Pinpoint (Point #4)

by Olivia Luck

  “Um, Iris?”

  I plaster a smile on and turn to face the voice. “Hi, Michael. What’s up?”

  The teenager looks at me hesitantly. “Well, um, I was wondering if I could talk to you before everyone else gets here.”

  “Of course.” A trickle of hope flows through me.

  “Last week, I wanted to tell you, but the class went by really fast and then I had to go home and babysit.”

  Hearing him say this releases more hopefulness. I remember how I felt shunned when the students ran out of the room, and I realize that I was too focused on myself in that assumption. These may be teenagers, but they have things to do too, like homework and babysitting their siblings.

  “No worries. I’m here, so we can talk now.”

  “The thing is I’ve been baking since I was a kid and I really love it. And, uh, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I was wondering if I could show you some of the recipes I’ve made.” The words come out in a rush as if his interest in the kitchen embarrasses him. “Well, I didn’t really make them. I just modified some I got from books.”

  “Oh, Michael, it would be my pleasure to review what you’ve been working on. Did you bring anything to show me today?” I look at the wall clock. “Your classmates will be here in a few minutes, but if you’d like to talk after the session, that works.”

  “I gotta babysit my sister and my cousin,” he says with no lack of forlorn.

  “Then next week. Would you like to come to the classroom early? We can chat say thirty minutes before we get started. Or longer, if you’d like.”

  Michael’s eyes light. “Cool. Thanks, Iris. What are we making tonight again? I forgot.”

  “Cupcakes, and you’ll learn a few different icing techniques.”

  Michael watches me pile the aprons on the first kitchen’s center island. “Need any help?”

  Warmth fills my chest. What a sweet young man. “That would be great. Grab the recipe cards from that tan bag, split them in half, and put a stack in each kitchen, please.”

  “When did you start baking?” Michael asks while doing his task.

  “Like you, ever since I was a kid. Kept me busy and I am an introvert who prefers to be in a kitchen than out in the crowds.” I don’t know what inspires me to open up to Michael, but I remember what Oscar told me. If I want the students to respect and open up to me, I need to offer them the same. “Plus, my dad is a pastor. Churches always have a need for baked goods. It was a good excuse as any to experiment.”

  “I like seeing people eat what I make,” Michael says. “That’s probably my favorite part—well, and licking the bowl.” He grins at me with childlike idealism, and it’s all I can do not to hug him (that’s against the Mentoring Chicago rules, anyway). His wonder reminds me what it was like to fall in love with baking.

  “Yo, Iris!” London leads the other teenagers through the classroom smacking on gum.

  Showtime. As discreetly as possible, I inhale and exhale a fortifying breath. I’m ready for this.

  “Hello, everyone. Please sit down for a minute. I have a few things to go over and then we’ll start with cupcakes and frosting.” There’s no dispute, thankfully, and the students file to their desks. I turn off my portable speakers and turn to face them with my most stern expression. “Last week, I don’t think we got off to the best start.” Even though no one tries to interrupt, I still lift my hand as if to ward them off. It’s an instinctual reaction. “This was completely my fault because I was pretty nervous. In case you couldn’t tell, this was my first time teaching baking at Mentoring Chicago. Ultimately, this is your class. First things first, we’re going to have a DJ. I could tell you didn’t love my music, so I want to hear what you like. London, you’re up. No explicit lyrics. That’s my one rule. No cursing in this room and no cursing with the tunes. Got it?”

  London hops to her feet, making a beeline for my cell phone. “I can pick anything?” she asks, showing signs of interest. Small victory. Some tightness in my shoulders slackens.

  “Within limits.” The words are still stern but friendly. The students are looking at me differently, with no mistrust and almost all intrigue. The thump of bass fills the classroom. “A little quieter, London.”

  Then the darndest thing happens.

  “Sure, Iris.” The volume decreases, and I fight back the urge to beam. For the first time in the past three days, Oscar is a distant memory.

  Two hours later, the students are packing up their things. “See you next week, Iris,” Amber says.

