“We both should. And mine starts with getting this package to its rightful owner,” I said, hoisting the box he’d given me. “Thanks again for saving me from the tree,” I said, letting a smile creep over my face again. It really must have looked ridiculous, but I was grateful to him for not laughing about it.
“Anytime,” he told me.
Breaking a habit is never easy to do. I was proud of myself for taking the first step towards giving up this one, though. Even if I felt a little sad watching Levi disappear into the elevator to let Natalia sign for his deliveries, my steps continuing further down the hall.
~13~
Gareth sent me a postcard, to my utter surprise. A view from somewhere on the East Coast, the message on the back telling me he was trying out my advice for his book signings, and it was helping immensely. No more uncomfortable questions about his books from his hoards of female fans, who were only too happy to talk about their own experiences when asked.
True, it wasn’t a romantic message, and he signed it as ‘Your Friend’— but I found the gesture strangely touching. I tucked it as a bookmark inside my paperback copy of Anne of Green Gables—a book Gareth would disapprove of, no doubt, since it was far away from the literary genre he loved. He was still so Darcy-ish at times, I could almost believe that using the self-help book had somehow inspired his interest in me. That impulsive little sarcastic remark when taking his order for tea, prompted by my 'inner Lizzie' — a voice that had been more successful than any other the book suggested.
At times, I even felt a little guilty, as if I had tricked Gareth into liking me through it. But I hadn’t been dishonest, really. Just insightful. The book had helped me understand him, and that couldn’t be such a bad thing. Could it?
These questions were enough to make my head hurt, so I found myself avoiding this debate whenever possible. There was plenty else to distract me, as it turned out.
My former classmate Connor had been checked into the Regent four days now, and we had barely exchanged a word since that moment in the lobby. I knew he was busy, based on the requests he sent to the customer service inbox. Mostly for theatre tickets and dinner reservations at popular restaurants. He must be working hard to woo those clients for the business merger. I had almost given up the idea of seeing him again, when he sent yet another message, this time asking for someone to pick up a tranquility fountain for his room.
I checked the time. It was 9 P.M. He might be expecting it tonight, then. Instead of sending one of the runners for it, I decided to handle this errand myself. I'd given up hope of running into him, really, yet I couldn't miss this chance. Even though I knew it would be disappointing if he answered the door all grumbling or sleepy — or simply took the fountain from me and closed it again without more than a 'thanks.'
Twenty minutes later found me outside Connor’s door, a box with a top-rated tranquility fountain in my arms. I knocked twice, announcing myself. The door opened a moment later to reveal Connor in a terry cloth bathrobe, his hair still damp from the shower.
“Jodi, hi.” His smile was one of surprise, his arm pulling the door open wider as he noticed the box I held. “Is that the fountain? I didn’t think anyone would bring one this late.”
“We see to our guests' needs twenty-four seven,” I told him, slightly taken aback at his fresh-from-the-shower appearance. I hoped I wasn't blushing, although the sight carried me back to college, watching him swim laps at the natatorium. Which I had been guilty of a few times, sadly.
He didn’t seem uncomfortable, though, clearing some papers off a nearby table for me to set the fountain on. “I know it must seem weird to request something like this,” he told me, with a sheepish grin. “I meant to pick it up myself, but today was crazy busy between a phone conference with my bosses and the rest of my business meetings. It just slipped my mind.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “And trust me, we’ve gotten much weirder requests than this.” I was thinking specifically of the guest who requested a life-sized cardboard cutout of Spider-Man be placed in her room for the duration of her visit. On impulse, I told him the story.
“That is weird,” Connor agreed, shaking his head. "She really asked for one?"
“Definitely. And we had another guest ask for their fried eggs to be arranged in a smiley face every morning. So this is pretty tame as far as customer requests go.”
“Man,” he said. “You could probably write a book from all the stuff you’ve seen. The secret world of a hotel clerk, or something like that."
Hotel concierge, I thought, but didn’t correct him. Instead, I grinned and said, “Maybe when I’m retired, right?”
I began unpacking the fountain from its box, while Connor went to get some water for it. When he didn’t reappear right away, I realized he must be getting dressed. Maybe I should go, I thought. I edged towards the door, softly, in response to the sound of a drawer slamming, then a sink faucet turning on.
“This will sound crazy,” he called out, “but I honestly can’t sleep as well without one of those fountains running. It’s like the signal for my body that it’s time to sleep.”
“I don’t think it’s crazy,” I said. I lingered halfway to the door, now that he was taking it for granted that I was still here. “Lots of people need some kind of ambiance to relax. My friend Stephanie listens to recordings of nature sounds if she can’t get to sleep sometimes.”
“What, like bird calls and insect noises?”
“Yeah, I think so. And weather sounds too. Thunder, rain...” I couldn’t think of any others off the top of my head, wishing I hadn’t brought it up. I probably sounded like a nervous rambler now. Not the impression I wanted to make on a guest, much less a former crush. I was just the nice hotel concierge bringing him fountains and taking away unwanted potted trees. We were past the 'I-can't-believe-it's-been-ten-years' kind of stories now.
