Sweet Talker

by Robin Bielman

  Pascale lifts the photo, holding it carefully between her thumb and index finger like the print might burn her. “I’m a little rusty on my Greek mythology, but I think what you have is a stalker, Ethan.”

  “I don’t think so. Doesn’t ‘stalker’ mean obsessive? This stuff has been random and if I had to guess, impulsive.” I unfold the plain white paper. The only thing on it is a circular symbol of a snake swallowing its tail. “Apparently, my secret admirer has decided I like snakes.” I put the paper down face up so Callie can see it.

  “Some people believe snakes represent fertility. That the shedding of their skin is a symbol of rebirth and immortality. That picture is called an ouroboros. It can be considered an emblem of infinity.”

  “Meaning she wants forever with me?”

  “Possibly. Do you have any idea who this might be?”

  I want to tell her the only face and body I’ve memorized is hers, but I don’t think she’d appreciate that with the serious scrutiny she’s giving the paper and photo.

  “Aw, you worried about me? Don’t be. It’s probably a Monty Python fan. Or a Slytherin.” I crack a smile because, come on, that was some pretty quick thinking.

  “Be serious.”

  “I am. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t love and appreciate this face.” I circle my finger in front of my whole head. “This is just another juvenile attempt to engage me.”

  “It could be someone who thinks you’re a snake.”

  “A snake charmer, maybe.”

  “Now I see why your family—” she bites her bottom lip “—never mind.” She carefully picks up the paper, joining it with the photo, then gathers the rest of the mail and the laptop and stands. “I’m going to finish this work in the office.”

  “Honestly, Callie. This isn’t anything to worry about.” My grandmother must have told her something when I stepped away from the table after our lunch the other day. It says a lot that she trusted Callie so quickly after meeting her. My grandmother is definitely an oversharer, but not when it comes to serious family matters. Not that this is serious.

  “Noted.”

  “I didn’t share it to make you uncomfortable. I apologize if I crossed some line.” I get to my feet, but fight the urge to walk around the table so I can touch her in some reassuring manner.

  “You didn’t.”

  “On both counts?”

  “On both counts.” With that, she turns and strides toward the back office.

  As I watch her walk away, it dawns on me she lost her best friend to a stalker and she has every right to feel upset. This may be a situation she construes as very serious. Maybe even serious enough to quit.

  Chapter Four

  A Wager

  Pascale

  My life is out of control. And not in a good way.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say to Fern, her leafy fronds wilting from either lack of water or too much water, I’m not sure which since my green thumb seems to have left me. Now Fern and her friends are droopy because my focus is on a certain brown-haired blue-eyed restaurant owner who is too likeable for his own good. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve hired Paige to take care of you. She’ll treat you right.” My sister is one with nature. She also needs the extra money so if my plants die so does the job.

  Fern doesn’t reply, and that I even thought that means I need to get out of the house and clear my head. Or better yet, go kick the stuffing out of a punching bag at the gym. Sunday mornings are usually quiet there so I can sweat my way to calm without too much notice.

  For the past two weeks I’ve avoided being alone with Ethan as much as possible while always keeping one eye on him. I couldn’t believe how close I’d come to blowing my cover when he received the letter from the snake woman. To my credit, this is the first time I’ve been secretly hired. I’ve never had to hide who I am and it’s more challenging than I thought it would be.

  That it’s Ethan I’m doing this to makes it a hundred times harder.

  For one, Mr. Fearless rejects the notion that his safety is at risk. I get it—he’s manly and resolute and being the oldest son, he thinks he needs to take care of everything and everybody. But I also know disregarding even a minor threat can have harmful consequences.

  And for two, we’re falling back into a friendship that I worry will disintegrate when he finds out the truth. No one likes to be misled.

  I walk around the house, picking up stray articles of clothing while dusting surfaces with a dirty T-shirt I already lifted off the floor. Sunshine streams in through the windows and I stop for a moment to look outside and admire the bright green rolling hills.

