by Brisa Starr
Oh well, he pissed me off anyway, and I’m not sure I can trust somebody who’s first instinct is to lie – to his Auntie, no less – just to avoid trouble, even if the trouble was mine. So, what do I care if I said something that spooked him?
I don’t. I don’t care one bit.
Mmm… but, oh my god... that kiss.
The sweltering hot days pass slowly out here, but I’m staying busy. I go about my routine, taking care of the animals and teaching classes, but there’s a weird, unsatisfied feeling in my gut. An emptiness. It’s like I’m lonely, but he’s so close, and yet so far. Or maybe it’s like being an addict and having my vice right in the next room. I crave another hit, even just a small one, but I dare not.
I sigh, and try to think about other things. The chickens. Those goddamn chickens. My least favorite chore is taking care of the chickens, though I do love those fresh eggs. It’s damn hot out there in that coop, like Seventh Plane of Hell-hot. And cleaning the chicken poop sucks, and it’s dusty as hell. And then there’s the bees! There are hundreds of them because they’re attracted to the ice water. It’s a wonder they haven’t stung me yet.
I’ve settled into the early morning routine though, the opposite of my sexy-as-sin neighbor’s schedule. When I wake up every morning before dawn, I look out the window, and his light is always still on. But by the time I have my coffee, feed the chickens, and take the dogs for their walk, his light is off, and he’s gone to sleep. He’s completely nocturnal, like most of the other creatures of the desert.
He works through the night on his music. And, even though it’s warm outside, I keep my window open at night, hoping to catch notes carried on the breeze from his casita. It helps me sleep.
I love listening to his music… it’s pure magic. Every chance I get, I relax to its gray and black tones, suddenly hit with an occasional optimistic spark of light, but that’s ever so fleeting. It reminds me of our kiss, filled with the same dark soulfulness but also coursing with light and hope. It awakened something in me that I had put to rest three years ago.
But alas, I’m not available. My heart is not on the market. My fairy-tale dreams withered and died a long time ago. Dammit. I’m confused, and frustrated. And horny as a goat.
And? I really miss talking with him.
There’s still so much more I want to learn about him. He still says so little and intrigues the hell out of me. And when he does speak, everything he says only conjures more questions.
I spy on him every chance I get. Every day, when the sun beats down at its hottest, he’s out there doing his superhuman, masochistic exercises. I get hot and sweaty sitting in the air-conditioning just watching him.
I want so badly to touch his rock-hard body again. I’ve barely had a taste, and it leaves me begging for more. I want to run my fingers through his black hair and feel his strong hands grip my waist.
I want him to explore my body.
I want to touch his mysterious places.
What am I going to do?
I stop daydreaming and sit up from my lazy lying on the bed. I have a girlfriend date with Sammy today, and that makes me smile. We’re meeting at the local coffee shop on her break from work. I beam as I stand up to get dressed. I’m excited to see her because I feel like I haven’t spoken with anyone in days, other than my students, and Instagram is not scratching my itch for social interaction – not that it ever does.
I normally don’t mind isolation; in fact, I crave it. But for some reason, I feel too lonely out here. I put on a pair of peach shorts and a white tank top with blue flowers. I run my fingers through my hair to finger style it, a perk of having shorter hair. After adding a little bit of makeup, I give the dogs fresh ice water and walk out to my car.
He’s outside. I smile.
“Hey,” I say to him and nod.
“Hey,” he replies, and warmth surges through me.
I find it interesting that so few words seem to express so much between the two of us. We eye each other for a moment, communicating something, I don’t know what, and I finally look away to cool the heat pooling between my legs.
“Where are you headed?” he asks and grabs a towel to wipe the alluring sweat from his forehead and chest.
“I’m meeting Sammy for coffee, and then I’m going to check out that crystal shop in town.” I turn toward my car.
“Which one?” he asks, and when he sees my confusion, he adds, “There are three.”
“Oh, I was thinking about that big one with all the giant, gorilla-sized geodes out front.”
“That’s the best one. Looking for anything in particular?”
