by Elsa Kurt
Mitch chuckled. “Rose…gold. Right. Anyhow, hope you don’t mind my bringing it over to you. Your, uh, signs gave me pause for thought, I must say.”
“Well, that is kind of the idea of No Trespassing signs, isn’t it?” She meant it to sound teasing, light. Even to her own ears, it sounded brittle and discourteous. She was sorely out of practice in the banter department.
“Yeah. Well, anyhow, here’s your phone. Sorry for…” Mitch glanced at the sign on the door, “disturbing you. Just trying to be a good Samaritan.” He extended the phone. Katharine tore her eyes from his face long enough to take it. They’d both stepped forward at the same time, so when she grabbed it, her hand landed on his. He didn’t pull away, nor did she. Their eyes locked. His eyes gleamed mischievously. Hers remained wary, guarded. The spell was broken by a shout from behind the bushes separating the two yards.
“Yo, Mitch! Calling it a day, man. See you tomorrow. Good luck with the mean lady! If you’re lucky, she ain’t home!”
Mitch yanked his hand from his pocket and tugged the visor of his cap to hide his eyes. It couldn’t hide his smile, though. The smile infuriated Katharine all over again, and she whisked the phone and her hand away.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Well, I’ll be on my way. We’ll, um, try to turn the volume down on the noisy machines tomorrow, Katharine.”
He dared to wink when he said that. Then he turned away and started down the stairs. Katharine, the woman whose career was built on her ability to string sentences together, was speechless. As she gaped at him, he pivoted and pointed up at her phone.
“Oh, and Nate? He is one really cool dude. Tell him I enjoyed our conversation and his autographed hat is as good as in the mail!”
Nate? How did he…
Katharine looked down at her phone. Nate had called, and Mitch Whatever-His-Name-Was had answered. Now she understood how he knew her name.
“Hold it! You talked to my brother?” Her eyes narrowed. “About what?”
“Oh, you know. The weather. The Red Sox. My show. You.”
“You talked to my brother? On my phone? About me?”
Mitch shrugged. “Among other things.”
She refused to ask him what was said. She could only imagine. Nate was utterly unbeguiling and unfiltered, he’d answer any question asked of him with complete honesty. People took advantage of that all the time. If Mr. Big Shot T.V. Show guy thought he was slick, using a man with special needs like that, she would…
“Katharine? He’s a sweetheart of a man. A pleasure to talk to. He thinks you’re pretty special, too. Although he said—and I quote—he wishes you’d find a boyfriend and cut him some slack.”
Before she could respond, her phone rang. It was Nate, again. She smiled at the picture that automatically came up anytime he called. It was them at the lake, standing waist deep in the water and making ‘duck faces’ for the camera. When she looked up again, Mitch was passing through the bushes and back to Genoma’s yard. They’d still not properly introduced themselves to each other, and now had no reason to ever do so again. Too bad.
“Hey, Nate the Great! How you doin’?”
“Oh, crap. It’s you.” Nate’s voice on the other end of the line was full of undisguised disappointment.
“Gee, thanks a lot. Um, who else would it be, buddy?”
“I was hoping my friend Mitch Ford had your phone still. I was going to tell him about our favorite fishing spot on Lake Pocotopaug. He said he likes fishing. I told him you like to go fishing, too.”
“Oh, you did, huh? What else did you tell him, Nate?”
“I told him you’re single and you write books for teenagers with hormones. And your favorite color is turquoise, and you hate roses.”
“Wow, buddy. Thanks, I—”
“And your favorite actor is Cary Grant and you think most people suck. And that you couldn’t tell time until you were eleven.”
“Nate! I could tell time. Okay, fine—not on an analog clock. Why did you tell him so much about me?”
“Because he asked why you’re so cranky. That’s not the word he used though.”
“Oh, really?”
Heat rose in Katharine’s cheeks.
“Relax, Kit-Kat. I’ve heard swears before. And you can be a bit—”
“Alright, alright. I get it. Never mind your new friend Mitch Ford. What’s new with you, hmm?”
