Passion in Portland 2016 Anthology

by Anthology

  I collapse forward in a heap. That long-winded speech o’ nonsense probably got me a first-class ticket the hell out of his car, but it felt good to let that out. So I take a deep breath, straighten in my seat, and gaze out the window like nothing from the past two minutes happened.

  He makes a small sound that resembles a laugh before turning the key in the ignition and driving off. I sneak a glimpse out of the corner of my eye and catch a tiny grin on his lips. I can only hope that it’s a good grin. Not a crazed why-did-I-let-this-psycho-lady-in-my-car kind of grin.

  “Feel better?” he asks, staring straight ahead.

  Another lung-filling inhale. “Yes, actually,” I answer. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize,” he says.

  “Sure I do. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you. I didn’t need to freak out on you.”

  “Apparently, you did,” he tells me, a glimmer of humor in his side-eyed glance at me.

  Which makes me laugh. Because he’s right. Apparently, I did.

  Chapter 4

  “Are you hungry again?” he asks as he parks down the street from Blossoming Lotus, another restaurant on my list.

  “Not particularly, but this is what I’m here for.” I get out of the car, still feeling guilty for my most recent outburst. “Hey, listen—”

  He puts a hand up to stop me and comes around the front of his Prius. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “Well, maybe I want to,” I huff out at him and slam the door.

  “Do you?” he asks, stopping right in front of me. “Do you really want to explain that?”

  I mean, when he puts it that way, I guess I don’t want to. Part of me does—the part that feels the need to always explain. The part of me that doesn’t want to push him away. The part of me that desperately wants him to like me.

  The part of me that’s free to do whatever I please has words at the ready. But that part also recognizes the freedom in staying quiet too.

  “If you really want to, I’m all ears,” he says. “But I’m guessing you don’t actually want to tell this ‘stranger’ your business.” Then he starts walking and adds, “Which is fine. I’m up for either way—as long as you’re one hundred percent certain with your decision.”

  “Okay.” I catch up to him and tell him, “Thank you.” A sincere thank-you. With my hand on his arm and everything. Because I truly mean that.

  There’s something to be said about being heard, but there’s also something to be said about being understood. And I think he’ll understand, because everything he’s done and said shows he gets me.

  That doesn’t mean he’ll accept it though. So I zip my lips and head into the restaurant.

  It’s a quaint, bright space lined with wood. The chandelier immediately catches my attention, and the light glints off the glass bottles and jars in the shelving behind the bar. Ultimately, though, the sign asking us to sign in is what stops me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.

  “Don’t worry about that,” a lady behind the bar area says. “A table in the back just opened up, so feel free to snag it.” She points around the corner and smiles.

  “Wow,” Nicolas says as we follow the woman’s directions and weave around tables filled with hungry people. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to find a table so fast during the weekend brunch here.”

  “Maybe I’m a good-luck charm,” I tease.

  He glances at me over his shoulder before he sits. “I believe that.”

  I take the seat across from him. It’s a long booth-style bench that spans multiple tables along the wall. And I sneak a peek at other customers’ plates to get a feel for the food they’re offering. Yummo.

  “You’re probably ready for lunch foods, huh?” he asks.

  I nod vigorously. “No more breakfast. Please.”

  He chuckles. “You’re in the right spot, then. Lots of vegan lunch food throughout Portland, but this place…” Placing a hand on his heart, he sighs. “I love this place.”

  “Seems a little hippie for you,” I joke. “I might have to start calling you Dandelion after this.”

  Then a waitress approaches our table. “Hey, Col. The usual for you today?” Her gaze flicks to me before it bounces back to Nicolas—or “Col” now—and lands back on me. “Oh, hey. It’s good to see him in here with a new face.”

  She seems sincere. But that could have been girl-speak, so I’m not sure how to take it.

  Nicolas clears his throat as he squirms a little in his seat. “Uh, yeah. The usual is fine for me, but she”—he gestures a hand toward me—“needs a menu.”

