"So you're saying I'm uninformed," said Danni. "One of the uninformed masses who just makes a blind political decision whichever way the winds of popularity are blowing." She sounded slightly angry.
Sort of, Logan thought. "No, I'm saying you make a lot of your decisions on ... on impulse." Now that he was in the midst of this argument, he hesitated over word choices. "Like trying the special at every restaurant, or buying a pair of shoes and returning them the next day ...."
"I returned those shoes because they looked garish in natural light," retorted Danni. "And I like the specials. I like trying new things and not being trapped in the same choices over and over."
"Boring choices," supplied Logan. And knew that line stung, from the look on Danni's face.
"Yes — to the person who just picked the coffee shop's best sandwich apart because he's finicky about a little spice. This from a guy whose favorite diner serves jalapeno fries and who claims to love Buffalo wings."
"I have an ulcer," he protested.
"It's not just peppers, Logan. You hate nutmeg in coffee, and basil in salad dressing. Perfectly great spices that won't burn a hole in your intestines. You don't even like stone-ground mustard —"
"I don't see what this has to do with you voting for someone who's going to provide the city with poor quality water and cost it more money in the long run by doing so," interrupted Logan.
"Other than I'm a shallow person?" quipped Danni.
"Danni —"
"No, you can say it. I see it in your face, Logan. I edit romance novels for a living. I like chick flicks and don't care for Citizen Kane. Never mind that I read New York Times bestsellers, too — or that my favorite movie as a teenager was The Red Shoes —"
"Maybe this is because we never talk about serious stuff," said Logan. He was aware that a couple of customers at nearby tables were aware of their argument, and felt embarrassed. "We talk about what we're doing together, what we do at work, but we don't talk about other things. Like what we're doing in the future. Like who we planned to vote for this election, even."
"Well, I think Nistle is a great choice," answered Danni, staunchly. "That's what I would've said two days ago, if you had bothered to ask. And since the city only votes on the water contract once a year and there are plenty of other council members to weigh in on the issue, I think my choice is fine."
"Lower your voice a little, please," said Logan, his own growing even quieter. "People are staring."
"So?" Danni shrugged her shoulders. "You're so sensitive about everything, Logan. Sometimes people stare. Sometimes people are angry. It's life. Get over it."
That was harsh of her, he thought, and Danni knew it. "And that's your response when I point out that maybe there's a tiny flaw in our relationship?" he hissed. "To blow up in my face in a public restaurant?"
"You made me feel small," she hissed back. "Just because I didn't know about someone's position on a water bill."
"You don't think you ever do the same thing to other people?" he asked. "You can be pushy, Danni. Always talking your friends into making a choice the opposite of what they want, whether it's seeing a movie or ordering lunch — pushing me to make choices you find less 'boring,' so I end up with flavors of things I've never liked. Ever, Danni. Which means I tried them before and didn't like them."
She looked as if he'd slapped her. The color drained from her face. "I see," she said. "So I've been pushing you into things you find uncomfortable," she said. "Just with lunch, or everything?"
This was the point of no return. The mistake he should have avoided at all costs, not the remark about his boring choices. He didn't need anything from Danni to prove it was true.
"I don't know," he answered, helplessly. This argument had gotten away from him, away from the whole point of ever mentioning it. "I'm just asking if you take your decisions seriously," he said. "And for your information I did know that you read bestsellers. I'm not a self-absorbed jerk in our relationship."
"That's a matter of opinion," answered Danni. She snapped closed her computer and lifted her bag from her chair. "Have a nice lunch. Say hello to your politically-informed friends back at work for me."
"Danni, come on," he said. "Don't be that way."
But Danni was already gone.
"Will that be all today?" Tiffany was at his elbow now. "Or would you like to try our new lemon blueberry loaves?" Nearby, the three friends having lunch were trying hard to look busy with their sandwiches once again.
"No, thanks," he answered, with a groan. "Just the check, please."
He sat there until he thought no one was staring at his table, and most of the customers who witnessed it were gone. By then, the last of his coffee was cold, and the lettuce in Danni's unfinished wrap across from him had begun to wither. But she didn't come back, and he had no choice but to pay and leave. When he dialed her number, Danni didn't answer his call. Clearly, he was getting the silent treatment.
Simple Espresso
Danielle couldn't concentrate on her manuscript. On the page, Ginny was trying in vain to reconnect with Robert two years after Laney's death, but the words rang hollow.
"Do you still go to Park's Place?" she asked him. "You used to go there — "
" — every spring," he finished. "I still do. It's not the same now." The sadness in his voice was a ghost of its former self. Time had healed the worst pain of his loss, Ginny imagined. She had spent hours imagining it, ever since she caught her flight to Vienna....
And looked back at Rob as she left? Why? Because she thought he was so great, even though he loved Laney, who had never really appreciated him — in frustration, Danni snapped her computer shut.
She blew a wisp of hair from her eyes, sighing with frustration. Any minute now, Logan would probably walk through the door. She would give him money to pay for her lunch yesterday, the one she stormed off without finishing.
And ... what? Apologize if she was so pushy she practically forced him to eat an unpalatable sandwich? That her political views were so foreign to his own that they couldn't have a civil conversation about them?