Katharine and Nate talked for over an hour. He told her all about the latest fundraiser they’d done for their non-profit group—aptly called Nate’s Great Cause—and she detailed her most recent book for him. As their conversation came to an end, the familiar lump formed in her throat. Nate was only thirty miles away, but it may have well been five million. He didn’t need her anymore. He was independent. Thriving. Maybe Nate never really needed her at all, and it was the other way around. She needed him as her buffer from the world.
“Katharine, don’t start crying again. Everything is going to be okay. Isn’t that what you always said to me?”
“Yes, yes. I know buddy. You’re right. I’m fine, really. I love you Nate the Great.
“Love you, too, Kit-Kat.”
They hung up with promises to talk the next day again. Katharine decided it was a perfect time for wine. The second her glass was poured, her phone chimed again. This time it was her dreaded publicist, on live chat, no less. With a quick sip and a sigh, she sat at the table and answered.
“Hey, Tori. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Oh, puh-lease, Katharine darling. I know you better than to think you view any call from me with pleasure.”
Tori laughed at her own humor. Her hair filled most of the small frame.
“Love the new hairstyle, Tor.”
“Mhmm. Goin’ back to my roots, baby. Glad you like. Alright, you ready for some exciting news?”
Heavy dread filled Katharine’s chest. Anything Tori found exciting would be an absolute trauma for Katharine.
“I suppose so…”
“Okay, drum roll, please!” Seeing there’d be none, she continued, no less enthused, “Girl, I got you on Connecticut Today with that cute little Steve what’s his name and his pretty Marla something. And don’t say no. You are contractually obligated to make these appearances. No ifs, ands, or buts. You hear?”
Katharine dropped her head onto the table.
“Oh, my word. Dramatic much? Relax, girl. It’ll be over before you know it. Thursday, five a.m. sharp. Check your email for a press packet for the website. Books and promo will be on your doorstep tomorrow. Peace out, baby.”
Tori ended the call while Katharine was in mid-shout.
“Next week? I’m not ready for that, Tori!”
Ooh, darn her!
Katharine’s stomach began churning, and her wine lost all appeal. Live television. Answering questions about her books, her life, herself. In a week. “Noooooo,” she called out into the empty room. Her voice bounced off the ceiling beams and around the house. It was a lonely sound. For the first time in a very long time, Katharine hated the solitude. This has nothing to do with Mitch Ford. Oh, yeah? Then why was that your first thought? Shut up. Now she was arguing with herself. Katharine really needed to get out more. Out of her head, and out of her house. And she knew right where to go.
***
Mitch left Katharine to her phone call and sprinted across the yard. Before he pushed through the narrow opening between Katharine and Genoma’s yards, he turned back to look at her. She tucked a long, loose strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear and Mitch could see her smiling against the receiver.
My God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles.
Mitch’s heart swelled. The sensation caught him by surprise, and he began to smile. Then he shook his head. Forget it, old man. She’s got trouble written all over her.
THREE
MEAN GIRLS GOOD
“Another round for my old friends, and my new ones, too!”
“Mitch, man, you’re the best!”
“Yeah, sure. We’ll see if you say that tomorrow morning at seven a.m.”
Sam groaned into his beer glass. Then he perked up.
“Hey, what happened with the dragon lady next door?”
“Happened? Nothing happened. I brought her the phone.”
Sam swiveled in his bar stool and turned his baseball cap backward. Mitch kept his eyes trained on the game on the television above the bar, knowing full well his ever-scruffy cameraman-slash-best friend was giving him the look.
“What, Samuel? Say it.”
“You like her.”
“Stop.”
“Admit it. You like her.”
“Nothing to admit. Drink your beer.”
“Dude, you’re not getting any younger. No offense.”
“Funny how people say, ‘no offense’ immediately after saying something they know is offensive.”
“You’re deflecting, man. Come on. Just because Leanne was a crazy, ax-wielding, full on sociopath, it doesn’t mean…”
“Thank you, Samuel. I get your point. Sociopaths, bad. Mean girls, good.”
