“I love this flower,” I said. “And every time I see it, since you’ve come here, I think of you. It’s so vibrant. All these other flowers bloom near it, but it stands out from the rest.” I paused. “Just like you.” I was looking down at my feet, but glanced up, bravely, to catch a swirl of emotions on Lucia’s face.
She took it from me, fingers brushing mine. “Thank you. So much. It’s beautiful. I have these growing in my yard, back home. Hummingbirds love them,” she said, tracing the frail petals. She reached up, weaving it into the mass of hair on top of her head. “How does it look?” she asked, striking a quick pose.
“Perfect,” I said. “And, uh, sorry I’m so overdressed.” She looked trendy and cool, like we were going to a coffee shop. I was wearing a dark gray suit. Like I was going to a funeral. “I haven’t been on a date in a little while. Kind of forgot the rules.”
She shook her head, pressing her fingers against my lips and stepping closer. “You look incredibly handsome.” And then she did a quick walk around me, hand in her chin. “Actually, Cal…I think the word People Magazine would use is hot.”
I laughed, hands in my pockets. “Right,” I said sarcastically, but appreciated it. I’d taken my glasses off for the evening, shaved away the stubble. Tried my hardest to look like the kind of man who might be attractive enough to take a woman like Lucia Bell on a date.
“Shall we?” I asked, holding out my arm. She linked hers through it. “Also, where are we going?”
She laughed. “It’s a surprise, Cal. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.” She fished her hands in my pocket, fingers just grazing my cock. And then pulled out my keys.
“And I’m driving,” she said, as we started our way through the trail back through the woods, linking her hand through mine. It was an amazing night—stars silvery in the black sky. Oddly warm, everything feeling clean after the torrential downpour of the last week. Lucia nimbly stepped over logs and rocks.
“Look at you. You’ve got this trail memorized now,” I said, impressed.
She looked back at me, smiling. “I’ve walked it enough. I love it. It’s like walking through a secret tunnel to two wonderful things. On the one end, a beautiful ocean. On the other, all the books you could ever want.”
I squeezed her fingers, agreeing.
“So when was the last time you went on a date?” she asked.
I thought back. “Honestly, probably almost four years ago. Claire and I only broke up about six months before my grandfather died and we were together for three years.”
“Serious, then?”
“Ye-es,” I hedged. “We did live together, but only because it seemed like the right thing to do. The next step. Claire and I weren’t a good match. I think I checked off all the boxes for her: nice, a good job, a car, no criminal background. And I’d never had a long-term relationship before, so all the classic warning signs that it was time to break up flew right past me.”
“She dumped you? Or—”
“She broke up with me, yeah. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t pretty much amicable, but Claire was like that. See a problem, solve it. And I was a problem. We weren’t compatible really, except that we lived in the same city, both worked in the tech industry.” I shrugged. “She didn’t like the things I liked and wasn’t willing to give them a try.”
“I’m guessing no Star Wars conventions?” she asked, but seriously. Not teasing.
“No, uh, nope. She was always begging me to not bring those things up when we had dinner with friends or at parties. But in all my years as a total nerd, there’s one thing I know—most people are nerds. Your nerd interests might not be the same, but I just like meeting other people who are as insanely passionate about, I don’t know, forks, as I am about science fiction. Or gaming. Or Star Wars conventions, yeah. Claire was the opposite of passion. She liked things appropriate, always in forward motion.” We both stepped under a low-hanging branch. “I started to be like that too a little bit, and my grandfather totally called me on it.” The time we’d visited, our long walk in the woods.
“He was disappointed?”
I laughed at the memory. “My grandfather was always really honest. Never blunt, or hurtful. But he’d tell you what he was thinking. And yeah—Claire and I came up here, about a year before he died. He pushed me, on how I was living. We walked right through here,” I said, smiling, “and he asked me if I was living the life I wanted.”
“What’d you say?”
