"You know, you're the best friend my sister never had," he said.
She laughed.
"Are we good now?" Brett asked.
She nodded and dried her eyes.
"Good," He looked relieved. "Then get going."
"Ready?" Nick asked, oddly avoiding direct eye contact.
Stupid Jennifer.
She hadn't even thought about what that must have looked like from Nick's perspective. She tried desperately to think of some way out of the awkwardness of the moment.
Fudge. Nothing was coming to mind.
"Jennifer Hollis," she bit her lip and stuck her hand out toward him.
He looked at her hand then her eyes — at last. He held her gaze with his hypnotic grey green eyes, as he slipped his hand into hers. "Nicholas Grace."
Nicholas Grace. Could his name possibly be any sexier?
She stepped close to him, he pulled her into his arms, pressing his body firm against hers and they kissed, gently at first, and then—
Damn her imagination.
He gently squeezed her hand and then let it go. That was it. That was all it should be she told herself. She barely even knew him — and he worships aliens, she reminded herself. For some reason, these thoughts didn't actually bother her as much as she had hoped they would.
Nick held the door open for her and they left.
"Brett's just trying to look out for you, you know. He's like that. He didn't mean anything... else," Nick faltered.
"I know," she said not wanting to look at him. "I just—" am an idiot. It was all she could think to say, but didn't, so she just waved her arms about in front of her instead.
"Don't like to be told what to do?" he supplied.
"Yeah," she said sheepishly.
"It's okay. I get it," he reassured.
It got quiet then. And the quiet dominated, creating an ever-widening silent chasm between them. She wanted to look at him, but knew it was a bad idea. She didn't want to like him, she reminded herself, doing her best to keep her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her.
"So how long have you known Brett?" she asked.
"Ten years maybe," he shrugged.
More silence.
"Want some fries?" Nick offered.
"Sure." She plucked a fry and chewed it slowly, so that it wouldn't look so obvious that she had nothing to say. She wished she could think of something more to say, something good to say, but the silence continued for almost an entire block.
"Brett says you're from Colorado?"
"Uhng..." she coughed. "well, he uh... That's..." she stopped talking — err making noises that resembled words might be more accurate.
"Is your family there? In Colorado I mean?"
Fudge. She hated it when people asked her about family. She shook her head. "No. No family," she said, and then shoved another sweet potato fry in her mouth.
"Me either," Nick said softly.
So softly that she wasn't sure she had actually heard him right. She took the risk and looked at him.
"They died in a car accident when I was 17," he explained. "My parent's had gone to pick up my sister at college, for Christmas break. Some guy thought he was sober enough to drive and ran them off the road. My sister, Lindsay, was killed instantly — or at least that's what they told me, but who really knows. My mom died just after they arrived at the hospital and my dad a couple of days later."
"I'm so sorry," Jennifer felt hot tears forming at the edges of her eyes again.
"For the next few years, all I did was make a lot of really bad decisions."
"But you were just a kid," Jennifer interjected.
"I knew better," he shook his head. "I just didn't care. Then I met Marcus. He introduced me to a new way of life, a whole new reality. I saw the world in a way I'd never thought possible. And I found a life where I didn't need to crash and burn. He helped me find my center."
"Marcus did that for you?" she tried to keep as much incredulity out of her tone as she could. She managed not to roll her eyes, so she was calling it a success.
Nick laughed. "I know he comes off as being a little... brash, but he's actually one of the good guys."
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Okay, it wasn't Marcus per se," he conceded. "It was the Ange."
"The French angel — aliens?" Jennifer goaded.
"I know what it sounds like." Nick said seriously. "It sounds ludicrous. I get it. It's not for everyone. But it's something I believe in."
More silence. Nick crumpled the empty sweet potato fries bag and tossed it in a garbage can.
"Why do you believe?" she asked.
"It wasn't because I fit the profile," he looked directly at her.
She avoided his look, biting her lip. It wasn't hard to figure out what his look had meant to imply. "Marcus thinks I fit the profile doesn't he?" she said flatly. She didn't fit the profile — no matter what Marcus thought.
"He does," Nick confirmed.
"Is that why you're walking me home?" she accused.
"Not entirely."
"Do you see that house over there?" she said, stopping on the stairs on Larkin Street. She pointed out a large yellow house on Francisco Street.
"The one with the overgrown ivy?" he lifted his brow.
"I love that house," she sighed. "The first time I saw it I had this major déjà vu. I couldn't explain why but I felt connected to it somehow. Maybe it was because I was lost, I don't know, but it felt familiar to me, like someplace I could call home." She looked longingly at the house, and it's overgrown ivy. She really did love it, and the pull it had for her. "I thought about knocking on the door and asking for directions. But what I really wanted to do was knock on the door and announce to whoever answered, that I was home." Nick was grinning, highly amused. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to take this route, the other is so that I can walk under the trees on Chestnut Street, do you know them?"
He nodded.
"Another place I discovered while getting myself lost." She shrugged. "They're both beautiful places, but it doesn't mean anything, they're just trees, and that's just a house. A beautiful, inviting, house."