He should be the one apologizing to her. He had obviously been irritated and exasperated from the start. He didn't have to order a wrap he hated. He didn't have to tell her to lower her voice like she was a child.
Maybe I do push him towards choices he wouldn't make otherwise. I thought I was encouraging him to reach outside the box. I thought I was spicing up his life, not giving him an ulcer...and why didn't he mention the ulcer in the first place? Does he think I don't care about his health?
She shook her head, stubbornly. It wasn't as if she'd done anything wrong by voting for her choice of candidate. Countless people voted for a politician who turned out to be a scumbag in the end. And it wasn't as if Logan quoted facts to prove his point....
With another sigh, she checked the time. She tapped her foot, impatient for him to show up, even though, in the back of her mind, she shrank from seeing him again.
Why? Because you might not be angry anymore? her brain asked. Ridiculous. She was still angry, and had every right to feel that way. Seeing Logan again wouldn't change her mind. Not with his stuck-up, snobby, boring choices.
The cafe door opened, but it was only a woman with two small children picking up a to-go order. Danni looked away, telling herself she wasn't disappointed. And if she was, it was just because she needed to pay him eight dollars plus Tiffany's tip.
Am I pushy? I did talk Gabby into buying those expensive shoes she wasn't so sure about ... and I was kind of insistent about seeing that action movie with Mandi and Alyson instead of the chick flick the critics said was so terrible, even though Mandi loved the book .... Oh, my gosh, is he right about me?
She was feeling defensive tears sting her eyes, blinking them back. The cafe door opened again, and it was Logan. He glanced around, spotted her, his face sheepish and uncertain as he approached.
"Hi," he said. "Can I sit down?"
She nodded. "Here,"
she said. She pushed the folded bills and change towards him. "For yesterday," she said. "Sorry I ran out and left you with the check."
"No, it's fine. You keep it." He didn't look her in the eye. "About yesterday —"
"It's fine," she said. "We just have opposite opinions. Opposing personalities. We always have."
"It isn't 'fine,'" he said. He took a deep breath. "I ... I want to apologize. For making you feel small...and for suggesting that you push me to make some choices that aren't me."
"Are you saying you were wrong?" she asked, carefully.
"I'm saying that I didn't have to make those choices," he answered, slowly. "I made them because ... because I'm afraid you're right about me. That I'm boring and stuck in my ways."
She was quiet. Pretending to study the design on the top of her monitor, the circular logo with its font.
"So I apologize for making you feel like it's your fault," he said. "I know it's not."
She was still quiet. "You weren't wrong," she said, at last.
"Yes, I was."
"No, you're not." She managed to look him in the eye. "It's silly. I make fun of your choices, and I talk you into things you don't like. Maybe it's just coffee or a sandwich, but how do you know it wouldn't be bigger things down the road?"
"I just know," he answered, sounding surprisingly certain of this. It caught Danni off guard. She expected him to have a little doubt, especially after yesterday.
"There's nothing wrong with your preferences," she said. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I like you — stuck up tastes, bland coffee and all. I don't need you to change."
She had once told him never to change his taste for plain coffee, she remembered. Did he remember that, too? The corny joke about it being as tall, dark and handsome as him — having depths that couldn't be seen, just like his personality?
"You're not uninformed," he said. "That's not what I implied. Sure, you aren't as interested in world and local affairs as I wish you'd be —" he paused and swallowed, " — but you still care about things that are important. Maybe they're not the same things I care about, but that doesn't make them less important. It's just a fact of life. I should get over it and stop wanting to change it."
"I should get over being so opinionated," she said. "I'm not always right. Definitely not if I make other people feel like they're always wrong."
"Sorry about Nistle's loss yesterday," said Logan. "If he had won, he might've been a great councilman. I might've been wrong about him."
"I wasn't deeply invested in his future," she answered, a smile twitching at one corner of her mouth. "And since your guy will save the city money —"
"Money's not everything," said Logan.
"Being right isn't everything." She traced the logo on her computer's lid, only because it was keeping her from tracing a pattern softly on Logan's hand. She wasn't angry, but she still wasn't ready for that. She wasn't sure where they were, exactly, after this conversation.
Our first fight, technically. Our first make up, I guess — isn't it? Or is everything over? That ending seemed too dramatic for something this silly. Now that her anger had cooled, she was only a little annoyed. Not enough to wish she'd never see Logan Whittaker again, however. That was ridiculous.
"Are you still angry at me?" he asked. "For calling you 'pushy'?"
"Are you still mad I embarrassed you in public?"
From his face, she could see he was still a little annoyed, too. Fair enough, she decided. At least he wasn't angry enough to say anything about it. In masculine fashion, he was faking an emotionless response.
"Let's call it even between us," he said. "And let's pretend that it happened weeks ago, not yesterday." He moved a little closer to her. "Friends?" he asked. "More than friends? I would really, really hate to think we gave up this early over a clash of personalities."
"Over a councilman's election, you mean?" she asked. "I don't think politics should come between friends. Or boyfriends and girlfriends, either."