“Yes, and meant it. I did at the time. It’s not always obvious it’s time to make a change, and my life was in no way terrible.” I corrected myself, since I’d be going back to that soon. “I mean, my life is great. Good job, good apartment, good friends.” I trailed off, lost in thought.
Lucia nudged me with her shoulder. “Why do you sound so unsure right now?”
“Do I?”
“You do,” she said, turning those blue eyes towards me and temporarily leaving me speechless. “You sound really unsure.”
“Let’s not—let’s not talk about the future, okay?” I pulled her toward me, pressing my lips against her temple.
She nodded and I felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “I’d like that. Now get back to telling me about your dates. Also, you should know I was always more of a Luke Skywalker girl myself. Han Solo had too much ego,” she said wrinkling her nose.
I laughed. “Well, that’s good, since I never had his charm anyway. The last dates I went on before I met Claire were all blind dates. And they all stood me up.”
Lucia looked shocked, but I just arched an eyebrow. “I’m the kind of ‘nice guy’ older women are always trying to set their daughters up with. They almost always stand me up.”
“I’ll murder those bitches for you,” Lucia said and I laughed again. Couldn’t stop laughing.
“It’s not necessary, although thank you for the offer. It’s much appreciated. Other dates…I don’t know. I didn’t have a ton. I’m too shy to talk to women in a bar; too nervous at parties. I get in my head about all the ways I might mess up, say the wrong thing. And then some handsome doctor with tons of swagger comes along and I’m toast. I actually always wanted to meet a nice girl in a bookstore.”
“Yeah?” Lucia said, smiling. We were near my car and she was twirling my keys around her index finger. She planted a kiss right on my lips. “Well, I can’t say I’m a nice girl, but you did give me the three best orgasms of my life in a bookstore.”
“That’s right,” I said, growing hard at the memory. The image of Lucia coming around my cock would stay with me for the rest of my life. “A lot of my dreams seem to be coming true this birthday.”
I slid into the passenger seat, eyes gliding over Lucia’s lithe body as she slid behind the wheel. Turned on the car, revved the engine like a racecar driver.
“Oh, Calvin. And the night hasn’t even started yet,” she purred, turning towards me. Leaning across the seat to trace her lips along my ear. Her hand drifted down my front to grip my cock. I hissed in a breath. “Did I ever tell you I fucking love a man in a suit?”
“N-no,” I stuttered. She stroked the length of me with a hum of appreciation.
“Well, I do. I was ready to fuck you from the moment I opened the door.”
She kissed down my neck, lazily stroking. I knew she wasn’t going to let me come, but I was enjoying the swell of sensations, the confidence boost her whispered admission was giving me. “And you should be making a list of things you’ll be doing to me later.”
Another stroke.
“Sir.”
◊
“You’re taking me to Gabe’s bar, right?” I guessed.
“Shhh,” she squealed. You’ll ruin the surprise.”
I laughed. “Lu, there’s like one road in this entire town.”
“Maybe we’re going off-roading,” she said.
“Right.”
“Maybe I’m driving us all the way to Mexico. It is your 30th birthday, after all. Aren’t you excited?” she a
sked, eyes on the road.
“I am now,” I said, settling back in the seat. “I’m not sure how I let this sneak up on me, but I’ve been kind of wrapped up in other things. Decisions.” Falling for you. “Running the store, that kind of thing. But if there was any person I’d want to celebrate 30 years on this earth with,” I said, nervously clearing my throat, “it’d be you, Lucia.”
She smiled at me, biting her lip. “Thank you for letting me plan it. Quick question: you do appreciate clowns?”
“Oh, always.”
“Great. And are you ‘pro’ or ‘con’ circuses?”
“Pro, of course.”
“Fabulous. And you have always wanted to skydive, correct?” she asked.
“Actually, I’ve always wanted to skydive with a bunch of clowns into a circus tent,” I replied.
“Well, hot damn, Calvin Ellis! Looks like I planned your perfect birthday.”