  “Coming right up,” the waitress says, putting a hand on his shoulder before walking away.

  He stares at the table like it’s suddenly super interesting, but I’m not going to let this moment drift away. Oh, no. I’ll take the uncomfortable bull by the horns.

  “Former girlfriend?” I ask, dipping my head in an attempt to make eye contact.

  “Current sister,” he responds before looking up at me. “And spy for our parents. This is definitely getting back to them.”

  “Oh.” I shrug. “That’s not so bad. Unless”—I drag my braid over my shoulder—“you’re ashamed to be having lunch with a mermaid.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” he insists. “It’s more like—”

  His sister returns with my menu and two glasses of water. “Here ya go, hun. Take your time, but I’m sure Col can fill you in on what’s good.” She steps behind him, grips his shoulders, and plants a kiss on his cheek. Then she slides her arms around his neck and beams a smile at him. “Seriously, bro. I’m so glad you’ve kicked Stella to the curb!”

  I widen my eyes at him. To contain my laugh, I grab my water and bring the straw to my lips. However, once she’s spun around and left us, I let the giggle loose.

  “Stella, huh?” I ask, clutching my stomach with my free hand. “What a name.”

  He raises his hands in front of him. “Hey. In my defense, it wasn’t all awful.”

  “Your sister seems to think it was.” I set my glass down.

  “Of course she would. She’s my sister.” He rests his hands on the table. “No one with a name like Stella is good enough for her.”

  “I don’t think her name was the problem, but hey.” I give him a simple shrug. “I’m just an innocent bystander here.” Then I palm my glass again and toy with my straw. “It is over, right?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, smirking. Then he takes a deep breath and claps his hands. “Okay. The menu.” He rubs them together like an evil villain. But he stops abruptly. “Wait. Are you allergic to nuts?”

  I shake my head.

  “Soy? Coconuts?”

  Tilting my head, I say, “Why are you so worried about what I can and can’t eat all of a sudden? You had no issues whatsoever about ordering for me this morning. Don’t change now, dude.”

  “Hey,” he says, his hands in the air. “You did request no ginger in your juice, remember? My sister wasn’t a waitress at those restaurants. She won’t stand for that, no matter how long we’ve known each other, how well I know the menu, or how much I know what you should be eating.”

  “Then hurry up and tell me before she gets back!” I conspiratorially whisper-yell.

  A minute later, his sister returns, her pad ready and waiting for my order.

  “The usual for my Stella-free brother,” she says, rolling her eyes. “What can I get you, doll?” She poises her pen above the paper.

  I peek at Nicolas before looking at the menu again and pointing at my dish of choice. “The Thai wrap, please. Extra peanut sauce.”

  “You got it,” she says, dotting her pen on her pad.

  Before she can leave us, I finish my order. “And”—I draw the word out—“a freshly baked biscuit with your house-made jam.”

  She freezes while writing, eyeing her brother from the corner of her eye. “You could have saved the woman her breath and ordered for her.”r />
  Yet again, his hands shoot out in front of him in a surrender position. “It’s not my fault the lady has impeccable taste in food!”

  “Save it, Col. I’m not buying it.” She brings her attention to me. “You won’t regret it though. That I can promise you.” Her words are emphasized by the point of her pen near my face. And that’s all she says before she’s gone again.

  “You could have told me that that was your ‘usual,’” I tell him, playful anger in my voice.

  “And ruin a chance at irritating my sister? No way.” His smirk highlights the truth in his statement.

  I smile back, thinking that it must be nice to have someone who’ll take your shit and still have your back at the end of the day. If I had something like that, I probably wouldn’t have had to run away. Whose fault is that though?

  Mine. It’s always my fault. Me and my stupid “special brand of crazy.”

  Nicolas here hasn’t seemed to mind though—but really. How long would that last? How long will it take before he’s the next one to run away from me? How long will it be until he can’t handle my “special brand of crazy” anymore?

