing my order. I look around the shop and then out the window to see if anyone is watching, but people continue on by as if nothing’s going on.
After ten minutes of discomfort and watching this guy dance, I now have a coconut, papaya-mocha banana latte.
Evidently, this is their regular.
I drop onto a stool against the front window, propping my elbows up on the bar, staring out onto the bustling sidewalk. It’s easier being around a crowd when a window separates us, especially since no one stops to look in. By the looks of it, they all have somewhere to be.
Except him. I squint, trying to determine…
Is that? I tilt my head a bit, taking a look at a different angle. I must be going nuts.
Nope. It is him. I debate tapping on the glass, but my hand moves on its own accord, tapping lightly. He’s almost completely past the shop by the time he looks toward the sound. His eyes meet mine with a smile I now recognize from a dark park against the glow of a flashlight.
His hands drop into his pockets as he turns toward the coffee shop entrance, looking up at the dangling sign before walking in. “Guess I didn’t have you pegged as a Rasta Man Coffee type,” he says.
Note to self: look at the sign before entering random cafés.
“Hey don’t hate on the Rasta, man,” the coffee guy says.
Hayes laughs to be polite, I assume, considering the goofy grin he turns to me with. As he comes closer, I’m almost startled by the features I missed in the dark. It’s kind of like seeing him for the first time. His eyes are like the green of fresh spring grass breaking through a patch of fresh snow. He’s in dark jeans and a semi-fitted grey t-shirt, one that accentuates a body that definitely went unnoticed under the dim lights in the park.
He’s…wow.
“Sort of didn’t know what this place was at first,” I whisper. “And the coffee looks a little scary.”
“I heard they have some fun brownies here too,” he says, laughing softly as he pulls up the stool beside me. He studies me for a second, scratching at his chin, his eyes squinting against his dimpled cheeks. It’s almost like he’s trying not to smile. “It’s funny running into you during the day.”
“What’s so funny about it?” I laugh, feeling a blush creep through my cheeks. His gaze pierces into mine and it makes my breath catch in my throat. What is wrong with me? I wrap my lips around the straw, dying for a quick intermission. Oh my God. This coffee is horrible. So so so bad. Bad enough that I’d spit it out if Hayes wasn’t sitting in front of me, gauging my reaction to this concoction. I pull the straw from my mouth and set the cup back on the table.
“So,” he says, pausing for second. “I have to tell you something.”
“Oh?” Great…either he’s married, or he is, in fact, the creep he’s warned me of.
“I don’t have a filter and I say whatever I’m thinking. It’s gotten me into more trouble than not, but it’s like the words rise in me, and they come out whether I want them to or not.”
The thought of what he’s going to say makes my stomach churn a little. And a little more when he leans toward me, bringing his lips almost close enough to touch my ear. “Felicity,” the breath of his voice tickles my neck and makes me squirm in my seat. “I think I’ve just realized that the darkness has a way of hiding one’s beauty.” The combination of his scent and his words makes my chest tight in a numbing kind of way. I try to breathe through the nerves, but it’s hard to do.
The silence between us is overwhelming, which is my fault since it’s my turn to say something. But I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting this. So of course I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Are you saying I’m ugly in the dark?”
He pulls away, likely seeing how frenzied I feel inside. He laughs, which means he’s definitely seeing it. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“If the darkness conceals so much, how did you recognize me in the daylight? Or do you just walk toward every crazy girl who waves you into a Rastafarian coffee shop?” I ask, somehow regaining my bravery.
“Your hair,” he says, matter-of-factly.
I wrap my hand around the length of my ponytail, giving him a questioning look. “My hair?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of exotic.” Or like an untamed lions mane of curls as Mom always says. Exotic has never been a word used to describe my hair. People have always complimented it—the thickness and wavy curls—telling me how jealous they are. I’ve never paid much attention.
But maybe I kind of want to right now.
He leans forward on his stool, resting his arms on the bar. “May I?” he asks, snagging my drink. “I sort of need to see what’s in this magic coffee you look so fond of.”
Never in my life have I willingly shared a straw with a stranger. But considering that I can’t get the vision of his lips out of my head right now, I think it’s okay to share. “Be my guest.”
His plump lips curl around the tip of the straw, and a tingling sensation drives through my lower stomach and down my legs. I shouldn’t be jealous of a straw. His eyebrows furrow and his cheeks clench as if he just sucked on a lemon. Pulling the straw from his mouth, he looks at me, giving me a what the hell? look. “Oh man…this stuff is disgusting.” He snatches a napkin from in front of me and presses it up against his mouth. “God, that’s bad.” He looks over my shoulder at the coffee guy and then back at me. “How about a real coffee? I know a place.”