  “Bye,” I echo several other of the teenagers while they pile out of the classroom, cupcakes in hand. I slump against one kitchen counter in relief. Thank goodness, that went much better than last week. Not only did they listen, but the teenagers also engaged with me. I’m floating off the ground, thrilled with the outcome until . . .

  “Iris.” The curve in my spine goes straight.

  Oscar fills the doorway of my classroom, one shoulder leaning around the doorjamb. “Do you have a minute?”

  I want to say no. Badly. I have no reason to be unkind to him, but my body screams otherwise. Be rude. Run away. He had his chance. Fear replaces the earlier pleasantness from spending time with the kids. I’m scared of what he could say, scared at the confrontation. I have no idea what to do.

  “Iris, you ready?” My breath gets caught in my throat. Dex. I nearly forgot he and I had plans for dinner.

  Oscar’s eyes darken with a glint of annoyance. He whirls around to find my friend. Almost immediately, his tense shoulders relax. “Dex. Good to see you.”

  Oh. I didn’t realize they knew each other.

  I watch in surprise at Dex’s gall as he pats Oscar on the chest patronizingly and walks around him. “Hey, Oscar. How’s it going?” Dex gives away nothing, but still, Oscar looks on edge.

  “Not bad. You two going out?” As if he knows he appears uptight, Oscar puts his hands in his pocket. It reminds me of the casual stance he had when the red carpet reporter interviewed him. Not a care in the world.

  A slow fury starts to build. I don’t have to talk to him.

  “Actually, we have dinner plans with friends, and we need to hit the road soon if we don’t want to be late,” Dex says easily. I realize then I haven’t spoken a word; I’ve simply stood in the center of the kitchen watching the exchange silently.

  “H-hey, Dex.” I clear my tight throat, but there’s no hiding the edge in my tone. “Need to do a tiny bit of cleanup here and then I’m ready. Oscar, I’ll have to see you another time.”

  Oscar stares at me as if I physically stung him with my words. An instant wave of guilt washes over me. You have to protect yourself, I remind myself harshly.

  “Enjoy your evening. I’ll call you, Iris.” When Oscar leaves, my body curls into itself, and my forehead drops forward. I feel like I ran a marathon after less than three minutes in his presence. How am I going to handle the next two semesters?

  Dex steps close enough to me to speak in a whisper. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Ask Mr. Single,” I grumble. Dex chokes out a laugh.

  “You do realize you owe me the full story.” He tosses an arm around my shoulder and hugs me to his side. “Tell me what we need to do and let’s get out of here.”

  After the kitchen is clean, Dex and I load the trunk. I climb into the front seat and offer him a tremulous smile. “Are we really on a deadline?”

  “Not so much. The sushi place we’re going to doesn’t take reservations. I lied a little to hurry up the process. Tell me if I overstepped, but I got the vibe you didn’t want to spend any alone time with Oscar.” Dex clicks his seat belt into place.

  I push the button to ignite the engine and strap the belt across my chest. “I’m all mixed up. Furious, unhappy, jumbled, rejected . . .”

  “Stop right there. This conversation requires wine. Take us to Lincoln and Wrightwood. You know how to get there from here?”

  “Yup.” I shift the car into drive and back
out of the parking spot. Dex fiddles with Bluetooth to connect it to his phone then he streams a playlist. The soulful beats of Alabama Shakes lull me into a relaxed state as I navigate the city streets.

  “You have a magical ability to pick the exact right music for the mood,” I tell Dex.

  “Part of the job.” Dex is a nationally known DJ and a favorite of Expertly Planned for clients who can afford his steep fees. He directs me to a spot near the restaurant. There’s no wait for a table, and the staff seats us at a table near the back of the restaurant at Dex’s request. “Privacy,” he says. We make quick work of selecting nigiri and sashimi to share.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” Dex asks when we are alone.

  “The last time I had alcohol, I made some choices I probably wouldn’t have made if I hadn’t tried my first margarita,” I say dryly.

  Dex arches a brow. “Start at the beginning.”