  How long until I’m alone again?

  “You got quiet,” he says, peering at me with gentle eyes. “What’s going on?”

  I tuck some loose hair behind my ear. Trail my fingers down my braid and then mess around with the ends. Shrug.

  “Something’s brewing in that head of yours. Come on. Tell me.”

  Even though I want to, I stop myself. I’m not sure he truly means it, but he did say it. So I want to take him up on it. Not here though. A crowded restaurant where anyone could overhear isn’t really the place.

  “Raincheck?” I ask.

  His eyes light up. “Does that mean you trust me?”

  I take a moment to let his question settle in. Do I? Trust him? I mean, I barely know him. We met this morning—totally by chance. But he hasn’t steered me wrong as far as food goes yet. So what’s not to trust when it comes to words of the heart?

  “I suppose it does mean that,” I answer, lifting one shoulder a little.

  “Good.” He leans back in his chair. “Then I know the perfect place for our vegan dinner.”

  “My trust in you decided it?” I cross my arms over my chest. “And how can you possibly think of more food when we’ve already eaten so much and have more food on the way? You’re honestly thinking about dinner?”

  He pins me with his stare. “If it means hanging out with you more, then yeah. I’m thinking about it.”

  Half of me almost can’t believe he just said that. Almost. The other half of me definitely can’t believe he just said that. All of me, however, is in a puddle on the floor—or at least that’s how it feels. And I’m sure the stupid grin on my face isn’t helping.

  So I school my features into a blank expression. “Well, that was embarrassing.” Then I run off to the bathroom.

  Okay, so I don’t handle emotion very well. Obviously.

  And I have a clear habit of running away. Shit.

  I wash my hands and pat my face. The coolness of the water eases the burn of my hot cheeks. Which is a welcome feeling. Because how ridiculous is it that I just ran away from a man I’m attracted to? A man who clearly wants to spend time with me? A man who clearly has no real understanding of how not fun it is to spend time with me long term?

  I use a paper towel to dry my skin, and then I head back out to our table. I’m a big girl. I can handle this. I am fully capable of eating my lunch—or whatever the hell meal this is—and then getting on with my life. This charade ends now.

  When I get back to my seat, I toss my braid over my shoulder so it rests against my back and sit. Nicolas is looking at me like I’ve grown another head, but when I catch him, he tames his expression to a neutral one. Luckily, before I am forced to endure questions and explain what that was about, his sister brings our meal to the table.

  “Here ya go, guys. Anyone want a mimosa or something else to drink?” She drops her arms to her sides now that she doesn’t have plates in her hands, gazing at us expectantly.

  I shake my head and put my napkin on my lap. “Thanks.”

  I don’t know what Nicolas does because I’m too focused on preparing myself to eat this meal. Then I’m too busy actually eating the meal, which is damn good, I have to admit. The tangy barbecue sauce of the wrap pairs perfectly with the peanut sauce. And the fruity jam on the biscuit somehow ties the entire meal together.

  Man. Dude knows food. And I almost don’t know how I’m going to go back to eating without him.

  Oh yeah. I’m a big girl and all that. I’ll manage.

  “Are you trying to eat so fast you choke?” he asks between bites of his own food.

  I pause mid-chew, wipe my face with my napkin, and have the decency to look mildly ashamed at my behavior. Or maybe like I didn’t realize I was eating that fast. Either way, I put the napkin down and mumble a small apology.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself though.” Then he winks at me and puts more jam on his bread.

  I smile a little but continue eating. After another minute, my food’s gone. So I wipe my face again, dig in my purse for my wallet, and remove a few bills to pay for my meal.

  “Okay. This has been real, but it’s time for me to go now,” I tell him as I slide out of my seat. When I’m up, I throw my purse strap over my shoulder. “I’m gonna request a ride and head back to my hotel. Thanks for showing me around town today.”