Nick took hold of her hand. His touch nearly took her breath away. She turned to face him. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a sly smile and then he said, "Jen. That's my house."
What a jerk.
She was being serious and he was being... a smart ass. She scowled at him. "I think I can make it from here." She wrenched her hand free from his, and quickened her pace up the stairs.
"Damn it," he cursed and gave chase. "I'm not trying to convince you of anything," he shouted after her.
"Oh really?" she stopped and turned back abruptly.
In one complex and utterly graceless move they collided. He wrapped his arms around her and spun her around, in effect slowing his momentum. She clutched him tightly in return and braced herself for the inevitable impact with pavement.
"You can open your eyes now," he said after a moment.
Her face was at his chest. His stronger than they looked arms wrapped firmly around her. He smelled so good. She steadied herself then let go of the alien-worshipping jerk that she was pretty sure she hated now. Or loved — no, hated. Hated!
"Sorry," she said. Though she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. He was the one being a jerk.
"I would never ask anyone else to believe what I believe just because I believe it," he said, his tone firm, almost angry. "Believe whatever you want. But I've witnessed far too much to deny what I know to be true."
"Like what?"
"Like things that obviously you're not ready — or willing — to hear. Things I'm sure you can't even imagine – I couldn't. Things you wouldn't understand — things you don't want to understand, clearly. Things that I've sworn not to talk about," he said firmly.
"Sacred not secret?" she insinuated.
"No. Just secret."
She turned and continued walking. He
followed.
"I was serious about what I said," she groused, "I can make it on my own."
"I'm sure you can. But I told Brett I'd walk you home."
"Or maybe you're just trying to find out where I live so Marcus can stalk me at home and not just on the beach," she scowled.
"Jen, he wasn't stalking you, he came to apologize."
"Please stop idealizing him," Jennifer glowered. "He's not a nice person."
"You don't know him the way I do."
"Obviously. The Marcus you know is 'one of the good guys.' Some kind of a cheeky savior figure." They'd made it to the steps beneath the trees on Chestnut Street. It pissed her off that she was too angry to enjoy them. "The Marcus I know is a total a-hole," she huffed. She clenched her fists and planted her feet for some stability before she continued. "His apology," she added air quotes, "was merely a continuation of his earlier rudeness and condescension, and then he called me a liar. Because I guess it's just not possible for me to be feeling as miserable as he is after losing some people who are so important to the Ange," she mocked. "And that would have been enough, all on its own, but then he stood so creepily close to me that Erin thought he was making a pass at me." She couldn't help but notice she and Nick were standing just as close. "And then he made a bunch of wild assumptions and claimed he knew the real me."
"And how accurate was he?" Nick shot back.
If he knew the real me he'd be dead. She heard Genevieve's protectiveness surge to the forefront of her thoughts. The violent imagery of the alleyway settled itself in her mind. She tried to pull herself free from it. She stepped away from Nick and continued down the steps.
"Jen, I'm sorry," Nick called after her.
"Don't apologize for him," she said quietly, still fighting the rumination of gunfire, and the distant wailing cries, from her nightmares.
"I'm not. I'm apologizing for my own behavior."
It was quiet between them again until they reached her door. "This is it," she said. "You can go now." She turned the key and pushed the main door open.
"I've messed this up. Made things worse. Haven't I?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jennifer shook her head and turned to face him. "I wasn't in on your plan."
"What plan?" Nick countered.
She raised an unbelieving brow at him.
Nick sighed. "There's no conspiracy here, Jen. You've lost people." He reached his hand toward her then second-guessed and pulled it back, combing it through his beautiful brown locks. "I remember what that feels like. One day my whole world changed, and no one understood. I just wanted you to know that you weren't alone, that I understood."
How could he possibly understand what she was going through? She didn't even understand what she was going through. And her loss wasn't the same as his loss. His family had been taken from him. Hers had tossed her away.
"I want us to be friends," he said.
"You don't even know me," she returned, but it felt like a lie the moment she said it.
"I want to," he gazed at her intently.
Fudge. She knew she was going to give in to him. She could feel it. Maybe it was for the best. Having to see him — and serve him — at work would be rather awkward with all of this contention between them. It didn't help that all she wanted to do at that moment was step forward and kiss his beautiful lips, to feel the comfort of his warm embrace and become lost in his intoxicating smell and hypnotic eyes.
He stuck his hand out to her. "Friends?"
She caught her breath and slid her hand into his. "Friends."
Their eyes met.
In her mind she saw herself looking down at him, from high above, he wasn't looking at her, but at the person she had her arm wrapped around. He glowered at them. And then—
Reality returned and she let go of his hand. What was that all about? It wasn't exactly the kind of fantasy that she was used to having. It didn't make any sense.
"I have to go," she stumbled into the apartment.
"See you later."
She nodded awkwardly as she shut the door.
Chapter 10
Things We Don't Say
March twenty-fifth. It was Jennifer Anne Hollis's birthday. Jennifer, of course, had completely forgotten. Brett brought jelly filled doughnuts to celebrate the occasion. Hers was lemon filled with a candle stuck in it. Brett threatened to sing Happy Birthday, but thankfully Ashley talked him out of it.