  My minute of relaxation is interrupted when the buzzer on my washing machine sounds. The laundry room slash shoe closet—I have a slight addiction to keeping my feet well covered—smells like dryer sheets and some days I sit on the floor in here to do my ten minutes of coloring. Last week I was listening to NPR and the topic was self-improvement. A guy was talking about doing different things for thirty days. One task at a time, like take a picture every day or try a new recipe or meditate. I chose a coloring book and colored pencils.

  Because I do miss Seattle. I miss sitting on a small chair at a child’s table that I could barely get my legs under and giggling while we colored princesses. I miss Rylee. And sometimes her dad.

  I’ve done a good job of keeping my mind off Grant, but sometimes it still hurts to think about what I lost. A moment of weakness cost me my job and two people I cared about, and I won’t ever let my feelings overrule my professionalism again.

  I dump my dirty clothes in the laundry basket then lift the lid on the machine. “Damn it,” I say to the handful of wet clothes I pull out. I somehow managed to put my red workout hoodie in with my whites and now everything is pink. I scan the dials like it’s the machine’s fault, not operator error. Washing machines should really come with a reverse action button.

  By the way, I have no idea who the snake woman is. Her prints aren’t in the system and when I casually asked Ethan about any enemies he might have, he once again made light of it. I’m a lover not a fighter. His jokey confidence is super attractive, but it also means he’s in denial. I’d like to tell him the truth about me, but his family is still strongly against it. They think he’ll fire me on the spot if he finds out. Their goal is for me to discover who this “fan” is, turn her in to the authorities and then give Ethan my two weeks’ notice.

  For a family that loves one another as much as the Auprinces, this plan leaves a lot of room for upset.

  I move to the kitchen and am tying my shoelaces when the doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone so I tiptoe to the door and peer through the peephole. Standing on my porch looking too handsome to be real in a muscle-hugging black Henley and gray joggers is Ethan.

  If there were a world record for how fast someone can open their front door, I own it.

  “Good morning,” he says. “I was hoping I’d catch you at home.”

  “Hi. How did you know where I live?”

  “Did my research.” He does a quick sweep up and down my body. “You heading to the gym?” When Ethan Auprince runs his eyes over you, it’s like you’ve been touched by velvet-tipped feathers. So, it takes me a couple of blinks to register his words. By ‘research’ I assume he means looked at my new-hire paperwork. There was no reason not to be truthful about my address and phone number. And from the way he’s dressed he’s planning to work out, too. Coincidence? Great minds? Fate?

  “I was.”

  “Can I steal you away to do something with me instead?”

  He can. But only because it’s my job to stay close to him. “Sure. Am I dressed okay for what you have in mind?”

  “More than okay.” His gaze does another tour of my body.

  Velvety touch here. Velvety touch there. Velvety touches everywhere.

  This is definitely not good.

  “Wait here for a minute and I’ll grab my bag.”

  “Is your house
a complete mess and you don’t want me to see inside?” he says with an amused smile.

  “Ha! I’m not that messy.” I’m worried that if he steps foot inside my favorite space I will want him to come back again and again.

  He arches a brow in challenge. Damn him. Dare accepted. Lucky for me I picked up not ten minutes ago.

  “Ethan, would you like to come inside while I grab my purse?”

  “I’d love to. Thanks.” He steps past me and into my mountainside bungalow like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do.

  I’ve owned the low house with a wide front porch for two years and he’s the first man besides my dad to walk through the door. Granted, I’ve been living elsewhere for a lot of that time, but it still hits a place in my chest I thought I’d moved past.

  The whole you-never-fully-get-over-your-first-love? It’s annoyingly true. And sometimes painful. Because seeing Ethan fill my entryway with a presence that is both overwhelming and humble makes me wonder about the path our lives would have taken if Hillary hadn’t been killed. I try not to dwell on the past and things I can’t change, but there are times late at night when I’m curled up in bed under the covers that I wish so hard she’d come to Hawaii with me. That she’d met and fallen in love with the friend Ethan was playing football with that day, and there were no goodbyes, but long-distance romances that ended in weddings.

  I close the door then brush by him.

  He follows me toward the kitchen. “Nice place,” he says.