I’d never seen her in such a good mood. And I felt like jumping out of the car and doing cartwheels down the highway, because I was the source of that goodness.
“If Pablo Neruda wrote a poem about this night, what would he say?” I asked, remembering the moment everything changed between us.
“It would definitely be about sex, but this is nice timing, since a lot of his poetry is about sex but also food. And we’re about to go have your birthday dinner so,” she said, pulling into a space at Gabe’s bar. There was no one else there. She undid her seat belt, turning to look at me.
“He would use words like languorous,” she said, fingers at her lips. “And he would describe the night as…” tap tap went her fingers, “heavy with scent…the moon a smooth fruit.”
“Stars like a dash of salt on a dark cloth,” I said and her eyes widened.
“I love that, Cal. See? You inherited a bit of your grandfather’s romanticism. Don’t you think?” She was digging around for something —a notebook.
“Pen?” she asked, already flipping through pages.
I produced one from my pocket, handing it to her. She sat, scribbling and I was content to watch, fully in the moment. The silence stretched out, but not awkwardly, and after a minute she pressed the journal into my hand.
“It’s a first draft and I just wrote it, now, in like, 45 seconds, but what do you think?”
Our night was heavy with scent;
weighted, like gold scooped from the earth
The moon, a smooth fruit
Untouched, stars scattered like salt against
Your favorite black tablecloth
And isn’t it sweet?
This golden night
This starry sky
Our hearts, tender as peonies
Languid with sunlight.
I swallowed against a rising tide of emotions. “Lucia…it’s beautiful.”
“You’re co-author on this one,” she said, teasing, but I shook my head.
“You’re an amazing writer. Please never stop,” I said, kissing the inside of her wrist. I could feel her pulse against my lips, beating rapidly.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll make a copy of it for you. It can be your birthday present.”
I nodded. “I’d like that.” Another long, heavy silence.
And then Lucia grinned and said, “Let’s fucking eat.”
◊
“Man of the hour,” Gabe said, opening the door and bringing us inside. The bar was dim and quiet. “And I’m pissed you didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”
I shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
Lucia cocked her thumb my way. “He’s been saying that all night.”
“Your 30th birthday,” Gabe said, shaking his head like he was ashamed of me. “Good thing Lucia had the sense to call me.”
Lucia was watching Gabe move around the bar, grabbing keys, picking up a few glasses. She had a secret smile on her face. “Thank you for this, Gabe.” She coughed, nudging me. “Josie said you’d be the perfect person to help.” She winked, waggled her eyebrows.
“What?” I asked, looking around. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No,” Gabe said, laughing his big, booming laugh. “Lucia is trying to tell you, not-so-subtly, that Josie and I had sex again. Like a lot,” he said, indicating we should follow him.
“What?” I asked, throwing my hands in the air. “I thought it was just going to be one night.”
“Nope,” Lucia said, sighing with happiness. “It’s been every night.”
“Why am I the last person to find out about this?”
“Because, dear Calvin, you have been otherwise distracted,” Gabe said with a huge grin, opening the door to his kitchen. He’d strung up a few lights, put out a tiny table with a white table-cloth. Tilted his head at the row of cooking equipment and handed Lucia two beers.
“It’s all yours,” he said, and she squeezed his arm.
“Thank you. I promise we won’t have sex here,” she said and he laughed, giving me a slap on the back that almost knocked me over.
“Good luck with this one,” Gabe whispered, with a look that said you’re a goner. Which I was, through and through.
Lucia shuffled me forward into a seat and poured me a beer.
“What is this? What’s happening?”
“I, Lucia Bell, am cooking you dinner. A birthday dinner.” She glanced at the wall clock hanging over the oven. “But a fast one because we have someplace to be.”
“Where’s that?”
“Secret, Cal. And would you like to know the number of dates I’ve cooked for in my life?” She had tied a jaunty little apron around her waist, pulling things from the refrigerator.
