“Tell you what. You apologized for being crappy the other day, but I think you should come have coffee with me. That would make up for it. I’m sure you know all kinds of good places around here.”
I looked into his eyes and smiled. “That I do.”
CHAPTER 2
Aapparently, I was going to have coffee with a stranger and tell him the story of my life. Sort of.
“So how long have you been here?”
“About six months.”
“Where are you from?”
“I didn’t realize we were going to have a Q&A…I feel like I’m being interrogated,” I teased.
“Well, do you have any questions you want to ask me, instead?”
“Yeah, Lou. As a matter of fact, I think I do.” My tone was deliberately defiant. I paused for a moment and then asked, “What do you do?”
“I work in the music business,” he answered with a smug grin. What’s so funny?
“Are you a musician?”
His brows furrowed, and he looked hesitant.
“Sort of. I work in the field. I am more of a…tech guy,” he said with a heart-stopping smile.
“Where are you from?”
“Nashville, Tennessee.”
“Well, that’s nice. I’m from New York.”
“Hey, there! Not too shabby, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”
“Yeah,” I replied laconically as I took a sip of my coffee and looked away.
“So what are you doing here? Work?” he asked.
“Yes and no…I guess I just needed a change of scenery,” I muttered, trying to avoid his eyes. Pretty soon the uncomfortable questions will start, I’m sure. The questions I wasn’t ready to answer. I always tried to avoid questions about my past.
“My brother lives in Brooklyn.”
“Really? I live in Brooklyn too—or used to. What does he do?”
“Boyd owns a gym…a CrossFit gym.”
“Boyd? As in Jackson Boyd? As in Boyd-Building?”
“Do you know him?” he asked, smiling and looking surprised.
“Jackson Boyd is your brother?” I asked, puzzled. “I know of him. Everybody knows him.”
“Do you go to his gym?”
“Do I? I tried a lesson, once, but CrossFit is really not my thing.”
The advertising for Boyd-Building was all over Brooklyn. I knew Lou said gym, singular, but I was pretty sure Jackson Boyd had not one, but three locations at the time. CrossFit was so freaking popular amongst the foodies and hipsters of Brooklyn and the guy knew how to work it. All of Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan…hell, all the five boroughs knew of him. The world knew of him. He was one of Instagram’s hot boys, for starters. I think that was how he built on his fame, at first. For most of my girlfriends, he was the whole package: hipster body builder with a fantastic beard, wonderful messy hairdo and tats to match his sexy bad boy face. He was undeniably good-looking, but a little too much for me. I was never into the ripped bad boy. I liked my boys geeky. My last friend with benefits—Hendrick—was the hottest guy I’d ever been with. Not that it mattered anymore, because that chapter of my life was over. I didn’t sleep around anymore. I wanted something real.
“You two look nothing alike,” I blurted out.
“I know.” He sighed. “He’s got the beauty, I got the brains.” He smiled at me, and I frowned, reflecting on his words. His statement was completely wrong. In my opinion, he was the beautiful one.
“I don’t know about that,” I replied, and he looked surprised. “I think you’re wrong on both counts.” He raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for an explanation.
“Boyd knows how to market himself very well, and that requires brains…and yes, a lot of women might think he’s hot, but he’s not my cup of tea…as for you, I don’t see an ugly duckling sitting in front of me,” I told him with a coy smile. I couldn’t believe I was being so forward with him. I had just met the guy. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t even drunk! I looked away for a moment and then peeked in his direction. He was staring at me, the faintest blush on his cheeks. God, it made him look even cuter.
“Well, thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. His eyes were twinkling with amusement.
“You’re welcome. I can’t be sure you have the brains though,” I replied, teasing him while biting my lip.
“Guess I’ll have to prove it,” he replied with a smile.
“Guess so.”
“You know what? You’re completely right. I was joking about Boyd having just the looks. He’s a hell of a businessman. When he launched the gym, I kept telling him that Boyd-Building wouldn’t work, that everyone would mistake it for a construction company, but apparently I was wrong. I guess it’s because I think like a simpleminded country boy.”
That made me laugh. Sure, it might have been a stupid name elsewhere, but it worked for Brooklyn.
“Have you been to New York lately? Seriously, his face is everywhere. Whatever company does the advertising for the gym…they’re marketing him really well.”
He paused for a moment. He looked like he wanted to ask me something, but he was suddenly not as comfortable and relaxed as he had been.
“The girl you were with yesterday…she looks like you.”
I smiled.
“Yeah…she does. She looks like her dad more, though.”
“How old is she?”
“She’s five. Her name is Lieke. She’s a great kid,” I answered, smiling.
“And how old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-four next month. What about you?”
“Almost thirty.”
“Is Boyd older than you?” That was Jackson Boyd’s business name. He just went by Boyd. Like a model. Every time I thought about the name Boyd, it made me think about Owen Wilson’s character from Zoolander, Hansel. Not that Boyd and Hansel looked anything alike, aside from seeming equally intense.
“Yeah, he’s three years older than me.”
“Was he a good big brother when you were kids?”