“Aww, stop it, Mitch. You said yourself—after you talked to her kid brother—there’s more to her than meets the eye.”
“Older brother.”
“Huh? Sounded like you were talking to a kid. Whatever. Anyhow, all I’m saying is, you’ve been single a long time. Sparks flew between you and that chick. By the way, she looks great on tape.”
“Did you just say ‘chick?’ That’s so—wait, you saved that footage from today?”
“Yep. Cinematic gold. The fans will eat it up, bro.”
“Don’t you have to ask her permission to air it?” Mitch laughed. “Good luck with that.”
“Ah, well, that’s where you come in, my friend. Go on back over there tomorrow and turn on the old Mitch Ford charm and she’ll be eating out of your hand.”
“She’s not a horse, Sam. Geez.”
“Nope, nope. You’re totally right. That chick is a fox, man. Even looking like a girl in a WHAM video from the eighties, she was hot.”
“WHAM, huh?”
Mitch let out a big hoot. The genuine kind that lit up his face and rolled like a wave, lifting everyone around him. The patrons closest by began smiling and chuckling too, even though they had no idea why. Crazy Leanne had told him once—much to his discomfort—he affected people that way everywhere he went. Folks wanted to be in on his joke and under his shoulder clap. He exuded charm and approachability the way sun radiated light and heat. Most importantly, it was sincere. It may have been the only genuinely nice thing she’d ever said to him.
The conversation got shelved, and the crowd filtered out to the tiki lounge outside. A local blues band would be playing soon. Jeff Pitchell and Texas Flood declared the large billboard sign on the door. The drinks were flowing, and the sky was full of stars. The only thing missing was a pretty woman on his arm.
Jesus, listen to yourself. Sam’s getting to you.
Mitch shook his head, trying to clear the unbidden image of Katharine Evans from it. He looked around and startled at the sight by the bar. It was her.
“Hey, look, isn’t that…”
Mitch was already walking towards the petite, long-haired beauty in a crimson sweater falling off one shoulder. He vaguely wondered if that was perhaps her signature look. He took in the admiring glances which fell her way, and her aloof manner. She looked straight ahead, making eye contact with no one. He was an astute people reader. Katharine was uncomfortable and out of place, and she was hiding it with an unapproachable air. A short young man with incredibly thick eyebrows sat beside her and tried to get her attention. She turned her head away, pretending not to hear him. That’s when her eyes met Mitch’s, then slid away. The bartender set down a shot of something clear in front of her, and she downed it swiftly. He could see her mouth ‘another’ to him.
To Mitch, it seemed like every human obstacle blocked his way. After an eternity, he was beside her. He tilted a raised eyebrow at her second empty shot glass. She shrugged.
“Do you usually party like this on a Monday night?”
She glanced down at his beer and said, “Do you?”
“Touché, madam. Touché.”
Katharine exhaled a slow breath through her mouth. She rolled her shoulders and turned her head from side to side. Then she looked him in the eyes.
“Sorry, I—” she began.
He spoke at the same time. “You should—”
“What?”
“What?”
They kept speaking at the same time. Mitch tipped his hat to her. She smiled fleetingly then took a deep breath.
“I was going to say, I’m sorry for—”
Just then the band began to play, and Katharine’s words were drowned out. She shrugged and grimaced. Mitch laughed and patted her hand, letting the touch linger. A blush rose in Katharine’s cheeks in a way that Mitch found adorable.
The first licks of Johnny B. Good roared through the speakers, and a gaggle of women grabbed ahold of Mitch and pulled him to the dance floor. He raised an apologetic salute and obliged his fans.
Great, she probably thinks I’m a middle-aged Lothario.
Still, every time his eyes drifted to where she was, they held each other’s gaze.
Coincidence. She’s probably thinking I’m a buffoon.