  Sighing wearily, I fiddle with the chopsticks. “There isn’t too much to tell.” A sudden wave of shame washes over me. What will Dex think of me when he hears how easily I gave in to temptation?

  “Wipe that look of indecision off your face. This is a treehouse conversation. That means everything you say is protected in the treehouse. The topics are for our ears only. Got it?”

  “I lost my virginity to Oscar on Saturday,” I blurt. Immediately, I bury my red face in my hands.

  To his credit, Dex doesn’t gasp or show any visible signs of shock. “Hey,” he says gently when I won’t raise my gaze from studying the table. “Iris, you do know this is the twenty-first century, right? It’s not that bad.”

  With a wobbly smile, I lift my head. “I’m still getting used to the idea that people have sex before they get married,” I confess. “To put it mildly, Violet and I were raised in a conservative home.”

  “Speaking of Violet, why haven’t you told her about Oscar?” There’s no judgment in Dex’s tone, but I hear naked curiosity.

  “God, I’m embarrassed. This proves that I’m the unworldly rural bumpkin who needs her sister’s approval before she does anything. Then, of course, she would tell Cameron, and Cameron already warned me that Oscar doesn’t do committed relationships. Heck, even Oscar told me he wasn’t one to settle down, but I didn’t listen. Now look at me, practically crying into my Diet Coke.”

  Dex’s eyes fill with sympathy. “You aren’t the first person who believed what was in their heart. This experience is not unique to you.”

  “Still, I shouldn’t have jumped into bed with him. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of Oscar. Except for his dang seductive charms, he didn’t pressure me. In fact, he even asked for permission, as if I was going to change my mind.” I roll my eyes.

  “Fat chance of that happening. It doesn’t sound like the sex itself was the problem. More like afterward . . .” Dex purposefully trails off, leaving space for me to finish.

  “When I woke up in the morning, he was gone. It was like the night before had been a dream.”

  “Wait a second. Were you at his place or yours?”

  “His!” I cry. “No car, no real idea where I was because we drove there at night and I wasn’t paying much attention. In the age of ride-sharing apps, it wasn’t a big deal to get home, but don’t you think he would have had some concern leaving me alone in his house?”

  The corners of Dex’s eyes crinkle when he grins at me. “Pretty sure Oscar knows that you’re trustworthy. Sorry to jump on the bandwagon, babe, but you pretty much exude sweetness, innocence, and all things that are pure and good in this world.”

  “I don’t know whether to thank you or scream,” I say in frustration. “That’s probably why he felt he could bolt without too much repercussion.”

  “Is there more to this story?” Dex asks skeptically. “It sounds like there is some rage boiling underneath the surface.”

  He’s not wrong. Bubbling fury threatens to spill over, but I tamp my reaction down when the server appears with trays of food. My stomach clenches painfully. I can’t eat. Not yet.

  “When I woke up alone, I found a note. It said, ‘Iris, had an early flight to L.A. Be well, Oscar.’” I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it was too late. I already recounted the humiliating note. Loudly.

  Dex’s eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open displaying a half-chewed roll. Quickly, he finishes chewing then washes the raw fish and rice down with a swig of wine. “Be well. What kind of bullshit is that?” Hearing the words back make me wince. “I’m pissed off on your behalf. That was a dick move. Now, I get why seeing him interviewed practically poured a pound of salt in the wound. Babe, you are much better off without him. Cut your losses and be thankful he didn’t get the chance to pull this crap later on.”

  I square my shoulders and allow some of my anger to melt away. “That’s a good point. Besides, as much as I wish things didn’t end the way they did, at least he was a giving, um, partner.”

  Dex winks. “Nothing better than a giving partner.”

  My cheeks heat. I may no longer be a virgin, but I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss the intricacies of sex with a new friend. “I’ve been hogging the conversation since we got here. What’s new with you?”

  Dex shakes his head around another bite of food, swallows, and then speaks. “Believe me, I’d rather talk about this than contract negotiations with new clients. Any idea why Oscar wanted to talk to you alone?”