“Yeah, of course!” he replied with an honest smile. “He was a great older brother, he still is. He’s the kind of guy that will always have your back. A true guy’s guy.”
I tried picturing the two of them as brothers. They looked like night and day to me. I was still laughing on the inside at how random all this was. I was having coffee with Boyd’s brother. I was going to have to text my friend Alissa and tell her that. She had a major crush on Boyd.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said evasively.
Jeez, get ready, here it comes…I was bracing for the “Why did you leave New York” question.
“Sure, ask away.” Or you could have just said no, Ella.
“So you were nineteen when you had Lieke? Was she born in the US?”
“What?” I was confused. Did I hear him right? He thought Lieke was my kid?
“Did you think Lieke is my child? Oh, God no way!” I laughed. “I’m her au-pair,” I added, unable to hide the shock in my voice. I let out a laugh. “I’m her babysitter.”
He laughed, but he shook his head, looking embarrassed.
“I suppose it’s my turn to apologize. That was a stupid assumption. But you guys do look alike.” I couldn’t help but smile because he looked so cute when he was flustered.
“That’s true, we do look alike. The similarities end there though.”
“Did you say her name is Lieke?”
“Yes, her mom named her that because she looked like an angel. She couldn’t have been more right.”
“So, you’ve been working for Lieke’s parents since you got here?”
“Yes and no. I got here on my own, but then I met this badass attorney and she sort of rescued me,” I told him, remembering the night I had met Ally for the first time.
“What do you mean rescued? You didn’t run into any trouble, did you? You weren’t being forced to do anything…you didn’t want to do, right?” he asked cautiously.
“Why do you keep saying that? No, I
wasn’t forced, I decided to come here on my own.”
“Well, you know, you hear so many things…human trafficking, and this town has a red light district…”
What Lou didn’t know was that he wasn’t too far from the truth. Nothing happened to me, thank God, but it probably could have, if Ally hadn’t shown up to help me that night. I was a mess when I first got here. For the first time in my life, I was alone and determined to be reckless. I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t a very smart idea to act carelessly in a foreign country, especially when you were on your own and had no one to call for help.
Amsterdam was a quiet and mostly safe town, but from time to time, you could run into a mega-weirdo. Well, on the night I met Ally I had stopped on one of the canals and was taking my time looking at the city. This guy approached me asking for money. I told him I didn’t have any change; it was the truth, but he still wouldn’t leave. I guess I gave the impression of a rich tourist because he kept insisting I’d give him something. He got closer, ogling me, asking me if I was there alone. I got very uncomfortable and I was trying to leave, but he kept talking and asking me things and saying stuff like “I could help you make some money.”
Ally told me later that when she first saw me, I looked like a deer in headlights. I was probably shocked by the several types of propositions I was receiving from the hobo. I had tried to get away from him, and he kept blocking me. People were walking by, but somehow no one noticed anything unusual. I tried to think how could I get away from him and go back safely to my hostel. I should have been trying to run away, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
Then, suddenly, I saw this girl with curly red hair come toward where I was standing. She started shouting things in Dutch and in English. The hobo turned around, barely looking at her angry face for a second before fleeing the spot. Ally approached me and asked me if I was okay, if I was alone. I must have looked like I was in shock, at least just a little. I might or might not have been high that night. As I mentioned, I was being reckless. If I remembered correctly, she added something silly like, “We curly-haired women have to stick together.”
Ally—whose real name was Alberta, as she told me a few days later—invited me to join her and her girlfriends. They had been just sitting outside the restaurant on the opposite side of the square from where we were standing and had witnessed the whole ordeal unfold. She refused to let me pay for my share of dinner, asked what I was doing in Amsterdam, and then told me that if I were looking for work, she might be able to help me out. She dropped me off at my hostel that night, gave me a business card and told me to stop by her office in the morning.
Immigration law was not her area, she had stated, but she would be able to help me out. She was a drug defense attorney. “Believe me, there are a lot of idiots getting in trouble on this side of the pond. I have my work cut out for me,” she had told me before parting ways.
I always heard how complicated it was to get visas for the US, and I imagine it’s the same for Europe, unless you stay illegally without paperwork. Somehow she managed to arrange an au-pair position for me. Helga and Johan, the people who I’d be working for, needed someone to help them out with their daughter Lieke, especially taking her to school and picking her up in the afternoon, since they were both busy running the pancake shop they owned.
“Sounds like you found a good place,” Lou said when I finished telling him the whole story. He gave me a warm, genuine smile.
“I did. Well, I have to thank Ally for that,” I replied before drinking the last of my coffee.
He nodded and as he grabbed his cup of coffee with his left hand, I noticed an indention on his ring finger.
“What happened there?” I asked, pointing at his ring finger.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had told me to go to hell, it was a rather personal question. I just couldn’t hold the words back. Besides, I needed to know. I was already crushing on him before we sat down for this coffee. And I had just told him half my life story.