I open the car door and stand next to it. “I love all of your Auntie’s crystals, so I thought it’d be cool to buy a couple of small ones as souvenirs.”
“You better keep them extra small,” he says and nods toward my car, which is still packed to the gills. “I don’t think you have any room for more in there.”
Smart ass. “Thanks, but I didn’t ask for your advice.”
He laughs and turns to walk off. “See ya.”
I watch him leave, admiring that giant spider tattoo on his back. I want to trace it with my tongue. I stand there in the sun too long, and perspiration beads in my cleavage. Enough accumulates, and a drip runs a stream down my torso like hot honey. I’m sure it’s just the heat. Has nothing to do with him.
I park my car and head into the coffee shop. Sammy is waiting there for me, and she stands up and gives me a big bear hug. It’s so good to see her, and my face breaks into a huge grin. The coffee shop is decked out in black and white IKEA furniture. The walls are green and white with matching pillows on the chairs. It’s small and looks like a friendly place to work on a laptop if I want a change of scenery. Off the side wall, by the counter, are five comfy-looking, old leather chairs, seemingly out of place, and it looks like that’s where the locals hang.
“I didn’t see your truck outside,” I say as she releases me from the hug.
“Oh, honey, I just walk.” She’s wearing Levi’s blue jeans, and a white T-shirt with a wavy American flag stretched tightly across her chest.
“Ha, right, duh. So how are you doing?” I ask and look at the whiteboard menu above the counter, deciding what to order.
“I’m doing great. The question is, how are you?”
The tall, lanky guy behind the counter approaches us and asks in a thick accent, “What would you like to drink?” He has frizzy blond hair that looks scratchy like steel wool, yet puffy, like yellow cotton candy.
Curious, I ask him, “Where are you from?”
“Austria! I’m Jürgen, and that’s my mom back there, Greta,” he says as he tilts his head to the back of the café. A sturdy-looking, blond, older woman wearing an apron waves her hand to me. “My mom and I own this coffee shop. You must be Jenna’s house-sitter.”
Does everyone know who I am?
Sammy chimes in, “And they make the best cappuccino.” She winks at me and adds, “If you’re lucky, you get fancy artwork in the foam.”
“Well, then that decides it for me,” I say. “One cappuccino, please.”
I take a seat at a corner table and look around the shop. A dozen or so people are sitting around, having coffee and talking, or looking at their phones. They all appear to be locals. At least, I assume so from their non-touristy attire and their conversation... his car needs a new transmission, she’s switching nail salons, and so on. They all seem to know each other, occasionally interjecting themselves into conversations several tables away.
A bit of sadness whispers to my heart as I listen to the locals talk and watch how Sammy mingles with them. A sense of community is not something I have in my life. I mean, I have my best friend Billy, but I don’t talk to my parents much anymore, and my vagabond lifestyle doesn’t make for long-lasting relationships. That’s how I designed it. How I wanted it, I remind myself.
Still, a tinge of longing hits me as I admire the connection these people have in their li
ttle coffee shop run by mom-and-son, Austrian immigrants.
Jürgen delivers my cappuccino to me, and I gasp, grabbing my phone to snap a picture. “I have to share this on Instagram,” I exclaim and tell him, “Thank you!” He smiles and nods appreciatively.
In the foam is a treat, indeed. Jürgen has swirled the browns and white of the coffee and milk foam into an amazing scorpion design.
I hesitate to take a sip, wanting to admire the foam art a bit longer, and I wonder how I can have already been in Carefree for two weeks without having come here yet. That’s going to change – this is my new coffee place.
“Don’t be surprised if you see me here every day,” I tell Jürgen as he heads back to the cash register to help his next customer. A realization hits me... it’s not just the Van Gogh-level foam that’ll draw me back. It’ll be the longing for connection. A sort of grounding. I like it, and I realize it’s been missing from my life.
It’s kind of an a-ha moment, but I don’t have time to ponder it further because Sammy saunters back to our table and plops down in the chair across from me. She hollers to Jürgen, “I’ll take a mint iced tea, sweetie!”