"So can I cross political lines?" he asked. "Take the losing party out for a consoling movie tonight, if she's free?"
"Only if it's a sappy chick flick," she answered, waiting until he groaned to add, "Just kidding. Let's see the new thriller that everybody's going to see — even if critics are saying it's —"
"Don't tell me," he interrupted. "Let me be pleasantly disappointed on my own," he added, with a grin. "Or better yet, let's see that movie you're actually wanting to see. The Regency period one."
"Or one we'd both like. The action one about the rocket stranded in space."
Kimberly approached. "What can I get you today?" she asked Logan.
"Just an espresso," he answered. "That's all."
"Refill?" Kimberly asked, glancing at Danni.
She hesitated. "Actually, make it a plain espresso, too" she said. "I think I should try a change myself."
The smile on Logan's face was worth sacrificing a little whipped cream, she thought. Just this once.
Who knows? Logan might be right, and simple and plain was sometimes the best. Maybe she was overlooking it as too sensible compared to sprinkles. Maybe dark coffee's mysterious depths were as worthy of exploration as the depths of Logan's personality. The way the peppermint macchiato deserved at least one shot from Logan last Christmas, for instance — even if he wasn't a fan of drinks dyed pink with food coloring.
Besides, he deserved something for being the first to apologize, and there was no way he was getting a kiss yet. Not until tonight, anyway.
Rainy Afternoon
April
"You did an excellent job on Sellars manuscript, Danielle," said Margaret, the publishing house's chief editor. "I was impressed when I read your notes on the second draft, and I'm not easily impressed, you know."
"Thank you," said Danni, whose blush made her glad this was a phone conversation, and her boss couldn't see her face. "I'm glad you were pleased."
"Jeanette Sellars was extremely appreciative, too. She sent me an email thanking me for assigning such a 'thoughtful, insightful, and open-minded editor' to her project."
Jeanette Sellars had been impressed by her? Danni lost her breath for a moment. Sellars had sold millions of women's fiction novels — to date, she was the most successful author whose work Danni had edited.
"I only wish all our authors had the instincts you do when it comes to characters and story pacing," said Margaret. "It would make our work easier, obviously."
What would you say if I told you I was writing a novel? The question was on the tip of Danni's tongue. Would you consider reading it — publishing it, if it was good?
"Anyway, I thought you should be aware that your good work was appreciated. Keep it up, Ms. Lowell. I see great things for you."
As the conversation ended, Danni felt the glow finally leave her cheeks. Releasing a deep breath, she almost wished she had been courageous enough to mention her work. It felt as if she would never tell anyone that secret, but keep it hidden forever.
"Sorry. Coming through." A customer bumped into her, one carrying a big sack with Pauline's logo on the side.
"Sorry." Danni stepped aside so they could exit the shop. She tucked her phone into her bag and made her way through the coffee shop crowd. Her hand fished a different item from her shoulder bag, this one a small box tied with a ribbon, a handmade card attached to it.
It was her and Logan's four month anniversary: a cheesy event to celebrate, but it seemed like a worthy milestone to Danni. No other relationship had ever come this far for her. Truthfully, no one else had ever made her feel this way. There was something about him, something about being in love with him that was different from everyone and everything she had known.
She wished she could put her finger on it; even put it into words on paper. Not to make a novel out of it, but to understand what made her heart beat fast whenever she saw him waiting for her. What made her heart beat fast right now, as she glimpsed him through the crowd, sitting at the table.
He smiled at her. His tie was loose, she noticed, and his tablet was sitting to the side, next to his coffee cup. In front of him was a flat velvet jewelry box.
"You remembered." Her smile was a crooked one, part pleased and part disappointed. "I was hoping to surprise you."
"You were hoping to spring the dreaded 'non-reciprocated' gift on me, you mean," he answered. "I know you too well, Danni."
"Come on. I would have given you time to get me something before the day was over." She sat down across from him, leaning in to kiss his lips, softly, before she drew back.
"Ta-da. Happy anniversary." She placed the little box in front of him. He smiled as he examined the little card attached to the top. A dried daisy was glued to it, outlined with glitter. Inside, Danni had written, even if I plucked all the petals, it wouldn't change what I know to be true. You're the one for me. All my love, Danielle.
He glanced at her. "The one?" he asked. Even though he lifted an eyebrow with skepticism, she could tell from his voice that her words had touched him more deeply than he wanted to reveal.
"You know how greeting cards are. Always printing a sentimental message nobody really reads," she answered, biting back her teasing smile. "Open the box."
Obediently, he untied the twine and lifted the lid. His face changed at the sight of the object inside: a pair of tickets folded small, to the concert of a musician whom Danni knew he loved.
"Danni," he said. "I don't know what to say." His voice was soft.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I found out there was a concert a couple of hours away. I mean, when your favorite band gets back together, you should see them live, right?"
"Thank you." He lifted the tickets out. "When is the concert?" he asked. "Before May?"
"Two weeks from now, so yes," she answered, not wondering why he asked this question, although it was a little odd. "It's on a Friday. I'll pick you up from work. Wear something nice, because I'm taking to you to dinner afterwards, at the finest diner the city has to offer."
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