  Pausing to contemplate, I scrunch my nose. “He made it blatantly clear he had nothing to say to me on Sunday morning. When I saw him earlier tonight, I had a visceral reaction. I was seething, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”

  Dex nods. “It’s your decision when, where, and if you speak to him again. Though it will be hard to avoid him every week. Sucks that you’re volunteering at the same place.”

  “You’re telling me.” I groan in distress. “Any advice?”

  Apparently finished with his food, Dex props his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “From the times we’ve worked together, I’ve never known Oscar Alexander to back down from a challenge. That man thrives on adversity. He won’t stop until he gets to speak his piece. The question is what do you want to say in response?”

  “That’s hard to figure out when I don’t know what he will say first.” I drop my chopsticks and push an inch back from the table. “No matter what he says, though, I won’t date him again. I can be courteous, especially if we end up working together through Expertly Planned, but that’s it. I—I’m going to be mature about this.”

  “You sure about that? I sense a little hesitation,” Dex teases.

  “Yes.” I place my palm flat on the table to emphasize my point. “We were two consenting adults who had fun. That’s the end of it.”

  Dex lowers his brows suggestively. “We’ll see about that.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  “Did you remember to call the florist and remind her that there can be absolutely no roses in the mock-up?” Violet pauses at the Expertly Planned office door. Exhaustion slumps her shoulders, and strands escape the springy ponytail that she pulled her hair into this morning. It’s a wonder she doesn’t look more drained. Beginning with a four a.m. wakeup in preparation for the Breast Cancer Society brunch, we’ve had a fourteen-hour day. This question caps off a similar line directed at me since before my first cup of coffee.

  Involuntarily, my hands clench into fists. From this far away, Violet can’t see that her micromanaging is getting to me. I try to keep my voice even. “Yes. I called Paul yesterday. He’s well aware of her aversion to roses.”

  Violet nods and gives me a tired smile. “You’re the best sister and colleague.”

  You mean underling. I nearly gasp at my internally snappy retort. Where did that come from?

  “Love you,” she says.

  Violet shuts the door behind her and clicks the lock into place. She dashes out to the street where Cameron likely wai
ts in his car. Only one more email to send and I can soak in the bathtub in peace. If I were to look in a mirror, I’d probably see just as much weariness etched on my features. I finish my work and begin the process of locking down my computer.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Frowning, I glance at the front door.

  “No.” The word comes out involuntarily at the sight of Oscar Alexander. Our eyes connect. Despite the fifty feet separating us, the same intensity crackles around me. I blow out a breath of air and rise to my feet. The familiar anger, mixed with my annoyance of my sister, swirls into a feverish tornado. I stalk across the loft space and yank the door open.

  “Can I help you?” I ask acidly.

  Oscar stares at me with an impassive expression. “Maybe I deserve your vitriol, but I didn’t expect you to be this unwelcoming.”

  Twin circles of heat build on my cheeks. Darn it. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. On top of that, I am being downright rude. “I’m sorry, Oscar. It’s been a bear of a day. Come in.” I shift a step backward, allowing him to enter the loft.

  The scent of sandalwood floods my senses and launches a million memories when he passes by me. Physical moments like the whisper-light touch of his fingertips and his lips devouring mine overwhelm me. The worst part is remembering the emotional connection I felt to Oscar. At the time, it was as if we were enmeshed, irrevocably bound together. Now, I know those feelings were just the musings of a starry-eyed naïve girl. It takes an actual shake of my head to clear the dangerous thoughts.

  I clear my dry throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “There’s no need for pleasantries. I realized the moment I saw you on Wednesday that I’m undeserving of your kindness.” Oscar pushes a hand through his wavy hair. If I’m not mistaken, he looks chagrined. “Violet, I’m here to apologize.”

  Darn it; hope blooms in my heart. “For what?” I ask cautiously.

  “Leaving you that way was incredibly thoughtless, and the note was beyond prickish.” Oscar looks contrite enough. A little chink in the hard wall I erected between us dissolves.