She leans forward on her elbows and looks directly into my eyes and says, “I told you before, ‘no horseshit,’ so what’s going on with you? Your usual bubbly self seems all flat and droopy today.”
Is it that obvious?
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I respond. “I mean… I don’t think it’s anything.”
I can tell she sees right through me, and she isn’t going to let me off the hook unless I tell her the truth, which is all I ever want to say, anyway. “I don’t know… I have this life living on the road, and I love it, but I sometimes wonder if I’m missing out on other things.”
“By ‘things,’ do you mean people? Or one, sexy, hot person in particular?” And a smile slowly curves upward on her lips, and she shimmies her shoulders.
I look away, and she reaches across the table, gently turning my face back toward her with her index finger.
“I dunno,” I say. “I love the adventure in my life, and I love the new places I get to see, but there’s something about this small town that clicks with me. Crazy as the damn heat gets, it’s cool, too,” I smirk.
“Mm hmmm. How’s Adron? I might as well just ask you directly, seein’ as you keep bouncing around the subject like a cat on asphalt in August.”
I chuckle. “He’s OK.”
She’s exasperated with me by now. “Arggh! Alyson, what do you mean ‘OK?’ I saw the way he looked at you in the bar, and I saw the way he obsessed about you on that boat. When you guys took off, and he had you by the hand, I didn’t think he was ever gonna let you go.”
A grim laugh of denial escapes my throat, and she continues, “Listen, Alyson, I ain’t no matchmaker, but I know passion when I see it. I see the longing in your eyes, and I see the obsession in his. And I have to tell you, I’ve never seen that in him. Never.”
I sigh heavily and look out the window again.
She clears her throat, bringing my attention back to her. I finally take a sip of my cappuccino, hating to destroy the art floating on top.
“Lemme tell ya, I’ve never seen him look at other girls the way I see him look at you.”
A warm tingle bubbles in my chest. “Well, he kissed me,” I admit.
She throws her hands up. “Well, Jesus Honeysuckle Christ! Hot damn, girl! I TOLD you. I can’t believe you’re just telling me this now. Was it good?” She shakes her head and continues, “No. Don’t answer that. I know it had to be.”
I sigh. “It was the best kiss I’ve ever had,” I whisper, afraid that Sammy’s outburst has the locals’ ears tuned like antennas toward our table now. Not wanting to start any rumors – or be the subject of any – I tilt my head down and look at Sammy, saying in an even softer whisper, “The very best.”
I smile, and she blushes for me. And then a loud “Yeehaw,” escapes her lips. “I knew it. I friggin’ knew it.”
But I stop there, and my face goes cold. Alarmed, she leans in, “What happened?”
I tell her how I offered him more, giving him a chance for something with no strings attached, and he turned me down. And then the story about Yvon, and how Adron offered to take the blame.
She sits back in her chair, crosses her arms over her chest, and squints at me. “I fail to see the problem.”
“He wanted to take the blame for the dog being lost, which would’ve been a lie. I don’t lie. And I don’t tolerate it in others.”
“Well, the way it sounds to me, it was nobody’s fault, and you’re mad that he was gonna say it was his fault – when it wasn’t – instead of letting you say it was your fault – when it wasn’t. Did you fall and hit your head, girl? Cuz you’re not thinkin’ straight. And what the hell? My god, maybe he wants more than just a fling! Seems to me, you felt rejected and took it out on him.”
Oh wow. I never even considered that my possible over-reaction to his maybe “lie” might have just been me being spiteful because he turned down my offer for casual sex. I hate to admit it, but Sammy might be on to something.
“Alyson, I still don’t understand the problem. Have you lost your marbles? Don’t you realize, he was trying to protect you? And that’s THE most valuable thing any man can offer to a woman. He’s like a sexy, black knight in shining armor wanting to help you, kissing you like you dream about being kissed, might want something more than a fling, and you’re pissed about it? You’ve got your wires crisscrossed, honey.”