I noticed the sound of music playing softly from a nearby speaker. Something classical and vaguely familiar. I hummed along, quieting my nerves. Or attempting to, anyway.
Connor stepped from the bathroom, a t-shirt and sweats replacing the terry cloth bathrobe. He made them look like something from a catalog shoot, combing fingers through his damp hair as he walked towards me. His other hand carried the container with water for the fountain. I tried not to notice how hard my heart was thumping. Definitely harder than for Gareth's attractive features, even at his most polite Mr. Darcy-ish stage.
"Here, let me help," I said. I fumbled to plug in the fountain, eager for any excuse to hide my face in case I was blushing again.
We got it running in no time, the soothing trickle of water filling the atmosphere. He turned off the classical music now. “I was going to use that as a substitute. The best of Schubert to lull me to sleep.”
“I thought I recognized it. I just went to a symphony that performed his music.”
“You like evening concerts?”
“I do,” I said. “I forgot how much until recently. I don’t take a lot of down time for nights on the town, so to speak. As my friends are so fond of reminding me.”
“You just described my life to a tee,” Connor told me. “If it weren’t for my yearly vacation, I’d be living at the firm. I’ve even spent a couple nights on my office sofa—don’t tell anyone,” he added, in a mock whisper.
I laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me. From one workaholic to another, I’ve been there.”
“Yeah? That makes me feel better.” He grinned again, revealing a set of flawless teeth. A little too flawless, perhaps, and sparkling white. Clearly, Connor had some dental work done between college and now. But I couldn’t help smiling back every time I saw them. Just like in the past, whenever we crossed paths on campus.
Connor asked if I still kept up with any of our former classmates. “Other than posting on the social alumni webpage every few months?” I said. “Not really, no.”
“Me either,” he said. “Except for Brad Larson—he’s in the building industr
y now. Really successful executive for a company over in Baltimore.”
“Wow,” I said. “Good for Brad.” He had been one of Connor’s buddies on the basketball team, I remembered. A bit of a slacker and jerk if memory served correct, but maybe he’d grown out of that behavior now that he was in the real world. Connor didn’t say anything else about him, just that he’d seen him on a business trip once and kept up with him through social media afterward.
I had been standing here too long I knew. Finding excuses to linger, when really, I should be at the desk again. That wasn’t like me, neglecting my duties for the sake of personal curiosity. The girls would be proud.
I wasn’t, however. I had been away from the desk for too long, especially since Connor didn't need my help any longer. Searching for a way to excuse myself, I asked him, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Hmmm, let me think.” He considered the question. “Maybe send up a framed poster of my favorite celebrity? Just kidding. Though I’d be happy to let you write about it in your exposé on weird stuff that happens at hotels.”
Laughing, I told him, “That’s nice, but I think I have plenty of material all ready.”
“There is one thing you could do for me,” Connor said. He had followed me to the door, his hand resting against its frame as I stood in the hall. “You could help me relive some memories while I’m back in town. Maybe head over to Braxton and the old college haunts. We could have lunch at Poe’s,” he added, naming the diner most of us had gone to for study meets back in the day.
“Wow,” I said, softly. “I haven’t been to that part of town in ages.” Mostly because I had no reason to go there, but maybe reminiscing could be fun. And with Connor at my side, there were added attractions to revisiting the past.
“So can I call you when I’m ready to head over there?” he asked. "Spend some time together while I'm in town?" Grinning again to make me feel like I had been sucked completely into the past, a wobbly-kneed college girl gazing at the star athlete.
“Sure,” I said, my breath catching a little. Connor Mills wanted to spend time with me? Boring, ordinary me? Somehow, this was even harder to believe than a handsome author wanting to consult me about his latest romantic novel over coffee. Maybe because my connection with Connor had been so fleeting and mostly one-sided during our four years of friendship. We hadn’t even shared that many classes, when I thought about it.
He must be doing this out of sheer niceness—or because he didn’t know anyone else in the city these days. That had to be it. Yet I couldn’t help the smile on my lips as I pushed the button for the lobby in the elevator.
~14~
“I really appreciate this, Gareth. My friend is a big fan and she’s been pestering me to have you sign it for her.”
Gareth took the hardback novel I held out to him. “What is your friend’s name?”
“Kristen. She works at Book Bound over on Parkway Avenue. She told me you did a signing there once.”
“I do so many of those,” he began, an apology in his voice, as if I was about to demand he remember the exact event.
I smiled. “It’s all right. I don’t expect you to remember the signing—or her, for that matter. She just mentioned it when I told her I knew you.”
“I see.” His pen swept across the book’s title page, spelling out ‘To Kristen’ in that messy, cramped style that autographed signatures always seem to have. Handing it back to me, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t feel like dinning out tonight.”
We were sitting in Gareth’s apartment, his airplane trip back from the coast leaving him jet lagged. He had ordered sandwiches from a nearby deli and asked if I wanted to join him. I was surprised—and a little flattered—he wanted to see me so soon after returning. His reserved nature made it hard to tell what he was thinking sometimes. Did he want to date me? Or just be friends who met for coffee and conversation? For that matter, what did I want our relationship to be?
