by Dee Mann
"Lady, gentlemen, please. You forget to whom you are speaking. I was so smooth, so charming, so damned irresistible that I didn't even ask for her number.
"See, I told you…" Priya began.
"But," Paul continued, interrupting her. "I did make a date for lunch today."
11:30 AM
11:30! How could it only be 11:30?
Paul hadn't been this anxious for lunchtime to arrive since high school, when he'd skip the entrée in the cafeteria and head right outside to meet Sue Ellen for a little lip-locking dessert.
He studied Rob, sitting at this desk across the room, engrossed in whatever he was editing.
I wonder if he remembers the night we went to the Sheepfold with Suzy and…what was her name…the redhead with the big boobs…and he got out of the car in his boxers to take a whiz and…what the hell is her name…convinced Suzy to drive off toward the entrance as if we were going to leave him there. Man, I can still hear us all laughing, still see him running across the parking lot by moonlight, cursing and pleading.
As he forced it from his face, he was glad none of his co-workers had caught his evil grin.
Hmmm…did I ever thank him for introducing me to Suzy?
His gaze drifted right to Priya.
She really looks hot today…I wonder if she has a boyfriend. She must. Probably some muscle-bound face with a big dick. Girls like her can get anyone they want. But she never talks about dating anyone…and she doesn't seem like the superficial type…unless she's a great actress…but that stunt she pulled the first day…no way…she's okay. Just private, I guess. I wonder if Jillian will really show up…damn, what the hell was wrong with me this morning…must have been those eyes…great eyes…maybe she…
Tom's voice rang out. "Hey, DiLorenzo, you working or dreaming over there?"
12:15 PM
Jillian hurried toward the coffee shop. A curious anxiety nibbled at the back of her mind. She wanted to be there before he arrived but wasn't sure why. The wind blew her hair around and though she tried to keep it in place, she knew she'd need to fix it once inside.
The lunchtime crowd, like the wind, all seemed to be coming toward her, making it difficult to move quickly. As she drew closer to the shop, she realized she was actually nervous about meeting this guy.
Paul DiLorenzo. Nice name. And he is kind of cute. But he was so flustered this morning. Do I really want to sit through a whole lunch with some spaz? What would Liz say to do? Be cool. Just be cool and detached and make him work to impress me. But lord, that look on his face this morning. If it hadn't been for that look… Come on, girl, get a grip. You've shot down plenty of come-ons before. But that look…not just disappointment… almost…devastation. How can you not at least give a guy a chance when he's devastated at the thought of not seeing you again. And I guess it was kind of sweet the way he was stumbling over himself to impress me. I never did that to a guy before.
She reached the shop, pulled open the door and stepped inside. It felt good to get out of the wind.
Mmmm…it smells wonderful in here. Coffee mixed with the pastry…I sure wish someone would figure out how to capture it in a bottle, so I can spray it around the apartment.
She was standing a few feet inside the door and when it opened again, the cold air roused her from her reverie. With a contented sigh, she turned to find a table and saw Paul sitting at the one in the corner, his back to the front window. He was reading from a stack of papers and there were three or four cups on the table.
Damn.
She quickly finger-combed her hair.
How long has he been here? And what's with all the coffee? Are other people coming? Is this some kind of game after all? Maybe I should just get out of here before he sees me.
She hesitated, still trying to smooth out her hair but, without a mirror, not having much success.
What the hell…he takes me as I am or not at all.
She removed her scarf and started toward the table. Holding the scarf in her left hand, she used her right to unbutton her coat. When she was closer, she saw she was correct about the coffees. There were three sitting unopened in the center of the table and one, obviously his and already half empty, near the edge.
"Hi," she said with a neutral smile as she reached the table.
"Hi," he replied without thinking. Then he looked up and jumped out of his seat.
"Oh, hi!" he repeated, this time with genuine enthusiasm. "You're early."
"Not as early as you, I see."
Her eyes flicked to the table, then back to Paul. "Have you been working?" She gestured reflexively and her scarf caught his cup, spilling the coffee all over the papers.
When they heard the cup go over, they looked down at the mess and simultaneously groaned, "Oh crap!"
Their heads snapped back up at the matching exclamations as all through the shop, heads turned to see what was happening.
Jillian was mortified. "I am so sorry. I…"
"That's okay," he said, interrupting, as he grabbed the few napkins on the table and started blotting at the drenched manuscript. "Just…can you get me some more napkins?"
He continued to blot at the spilled coffee but it was futile now. The napkins were saturated. Jillian hurried off, trying to ignore the stares from other customers, and returned with a napkin dispenser. She pulled out three small napkins which emptied the dispenser. Quickly, she turned it around to find the other side empty as well.
"I don't believe this," she moaned, silently cursing her decision to stay.
She hurried off again to return with two handfuls of napkins. Dropping them all over the spill, she began sopping up the coffee, so embarrassed that she couldn't look at him.
"I really am so sorry. I can't believe I did that. I've probably ruined your work and now…now…"
She wadded up a pile of saturated napkins, still not able to meet his eyes.
"…I…I'm sorry. I should go. Really, I'm sorry."
She turned to leave.