“God, I don’t know!” I moan and stretch my legs out under the table, clenching them.
“I mean, look at it this way, he was being like your co-pilot. You know, Bonnie and Clyde shit, your shipmate, and all that. It’s romantic is what it is.” She fans her face dramatically like a damsel.
I laugh at her, and I can almost feel my crusty heart let in a little bit of light.
Sammy’s wisdom is hitting me like a bucket of cold water, waking me up from my idiotic trance. But I feel the need to explain to her where I’m coming from; I don’t want her to think I’m completely bat-shit crazy.
So, I share my history about my parents, and why I was perhaps more upset than most people would be at the thought of someone lying to cover for me. But she has a point. Well, a couple, actually. She’s like a wise ol’ woman, without the ol’ part. Whatever man ends up landing her will be one lucky son of a bitch.
And, having talked about it all, it feels good to get things out in the open.
She sees the shaky hesitation in my eyes and says, “Look, Alyson, I appreciate the pain of your parents’ lies, but you can’t go around assuming the worst of every person. That’s not how life is. Besides, some people do make mistakes. Don’t even try to tell me you’re perfect, cuz I know ya ain’t.” She wags her finger at me.
“Well, it’s keeping me safe for now,” I defend. “I like the nice, little wall I’ve built around my heart. It serves me just fine,” I say, more belligerently than I intended.
She doesn’t care and just flicks her wrist across the table, dismissing my sob story. “Adron is a really good guy. He’s dark, yes, and he’s mysterious, so I’m not saying I know everything about him, but he comes from a good family, at least the side where Jenna is concerned – and she’s as good as they come. And Adron is generous. There was a fire a few years ago that destroyed the town library. That guy donated a hundred thousand dollars to rebuild it. He did it anonymously, but it’s a small town, and word got out it was him. Now, you can’t be that bad when you do shit like that.”
I’m shocked by this new information about Adron. I don’t even know how to process it. Between that and Sammy’s thoughts on the events and my parents… well, hell, I admit I feel a bit lighter. I guess I’d been a little depressed without realizing it.
I peer into my empty cappuccino cup – I have so much to think about. Sammy stretches, takes a swig of her iced tea, and leans back in her chair. “Well, I best get back to wor
k. Those steaks ain’t gonna cut themselves. Oh, and I’ll have another package of steaks ready for Adron if you want to stop by to pick them up for him.” She gives me a look that suggests I do just that.
“That’s a good idea. I’m gonna check out the crystal shop first, so I’ll swing by in an hour or so.”
We take our cups to the counter and pay. Jürgen and Greta say goodbye, and I tell them they’ll see me again tomorrow.
Sammy and I step out of the air-conditioned coffee shop and into the sweltering heat, and my hair instantly goes flat. “How do you live out here in this heat?” I ask as Sammy walks across the parking lot toward her butcher shop.
“You get used to it. Sorta,” she says over her shoulder. “See ya later, girl.”
I get in my car and immediately blast the air-conditioning, even though I’ll only be driving half a mile down the road. As I’m driving, I see people on horseback traveling on a gravel path that parallels the main road that goes through town. I smile and get a kick out of that. It’s like the Old West here. Every other person wears a cowboy hat, and I wonder how one would look on me. And I realize I probably, definitely, don’t have room in my car for a cowgirl hat. Or the cowgirl boots I said I’d buy.
I pull into the crystal shop and I squeeze my steering wheel a bit harder, excited to pick something out as a souvenir. I enter the shop and peruse the aisles for a while. It’s much bigger than I’d realized, going on and on in the back. There are crystals, minerals, and semi-precious stones from all over the world, ranging from fifty-cent Apache tears and chunks of iron pyrite – fool’s gold – for the kids, to $250,000 massive crystals that would require a small crane to load onto a flatbed truck. There’s Russian amber, Peruvian jade, lapis lazuli from Afghanistan, amethyst geodes, garnets, citrine, even fossils – polished and unpolished, free-standing and mounted. I could spend hours here. Days, even.