“Well, if you really must know, I’m getting divorced…I will be divorced in a couple months. My wife, or rather, soon-to-be ex-wife, cheated on me,” he confessed, and for the first time I saw his eyes cloud with sadness. I clutched my mug with both hands and felt like an idiot for even saying anything.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I need to get used to talking about this. I'm afraid the less I do it, the harder it gets to say the words out loud, you know? Instead, if I keep trying to talk about it, eventually the words will lose their impact…at least that’s what I hope.”
I gave him a small smile, trying to sympathize with his situation. In reality, I had no idea how that would feel. I had never loved or lost someone I cared about deeply. Except if I counted my grandma Rose. She had died when I was ten, and although I cried like a baby because they wouldn’t let me attend her funeral, I don’t remember much of anything else. I had never been in love, really fallen in love with anyone, much less been in a relationship and lost a person I loved.
“I wouldn’t know how that feels. I’ve never been in love before,” I blurted the words out loud without realizing it, and then I covered my mouth with my hand even though it was too late.
“You haven’t? A pretty girl like you?” He thinks I’m pretty. “It seems hard to believe,” he added with a sincere smile.
“It just never happened,” I shrugged, still mentally slapping myself for being such a moron.
“Well, I guess you saved yourself some heartache. It ain’t easy, I tell you.” His southern drawl made an appearance once again. He smiled—briefly—but it was a smile tainted by sadness.
I looked at the time on my phone, and I knew I had to leave soon. I told Helga and Johan I’d watch Lieke tonight so they could go to the movies.
I saw him staring at me, and I felt the need to clarify.
“I’m going to have to leave soon. I promised I’d watch Lieke tonight.”
“Don’t you have evenings off?” he asked.
“Most times I do. Sometimes Lieke wants me to tuck her in, but tonight her parents have a date. Thank you for the coffee…” I hesitated, wanting to add more. “This was nice.”
“Yeah, it was,” he said warmly. “It was nice to meet you, Ella.” He extended his hand again and smiled at me. He shook it one more time, holding it for a few seconds longer than necessary. The warm gaze he was giving me made the blood rush to my cheeks once again. I needed a moment.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said, trying to break away. Nice one, Ella. Classy.
Well, it was true. I needed to use the restroom, and then I realized I had my guitar with me. I moved stiffly back and forth trying to decide what to do.
“What is it?” Lou asked, a look of confusion on his face.
“My guitar.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t want to leave it out here and I’m not sure I have room to take it with me in the restroom.”
“I’ll keep an eye on it.”
I stifled a laugh. “How do I know you’re not going to run away with it?”
“What? Are you kidding me?” he asked, looking shocked by my skepticism.
“Well, I learned it’s better to be safe than sorry, I don’t know you and that guitar is my most prized possession,” I said, dead serious.
“That?” he asks, incredulous.
“Hey! No need to put down my run-of-the-mill guitar!”
“Okay, okay. Chill. How about this? I’ll sit here playing your most prized possession. You’ll be able to hear me from the bathroom,” he pointed to the door of the restroom. “But honestly, you’re hurting my feelings here. Didn’t I just tell you about my divorce, Ella?” he teased, a smirk on his face. He seemed to be a little hurt by my words, or maybe I was imagining it.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve learned the hard way you have to be careful. All the time.”
“I swear to you, I will not run away wit
h your run-of-the-mill guitar.”
He raised his right hand, before grabbing the case and getting the guitar out, then tuning it for a few seconds. I looked at him, transfixed, before I had to tell myself to move.
I turned around and headed to the restroom. Maybe I was acting stupid, but honestly, he could have made all that stuff up! While I was in the bathroom, I heard him starting to strum the guitar. Even through the door, I could tell he played beautifully. The way he picked the strings made me think he had been playing for several years; he was, hands down, better than me.
Something else caught my ear: I knew this song. I had heard it before. Whose song was it? What was the name of the guy who played this? Oh my gosh, this was going to eat me up until I found out. I washed my hands, looked at myself in the mirror, and saw an idiotic expression form on my face the moment I realized the song was one of Lou Rivers’s.
Lou Rivers was sitting outside the bathroom, playing my cheap-ass guitar.
CHAPTER 3
“Oh my God! Why didn’t you fucking say something?” I asked, almost yelling as I came out of the bathroom.
I was pretty sure everyone in the café was looking at me, but my eyes were fixed on Lou.
Lou freaking Rivers. Grammy nominee Lou Rivers. And here I was cursing at him like we were buddies. What an idiot I was. He looked shocked for a moment, then the look on his face told me he knew. He grinned, scrunching up his nose in the most adorable way. He was having fun, the bastard.
“You didn’t recognize me. I thought you didn’t know who I was, so why bring it up?” He shrugged.
“This is fun for you, isn’t it? The silly girl who doesn’t realize she is talking the whole time to a Grammy-nominated artist.”
“So you know I was nominated for a Grammy but you don’t know what my face looks like?” he asked, still strumming my crappy guitar.
“I read it somewhere. And I have heard some of your music, but I haven’t seen your face much.”
It was the truth. I had heard some of his songs, but I had never looked him up or seen him play live. I never checked any of his videos on YouTube; I just remembered reading his album was nominated for Best Americana a couple years ago.
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