“Fifteen.”
“It’s zero. Question,” she said, turning around with a spatula in her hand. “And this will actually determine a lot for me. Do you like grilled cheese?”
“I do, actually.”
She grinned. “Good, because that’s the only thing I know how to make. And the only thing we’re eating tonight.”
From the front of the bar, we heard Gabe yell, “Check in the drawer next to the fridge!”
Lucia looked slightly startled, but complied, pulling open a drawer and throwing her head back in laughter. “I’m going to guess Josie called him,” she semi-whispered, and not a moment later Gabe yelled, “Josie called me. Said she didn’t want Calvin to starve to death.”
I laughed too, reaching forward to grab chips, pretzels and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“Okay, I just want to say I don’t think you would have starved to death,” she said, reaching forward and cheekily popping a pretzel into her mouth. “But it’s appreciated.”
I leaned back, sipping beer, and watched Lucia start cooking.
“You don’t like cooking?” I asked.
She snorted. “I loathe it. Never been my thing. When I’m at home, which is rarely, I either make myself grilled cheese. Or cereal.”
“Is it because of work that you’re never home?”
“Yes,” she said, tearing off a piece of cheese and munching on it. “When I was younger and modeling was so new, I loved that part. Wake up in a different city every week, the adrenaline rush of paparazzi waiting for you in airports. Learning you have fans in other countries. Feeling so damn lucky I got paid to see the world. I’ve tried so hard to never take that for granted. But…” she trailed off.
“You can still feel lucky and no longer love what you do,” I said. “It’s complicated but possible.”
She dunked the bread into a small bowl of butter, looking sideways at me. “Yeah…yeah I get that now. Sometimes I’ll be standing in the middle of…I don’t know…Rome and wish I was back in my LA apartment. In my home. And then feel terrible that I wish that. But I do, if I’m being honest. You do get tired of eating on the road all the time, surrounded by strangers, sleeping in hotel beds.”
“Watching you all these past two weeks has helped me learn a lot. About what you do, how hard it is.”
The first grilled cheese h
it the pan with a sizzle. She shrugged, a piece of hair slipping from her bun. “It’s my job. I do it very well. But I do think people assume it’s just glitz and glamor. Not standing in nine-inch heels in a wind tunnel while you balance two lion cubs in your arms for six straight hours…” Lucia winked at me. “Which I’ve done by the way.”
“Of course you have,” I cracked, the scent of sizzling butter making me hungry.
“And my parents freaking love it. We’re a perfect Hollywood family. We even get to show up to film premieres together.”
I sensed a bitterness there I wanted to explore more. But later, maybe later. “Can you tell me what it’s like?”
“What?”
“The…shit, Lucia you’re famous. You’re a celebrity. I knew who you were before you came here.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s weird, right? I forget that sometimes. I’ve only ever dated or had friends who are in the ‘business.’”
“Weird and surreal,” I said honestly. “Everything you do, every decision you make, everywhere you go…people see it. Have feelings about it. Have an opinion on it.”
“I’m not that famous. I’m not a movie star,” she said, flipping the grilled cheese. “There are some supermodels with twice the online following that I have.”
I laughed. “Yeah, but, we’re still talking about millions of people here, right?”
“Yeah,” she said shyly. “That’s the weird thing about fame, Cal. I mean, if you woke up and had millions of followers on Instagram, what would you do?”
“Get their help to keep the bookstore open,” I said, utterly surprising myself with my answer. Lucia turned, cheese dripping from the spatula.
“We’re going to come back to that,” she said, pointing with the spatula, and some of it splattered me. I laughed, trying to pick cheese off my dark suit.
“Maybe,” I said, trying to dodge her narrowed eyes. We’d said no talking about the future, and yet I’d just let it dangle out there awkwardly. “So, okay,” I said, quickly getting back on track, “the point of your question is…what would you do if you had millions of followers on Instagram?”
Bohemian Page 24