At last, Mitch was able to escape the group of women and made his way to Katharine once again. He was too late, it would appear. The short guy had finally gotten her attention. From behind her, Mitch eavesdropped and watched the man touch her arm and ask if he could buy her a drink. Katharine shrugged, then said, “Sure. Vodka, seltzer, lime.”
“Great, great. So, what’s your name? You from around here? My name’s Tony. I work construction. What do you do?”
“Whoa. Slow down, Tony. It’s Katharine. Yes. What was the last question? Oh, I remember. I’m a writer.”
“Oh, hey, no way! A writer, huh? You know, I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
“You don’t say?”
“What?”
“I said, you don’t say!”
Mitch could hear the sarcasm in her tone, but judging by the look on Tony’s face, he was oblivious. If only he could see her face as she feigned interest as Tony launching into a summarization of his book idea.
FOUR
COME DANCE WITH ME
Katharine was already tired from the effort of conversation and ready to go home. She’d made a mistake in coming out. This wasn’t her thing… this peopling. Her drink arrived as she opened her mouth to give her apologies. It seemed a waste and very rude to not drink it, so she raised her glass to his with a smile.
I’ll drink it fast and go. Thank God for Uber.
She’d lost sight of Mitch Ford, which was probably a good thing.
Mitch. Which. Mitch. Which.
The rhyme stuck in her head, and she giggled.
“What—what’s so funny, Katharine?”
Short Tony had pronounced her name as ‘Kat-rin.’ This made her laugh even more. Tony, of course, wasn’t in on the joke and his hesitant laugh illustrated the fact. Katharine didn’t care. The music, with its steady driving beat, made her sway and nod her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced. High school?
“Come on, Tony Baloney, come dance with me.”
“Wait, I can’t…okay.”
Tony shuffle-stepped and clapped his hands out of time with the music while Katharine lost herself in the raucous wail of the guitar. Jeff Pitchell himself jumped out into the crowd and came straight toward Katharine. The last ounce of reserve melted away, and she danced with abandon. Another drink was pressed into her hand, and she took it with a whoop. Suddenly, Katharine Evans was having fun. With people. One song turned into four, two drinks became three. By the time the band took their break, Katharine was indisputably drunk.
She suddenly remembered poor Tony and looked around for him. She spotted him at the bar. Beside him was
none other than Mitch Ford. They seemed to be in earnest conversation. Or at least, Mitch was, and Tony was silently bobbing his receded hair-line head with an awestruck stare. Katharine rolled her eyes and sauntered over to the two men.
“And, what do we have here, gentleman? Is the great Mitch Ford wowing you with his buckets of irresistible charm?”
“Katharine…”
Mitch said her name and it made her insides tumble. Or maybe it was the alcohol. She wasn’t sure anymore.
“Mitch…”
She matched his serious tone, then laughed and pointed at him. Her depth perception was slightly off, and her finger poked his cheek. His dimple to be exact.
“Ooh, so serious, Mr. Ford. You have a dimple. A cute, little boy dimple. Right…there.”
Her inside voice told her she was behaving like an obnoxious twit, yet she couldn’t stop. Everything was so darn funny. Mitch’s expression said otherwise, which made her giggle more.
“Uh, Kat-rin? It was really nice meeting you. I uh, had a great time. But, uh, I think it might be time your boyfriend takes you home. Unless…”
“I’ll take it from here, Tony. Great meeting you, pal. That hat will be in the mail tomorrow. Send my love to your mother and thank her again for watching the show.”
“Ooh, yeah, thanks for watching the show, pal,” mimicked Katharine.
“Alright, Ms. Evans. That’s enough from you, I think. What do you say we get you home, hmm?”
“Um, I say nope,” she stretched the word a mile long, then added, “the band’s goming, coming back on in a minute and I want to dance.”
FIVE
DON’T BREAK THE SPELL
Katharine threw her arms up in the air, nearly smacking Mitch in the face, but his reflexes were quick. He jerked away, then looked around, scratching the back of his head. The band was a big draw, and the outside patio was filling rapidly. Mitch spotted the band’s headliner, Jeff Pitchell. It gave him an idea.