"Wait! Where are you going? You just got here."
Paul finished mopping up the coffee and piled the wet napkins on the edge of table against the wall.
"Please, calm down. Didn't your mom ever tell you not to cry over spilled coffee. Or was that milk. No matter. Come on, sit down. It's okay."
He could see how embarrassed she was. Gently he said, "Really, Jillian. No harm done."
He moved to the other side of the table and pulled out the chair for her.
Jillian forced herself to face him and saw he was grinning.
He rattled the chair a bit, his eyes pleading with her to stay. "Please?"
She forced a weak smile and took the offered seat. As he moved back to his chair, she shrugged off her jacket and nervously ran her fingers through her hair again, suddenly hoping it didn't look too horrible. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither one really sure what to say. Then Paul started to chuckle. He tried his best to contain it but couldn't and a full-fledged laugh burst through.
His laughter was infectious. Jillian noticed her mood growing lighter as the corners of her mouth curled into a smile.
He is so strange!
"What's so funny?"
Paul took a few seconds to get the laughter under control. As he did, she again took in his thick, brown hair with its reddish highlights, his brown eyes flecked with gold, his straight nose, and his full, laughing lips. She remembered from this morning that he carried himself with a casual straightness. She noticed he sat that way, too. His shoulders were not exceptionally broad, nor his arms particularly muscular, yet he seemed to exude a quiet physical prowess.
"Well, think about it. Our first meeting this morning was somewhat of a disaster, with me acting unbelievably foolish. And now our second meeting starts with another, ah…small blip. But this time it's you who…"
He started laughing again, quietly this time, enjoying the irony of the situation. Jillian started to say something but he stopped her.
"Wait,
please. Before you say anything else, before anything else happens…what is your last name?"
Somehow, that simple question relaxed her and Jillian grinned at his urgency.
"Marshall. Jillian Marshall."
Paul started to extend his hand over the table to shake hands but retreated a bit and hooked it around the coffee cups.
Jillian feigned indignation and extended her hand straight over the them. As their hands approached, a small jolt of static electricity made them both jump. Startled, each wondered if the spark was an omen and, if so, what sort. Then, as they shook hands, a spark of a different sort passed between them.
"Paul DiLorenzo," he said. "I am really happy to meet you Ms. Jillian Marshall."
"And I'm still a little embarrassed, but happy to meet you, too. I hope I didn't destroy anything really important."
Paul picked up one of the wet sheets of paper.
"No, don't worry about it. It's just the only copy of a recently discovered manuscript by Ernest Hemingway. It'll dry." He paused, looking worried. "I hope."
Jillian's wide-eyed stare vanished when she saw him grin again.
"Jerk. I almost believed you for a second."
"Sorry. I couldn't resist. How long do you have for lunch?"
"I should be back by one."
Paul nodded slightly. "Me too." He paused for a deep breath. "You know, I probably shouldn't ever bring this up again, but I really am sorry I was so clumsy this morning about meeting you. I'm usually a fairly articulate guy."
"That's okay. You were nervous. Nervous can be kind of cute. And let's be honest here, your clumsy this morning doesn't come close to my clumsy a few minutes ago."
"Okay then, we're even. I hope you won't mind me saying this so soon, but you are the second most beautiful woman I've ever seen in person."
Jillian blushed, pleased and flattered by the compliment.
"Come on, I know I'm not a beast, but the second…"
"No, really. You are definitely the second most beautiful woman I've ever met.
Her blush deepened.
"Okay, but just the second? Who's the first?"
Paul looked right into her shining, beautiful brown eyes and said. "Everyone else."
Stunned at the unexpected reply, Jillian stared at him for a second before she burst out laughing.
"You really are a jerk. I owe you big time for that."
Looking pleased and a little relieved, Paul glanced up to thank God she was laughing.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't stop myself. And I figured that if I'm on trial, I might as well let you see who I really am. If you hadn't laughed just then, well, I'd have been heartbroken, but I'd have known we'd never really get along."
"What do you mean 'on trial'?"
"Didn't you come here to decide whether you liked me enough to give me your number and try me out on a real date?"
Jillian looked as if she were about to protest, but Paul continued on.
"That's okay. That's what you should be doing when a strange guy embarrasses himself on the street. I mean, anyone can act like a fool for a few minutes in order to charm a beautiful girl, but it takes a special kind of guy to sustain it for a whole lunch. And you don't strike me as the type of girl who would waste much time on that kind of guy."
"And how do I strike you?"
"Right through the heart, so far."
Jillian's blush had faded, but rose anew at this latest compliment. Desperate to change the subject, she nodded toward the three cups.
"Are these all for me?"
"Yes."
"Three coffees?"
"Well, I didn't know how you liked your coffee, but I figured one of the three you bought this morning had to be for you, so I talked to Akina and…"
"Akina?"
"The barista who waited on you this morning."
"You're on a first name basis with the people here?"
"Not really, just Akina, and only since noon when I got here. I took a chance she might remember you, which she did, since you come in all the time with the same order. Or so she said. So I asked her for the same three coffees and here they are."
Pointing to them one-by-one, he said, "Decaf regular, black two sugars, and milk dark no sugar."