  With that, I speed-walk out of the building, removing my phone from my bag. Once outside, I fill my lungs with air, hold the breath, and slowly exhale to keep my building anxiety under control. I find a spot on the curb to sit and pull up the rideshare app on my phone to request a ride. However, when I hit the button and my driver’s information pops up, I immediately hit the cancel button and try again. But the same driver’s information fills my screen for a second time. And then a third.

  Nicolas in the Toyota fucking Prius.

  “Stop accepting my ride request!” I shriek when he joins me on the curb.

  “But I’m the closest driver and I’m ready to give you a ride,” he explains. Calmly. Nicely. Not like I’ve just ditched him in the middle of a meal.

  “I don’t want a ride from you!”

  He rests his elbows on his knees and crosses his arms then gestures with his head to the building. “What happened in there?”

  “Nothing! I’m just trying to get ahead of the game here!” I peek at him, and he’s staring at me as I throw this tantrum.

  “What game? I thought we were having a good day.”

  “We were!” I yell, looking back down at the sidewalk. “But it ends. Everything good ends after I’ve opened my mouth one too many times, so I thought I’d end it on a good note. So turn your app off or don’t hit accept on my ride request so I can find someone else to take me back to my hotel. We’re done here.”

  He opens his mouth to refute me—I can see it in his eyes. But I bring a hand up between us to stop him. Then I stare him down until he exits the app on his phone so I can request a ride and find another driver. Which I do.

  “Clarissa” is on her way in a Honda Accord.

  “Thank you,” I say dramatically.

  “I don’t get it though. You just said you trusted me with one more meal. What happened?”

  I point a finger to my chest. “I happened.”

  “That’s vague. I don’t know what that means.”

  “Welcome to my world!” I shout, wildly throwing my arms around. “You’ve been vague all day!”

  He takes a deep breath. Then he says, “Yes,” out of nowhere.

  I look at him, hoping a stare deep down into his soul will provide the reason he just said that. But it doesn’t.

  “Yes what?” I ask, my arms out to my sides, my palms facing him.

  “The answer to your question is yes.”

  Dude’s being vague. Again.

  I motion with my ha
nds for him to fucking explain already.

  “My name. It’s Nicolas.”

  I go to speak, but his sister comes flying out of the door.

  “Oh, there you are!” she exclaims, out of breath. “You forgot your wallet on the table, Colin. Just like last week.” She holds it out to him, a hand on her hip.

  “Colin?” I ask, attitude dripping from the single word. “You just said—”

  “Thanks, Emmie,” he says as he snatches his wallet from her.

  “You’re welcome,” she sarcastically tells him right before she struts back into the restaurant.

  Luckily, Clarissa pulls up in her Honda Accord. Her car is as clean as Nicolas-slash-Colin’s Prius, but there’s no full head of black hair. No open and friendly smile, no blindingly white teeth, and no clear, blue eyes. Just a woman in her fifties who doesn’t look all that thrilled at the prospect of driving me back to my Nicolas-slash-Colin-free hotel room.

  I open her passenger’s side door and rest my hand on the top as I step off the curb. Then I face him and say, “Thanks for the food tour today.” But I lack the appropriate emotion in my voice. I don’t know if he just lied to my face about his name or not, but I’m over this whole thing.

  Okay, I’m trying to act like I’m over this whole thing. But my heart is kind of breaking a little. Too bad I’m too ridiculous for my own good.

  Ah well. I tried.

  “This isn’t over, Alexa,” he says as he holds the door open for me to get in.

  As I sit, I tell him, “Good luck with Stella,” and close the door so Clarissa and I can be on our way. Then I force myself to watch his retreating form in the side mirror.

  While I wonder how the hell he knew my name.

  Chapter 5

  I spend the entire drive back to the hotel trying to figure out when I gave him my name. But I don’t think I did. Nothing is ringing a bell, so I have no idea. I briefly wonder if the rideshare app gives the drivers the names of their customers, but friendly-as-ever Clarissa shoots that idea down. We’re silent after that.