Marcus, Paul and Nick came in for lunch and sat at their usual table. She wasn't sure if she'd completely forgiven Nick from the other day until she saw him.
Just as gorgeous as ever.
She sighed, as she imagined ripping his T-shirt from his body and kissing his bare chest, that tasted even better than it smelled. She had to admit she had a remarkably vivid imagination for someone with so little experience — right around none. She hoped her real life romantic escapades would be as good as they were in her mind, but she doubted it. No shirt would ever rip that easily in real life.
"Afternoon gentlemen," She greeted them, avoiding any direct eye contact.
"Ginger?" Paul scoffed at her nametag.
"Yep."
"Not Cupcake?" he frowned.
"How long have you been coming here, Paul?"
"Apparently I've been coming here long enough for you to know my real name," he chided.
"Yeah, being on your charge card doesn't help that fact at all," she teased. "But you don't actually expect me to believe you don't know my name," she glanced at Nick then added, "outside of Sammie's." It was awkward.
"You'll always be Cupcake to me," Paul grinned. "And speaking of cake. I heard it's your birthday today."
"I heard that too," she replied with disinterest.
"I hope you're not expecting anything," Marcus cut in.
What an ass. "Nope."
"Leave her alone, Marcus," Nick said firmly.
This was too much for her right now. Marcus was just asking for a solid punch in the face, and for some reason, Nick defending her only made it worse.
"I'll give you another minute to decide," she smiled through clenched teeth and walked away. "Happy Birthday to me, you're switching me tables," she told Erin.
"Okay," Erin replied, wary, "But switch me name-tags."
Jennifer handed over her GINGER name-tag. She hadn't actually taken the time to look at Erin's name-tag until then. It had been decorated with small foil stars and glitter. It read: STARR.
"Good call," Jennifer chuckled.
"Yeah. It's the kind of mistake you only make once."
Erin took their order, served them, and delivered their check. They paid and they left. And Jennifer breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"Jen?" came a voice that caused the wistful butterflies within her to sigh.
She turned to see him. Nicholas Grace. "I thought you'd gone," she said, realizing how glad she was that he hadn't.
He handed her a small drawstring bag, it was made of blue chiffon printed with tiny moons and stars.
"What's this?" she asked, but she already knew. She could feel the weight and smoothness of the polished stone through the chiffon. It felt heart shaped.
"For your birthday. It's a rose quartz," he offered. "It's..."
"For the heart," she finished, her thoughts with Caitlyn.
"Yeah," a smile crept across his face.
"Do you believe in that stuff too?" she forced her threatening tears away.
"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just the thought that counts."
"Nick, I—,"
"I only meant it as a friendly gesture," he interjected. "You know, between friends."
Friends.
She wondered what he thought she was going to say. She had been intending to apologize for her outburst the other day, but maybe he thought she was going to reject his gift.
"Thank you," she said, and slipped the gift — his gift — into a pocket on her apron.
"You're welcome. Happy Birthday."
/>
"It's not my birthday," she heard herself say. What!? Why did she just tell him that? Had she gone completely insane? Well, yes, maybe... but still!
"It's not?"
"I have no idea why I just told you that," she said.
"So it is your birthday?" he looked confused.
Yes. Her mind said. "No." she heard her mouth say.
What was wrong with her? She took a deep breath to set herself straight. That was a mistake. He smelled so good it made her lightheaded. Was the room spinning? She felt hot.
"So when is your birthday?" he asked.
Abort! Abort! She laughed nervously. Say tomorrow! Say tomorrow! "I don't really know," she said.
"You don't know when your birthday is?" he asked. "How does that work?"
NO! Her mind screamed. "It's a long story," she avoided, shaking her head on behalf of her screaming thoughts. "Anyway, what was it you needed again?"
"Nothing," he said, looking confused — and with good reason. "I just wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday, or Happy not your Birthday, I guess."
"Oh yeah." She was being such an idiot. "Well, thanks." She smiled up at him, at his grey green jewel eyes. Look away, her mind screamed, look away! But it was too late. In her imagination, they were already deep in the throes of passion. "Did you just say something?" she asked, prying her thoughts away from his imaginary more-than-friends embrace.
He shook his head.
"Oh," she laughed. "Sorry, I'm a little..." she couldn't think of what to say next — nervous, crazy, in-love with you... Instead, she just waved her arms about in front of her — like an idiot. She laughed nervously again and bit her lip. What was wrong with her? She wasn't in love with Nick. It was probably just some kind of freakish hormone imbalance or something. Maybe he gave off an abundance of pheromones that she was unusually sensitive too.
"Hey Starr," Ashley called. "You got a sec?"
"I've got to go," Jennifer hurried away.
"See you around," he called after her.
Maybe what she felt for Nick was love at first sight, she considered. Now that was a truly ridiculous notion — how can you love someone you barely know? Lust at first sight, absolutely, but lust wasn't love — lust was bad. A sin. And if Quincy or Nancy were here they would have told her she was going to go straight to Hell if she didn't get her act together.
The Aeon Star Page 9