“Sure.” A beautiful distraction from the real life I’m hiding from sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.
Hayes is a total stranger, yet somehow he’s becoming my safe place.
Safe person.
We walk for a couple of blocks—we’ve passed at least three coffee shops so far. “So, it’s weird,” he says, breaking the silence. “I feel like I know you, but I also realize I actually know nothing about you at all. It’s almost like this whole flirting thing going on between us is strictly based on looks right now.” Is that what we’re doing—flirting? It’s been more him than me, but if I were better at flirting, I’d be saying things he’d want to hear, too.
“Well, this is awkward,” I snicker.
He smiles. Doesn’t he ever get nervous or embarrassed? He seems so confident and laid back. I’ve never had an issue with confidence; it’s always been a strong suit of mine…until recently. But yeah, this whole thing is purely based on looks, which might be what has me so flustered. “I had a hard time recognizing you at first,” I say.
“I get that a lot,” he responds.
“I don’t know, I mean, it might be because you’re kind of ugly, so…” I silently commend myself for being funny, a change from my usual, serious self. He twists his head, looking at me, shocked.
“Wow,” he chuckles. “Nice touch from the crazy girl who sits in a dark park alone at night.” He stops walking. “Anyone ever tell you you’re horrible at flirting?” His smile is now only a half smile, a crooked grin, which brings out his dimples.
“I’ve won some awards for it, actually.” I maintain my straight face, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to. He’s so friggin’ cute. Spectacular, really.
“Oh man. I know what’s going on here,” he says, pausing for a minute and shaking his head. “You’re totally going to have an angry boyfriend chasing us down any minute here, aren’t you?”
I look over my shoulder wearily, for show, then turn back at him and sigh. “Well,” I say, stalling for more than a few seconds. “I’d have to have a boyfriend in order for that to happen. You don’t need to worry.”
“No one likes me either, don’t feel bad,” he says, picking the pace back up.
I am going to trip if I don’t stop trying to look at his dimples.
“You do have a lady,” I correct him. I laugh. I really miss laughing. The way it feels in my stomach and in my chest, the warmth it brings me.
“Touché. And might I say, you are now officially the coolest chick I’ve met in a very, very long time.” He must have bad taste in women then.
“And may I say, we’ve walked past five coffee shops.”
“You may. And I’m not sure I really care.” He surprises me when his hand cups around my elbow, stopping us in the middle of the sidewalk again. “Can I see you tonight? Somewhere other than the park?” He’s asking me out. Is it inappropriate for me to say yes less than a week after Blake died? It feels wrong, but if he were here and knew I wasn’t going out with Tanner, he’d be all for it. I think.
“I don’t know.”
“Too soon?�
� he asks.
Life’s short. Too short. He’s made me smile and laugh. Maybe I owe it to myself to take a pity break, especially considering I’ll probably be evicted from Aspen’s life within the next hour or so. “No, I’d like that.”
“Great. Honestly, I just really need my coat back.” His devilish grin makes my heart dip into my stomach. Playing into his words, I press my fist into his pec.
Holy hard chest…
“Meet me at Rasta Man Coffee at six…is that okay?” he asks.
I have no idea if it is or it isn’t.
I guess I’ll find out at six.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAYBE IT’S MY LUCKY DAY; Aspen left at some point in the time I’ve been gone, which sort of means I’m off the hook for the time being. Part of me wants to get this over with, and part of me is hoping the situation will magically fix itself. I know that won’t happen.
I try to drown my thoughts in the shower. I wish I could just wash my pain away. I’m so angry with everyone, for reasons I can’t even understand. I’m guessing it’s a natural part of grieving, but for each minute I endure this stress, I want to move farther and farther away from the people who remind me of the life I lived before the fire. I’m even beginning to hate the way I sound in my own head, and the more I admit it to myself, the worse it feels.
Maybe I just want to run away from myself.
I step out of the anxiety-laced steamy shower, feeling dirtier than ever. And the feeling only worsens when I hear Aspen moving around the apartment. She’s back, and now I have to face her. I know it’s inevitable, but I need to stall a little longer.
Drying my hair and styling it in large, chunky waves has taken up a good amount of time. Maybe she left again. I can only hope. I shut the hair dryer off, waiting and listening for silence. But no; there’s music playing in her room. More stalling. I continue with my cosmetics and slip into a pair of black leggings and a long plaid blouse.
And…that’s it.
But now that I’m done polishing myself up for tonight, I might not have enough time to talk to her. I glance down at my watch, wishing that were actually the case.
Red Nights Page 5