Maybe this visit would help answer some of those questions.
“The sandwiches were fine,” I told him. “And I know you must be tired after so much travel. How was your trip, by the way?”
“It was a business trip,” he said, with a shrug. “Nothing more to say, really.”
“You were out there for more than a week,” I said. “Five different states, right? Surely you have something to say about it.”
“I didn’t know anyone there,” he answered, as if that explained it. I would have been out taking pictures and visiting local landmarks in my spare time. But then, Gareth had a very different personality from me. Introverted and quiet, whereas my bolder spirit was necessary for the work I did at the hotel.
“Can I make you some coffee?” Gareth stepped towards the kitchen, its folding door open to the living room. His apartment was somewhat casual, with floor-to-ceiling book shelves built around the fire place mantel and an antique globe propped in the corner. A newspaper had been discarded beside the wing-backed chair, a pile of unsorted mail on the rug in front of the door. Exactly the kind of place I'd pictured him living in.
“Coffee sounds good,” I answered. “With sugar and creamer, please.” I hesitated, a playful smile curling my lips. “You should write it down, probably. So there’s no mistakes.”
His laugh echoed from the next room. “I deserved that, didn’t I? Being put in my place. You were right to scold me that day.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice,” I replied. “My boss had warned me you were difficult, but I had no idea what she meant.”
“I suppose I can be difficult,” he said. “But not impossible, I hope.”
“No,” I agreed. “Not quite.”
He didn’t say anything in return, the sound of coffee preparations reaching my ears. My attention wandered over his book shelves. Most of the bindings were made of expensive leather. Gilded lettering spelled out the titles and author names. I was still looking at them when Gareth reappeared, a coffee mug in each hand.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the one he handed me. “Are these collectible?” I asked, nodding towards the rows of books.
“Some of them are. Others are too new to have any real value on the market.”
They had been alphabetized and divided by genre as well. There were several of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, a few Charles Dickens and some Edgar Allan Poe. No Jane Austen, I noticed, and no Byron either—something I noted with relief.
There was a whole shelf devoted to foreign editions, with titles in French and other languages I couldn’t identify. “I used to work as a foreign to English translator,” he explained, seeing my surprise. “Before I was a writer, I was part of the staff for a small publisher of academic materials.”
“How interesting. What language did you translate?”
“French. Italian and Russian as well.”
“Ah.” My foreign language education consisted of Spanish high school classes. I sipped my coffee, tasting a hazelnut flavor. “Do you mostly collect your favorite books?” I asked.
“For the most part. I go to book fairs ever so often. There’s one in town next month if you wanted to go with me.”
A book fair. I wasn’t sure about that. Antique books had their charms, but already I was losing interest in the collection in front of me. Imagining a whole day spent traipsing through a maze of old books made me wonder if I would get bored quickly. “I might be interested,” I told him, keeping my answer vague for now.
“I’ll let you know when it is,” he said.
We chatted a little longer, Gareth telling me his manuscript was almost half-written now. That was how he filled his nights while traveling, apparently: working on the next bestseller in his hotel room. I thought it sounded dull compared to sightseeing, but he seemed pleased with his progress.
By the time our coffee ran out, so had our conversation. He walked me outside, his hand on my arm as we paused beneath the doorway. “It was good to see you, Jodi. I…missed our conversations.” His smile was almos
t shy for this confession.
“I missed them too,” I said. “Even the arguments.” With a little smile for our on-going debate about the merits of happy endings. Gareth still planned to avoid writing one, as far as I knew. Perhaps that was a sign—or was I reading too deeply into things again?
“I’ll see you next Thursday?” I asked him. Our coffee meetings were the same time every week, unless something came up for one of us.
“Thursday,” he agreed. “I’ll let you know about the book fair.”
“All right.”
His hand squeezed my arm in a parting gesture. He went back inside, and I drove away, thinking how going to the book fair with Gareth might feel a lot like going shopping with my friend Stephanie — the kind of smile-and-bear-it afternoon you endure for a friend and not the possible love of your life.
~15~
Book fairs might not hold much excitement for me, but a day visiting my old college hangouts was much more fun than I expected. Connor had called me Saturday morning to see if I was free to meet at the old part of town that housed our alma mater. Even though he’d mentioned it before, I was surprised he actually wanted to go through with it. For some reason, I had assumed he was just making small talk that night in his room.
“You look great,” he told me, as soon as I stepped from my car. I had gone with a white eyelet dress and matching white cardigan, my high-heeled sandals a little impractical for the tour of Braxton’s historical district. I wanted to show off a softer side than my workplace uniform, though, and Connor’s smile told me I had succeeded.
“I’m glad you suggested coming here,” I told him. “I was kind of surprised you had time for it. You seem really busy with that merger deal.”
“Yeah, and it’s just getting started,” he said. “I’ll be wining and dining these guys for another three, four weeks at the least. I’m just glad they have good taste in restaurants.”
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