Jillian started to reach for one but Paul stopped her. "Wait. Let me guess."
He studied her for a few seconds, then picked up the milk-dark-no sugar and handed it to her with a hopeful look on his face.
"I'm impressed. How did you know?"
"I didn't. I guessed. Or rather, I hoped."
"Hoped?"
"Uh-huh. That's how I take mine."
Her disbelief was unmistakable.
"Really! I told you this morning I had a strange feeling when I first saw you. It was like I knew you, even though I didn't know you. It…but this is all getting a little too heavy."
Paul picked up his empty cup. "How about sharing some of that coffee?"
Jillian poured half of the coffee from her cup into his, then handed it back.
"I don't think it's hot anymore," she said.
"That's okay. I'm used to cold coffee. Besides, just looking at you will keep me warm."
"Oh please," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Paul laughed. "Okay, I guess I am laying it on a little thick." He checked his watch and realized time was getting short. "As much as I'd like to sit here with you all afternoon, we only have about twenty-five minutes left before you have to decide and all you know about me is how I like my coffee, that I can act goofy, and that I have a strange sense of humor."
He locked eyes with her, his gaze never wavering as he continued.
"So fire away. Ask me anything you want to know. Job, school, shoe size, favorite Backstreet Boy. Anything. Because when I walk out that door in a little while…" He reached across the table to move a tuft of hair away from her eye. The touch of his finger against her skin sent another spark through her, a warm, welcome spark. "…I'll either have your phone number, or a huge hole where my heart used to be."
6:20 PM
Jillian closed the door to her apartment, dropped her keys in her purse, shrugged off her coat, and hung both on the wooden pegs on the wall next to the door. The scarf she held up, smiling with the memory of the chaos it caused.
It had been a long, eventful day both in and out of work, but she was still full of energy. Happy and excited her lunch with Paul had gone so well after its disastrous beginning, she was dying to tell her friends all the details. But it was still too early. Neither Liz nor Jenna would be home from work for at least fifteen minutes.
The golden glow of the afternoon sun streamed through the four oversized, Victorian-era double-hung wood sash windows that formed a bay overlooking the street. It cast curious shadows in the two alcoves, one that held her bed, nightstand, and dresser, and the other, an efficiency kitchen.
She took the big feather duster from the umbrella stand by the door and moved around the room dusting the photos, prints, and posters that brightened the room and, even on a gloomy day, made visitors feel welcome. Then she fixed the pillows on the floral print sofa and two overstuffed chairs that reminded her of the wallpaper in her room as a child, all the while, thinking of him.
Suddenly in the mood for music, she loaded her special mix CD into the player.
Always and forever
Each moment with you
Is just like a dream to me
That somehow came true, yeah
The sweet sound of Luther Vandross filled the apartment. Her eyelids drooped, half closed as she conjured an image of Paul smiling at her the way he did when he was holding the chair for her, urging her to stay. Something about him, even the thought of him, made her feel strangely comfortable. He'd been so nice, so easy to talk to once she was past the humiliation of spilling coffee on his work.
She grinned, remembering the exasperation on his face as he tried to sop up half a cup of coffee with a few small napkins. Then her face softened, almost glowed, as she remembe
red the light in his eyes when he'd moved that wisp of hair and said those sweet things.
Lost in her fantasy, she ambled to the windows to close the curtains, flopped on the sofa, then almost immediately jumped up and headed for the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle from the fridge. Sipping the water, still swaying with the music, she strolled to the bedroom alcove and sat on the edge of the bed, recalling yet again the events of the day. The last strains of the song faded and were replaced by another Vandross standard, Here & Now. She giggled out loud at the memory of how goofy and desperate he'd been when they first met, but was startled out of her reverie by the shrill ring of the phone.
Hoping it would be him, but knowing it was probably some telemarketer, she screwed the cap back on the bottle and rolled backward over the bed to grab the cordless phone on the nightstand.
"Hello?"
"You forgot to take your cell phone off silent again. It's a wonder you have any friends at all since you make it so hard for people to reach you."
"Hi, Liz." She tried to keep her excitement out of her voice. "You're home early!"
"Jenna and I both got out early. I just talked with her. We were thinking about Piazolla's for dinner tonight. Lucy from work said she was there twice last week and there were lots of mighty fine guys hanging and…"
Unable to contain herself, Jillian blurted out, "Liz, stop. I have to tell you something. You won't believe what happened to me today."
Elizabeth could hear the particular excitement in her friend's voice and knew only one thing could have put it there.
"Don't even tell me his name. I promised Jenna I'd pick her up in ten minutes and if you start talking now she'll be waiting on me for an hour. We'll be over as fast as we can get through traffic. And forget about Piazolla's tonight."
"Okay, okay. But you and Jenna hurry. And bring Thai."
7:10 PM
DHL sat on the corner of Charles and Chestnut Streets, two blocks north of the Boston Common. Named for the writer D.H. Lawrence when it first opened three decades ago, it had quickly become a trendy, English-pub-style watering hole. Today, it attracted a loyal clientele who were more interested in a relaxed atmosphere than being seen in the vicinity of whomever happened to be hot at the moment.