  “Thanks. I told you I’m not the same slob I was when we met.”

  “Believe it or not, that’s not what I remember most about you.”

  I look over my shoulder at him. “What do you remember most?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  Ex-lover Pascale wants to answer “yes.” But bodyguard Pascale needs to answer “no.” I turn around to lean against the kitchen island. “No.”

  Ethan takes in the sun-drenched space that faces my tiny backyard. This was why I bought the place. The previous owners were chefs and remodeled the kitchen to be a cook’s dream with clean-lined modernism that includes stainless-steel modules in powder-coated black, black marble countertops with a breakfast bar, and pale gray resin flooring. The crisp aesthetic is a stark contradiction to the rest of the house, but that’s another reason why I love it.

  “This is the kitchen you envisioned for your coffee bar and café,” he says.

  His observation sucks all the air out of my lungs. I’ve never looked at the room that way, but he’s right. Unconsciously, I must have known this design compared to the one Hillary and I envisioned, but I honestly hadn’t made the connection until now.

  “Hey.” His soft voice is closer. He puts a finger under my chin. “I didn’t mean to upset you by bringing that up.”

  I lift my gaze from the floor. These past few weeks we’ve watched each other, contemplated and considered each other, but the regard Ethan is giving me now is brimmed with a new kind of care. The kind that stems from a shared history where two people loved each other once upon a time.

  “You didn’t.” I step away to give myself room to breathe. “So where are we off to?”

  “Indoor rock climbing.”

  “Sounds great.” I grab my purse off the countertop, checking inside the outer pocket to be sure I’ve got my phone. “But if you want a real challenge why don’t we do it outside? There’s a company that—”

  “Next time. This morning is about more than climbing.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “You’ll see.”

  *

  The indoor facility is teeming with kids of different ages, sizes, and color. But one thing they all have in common is smiles on their faces.

  “Hi, Ethan!” A boy around twelve holds up his fist for a bump.

  “Hey, Jordan.” Ethan knocks knuckles. “How’s it going?”

  “Good.”

  “You climb already?”

  “Twice. Going for my third now.”

  “Have fun.”

  “I am!” Jordan runs off to join a group of boys staring up at a wall in the middle of the large gym. A ponytailed girl is currently climbing the bright green obstacle and the boys cheer her on.

  I turn to face Ethan. “You own this place, don’t you?”

  “No. A friend of mine does. But every Sunday, I sponsor all the kids you see here. They’re in the foster care program and anyone under the age of sixteen is welcome to spend the day. As many climbs as they want, lunch, snacks.”

  “Wow. That’s really nice of you.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He gives me a tour of the facility in between high fives, hellos, and jokes with many of the kids. When he introduces me, a few of the older boys ask if I’m his girlfriend. Apparently, Ethan hasn’t brought a girl here before and my presence warrants some ribbing.

  “Why foster kids?” I ask when we stop near a small wall to watch some younger children in action.

  “My best childhood friend was a foster kid.”

  “Are you still in touch?”

  “We are,” Ethan says nodding toward a handsome black man heading toward us. “That’s him there. He owns this place and a few others.”

  “Prince Man, how are you?” The man brings Ethan in for a one-armed hug.

  “I’m good. Zander, this is Pascale. Pascale, meet the only guy I let call me Prince Man.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. “This place is great.”

  Zander’s warm, dark eyes zero in on me like we’ve met before. “Pascale, as in the Pascale?”

  “Yes,” Ethan says. “Now let go of her hand.”

  Rather than let go, he covers my hand with both of his. “Wow. I think I should hold on lest you disappear before answering all my questions.”

  “I guess I deserve that, but rest assured I’m not going anywhere.” Yet.

  “All right.” He releases my hand. “So, when did the two of you get back together?”

  “We’re not—” Ethan and I start at the same time. “Together,” he finishes. “Pascale is my new restaurant manager.”

  Zander crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Really? How did that happen? No offense, Pascale, but my man here was pretty upset when you ditched him. I believe his exact words to me were, ‘I hate her.’”

  Ouch.

  Ethan rubs the back of his neck. “That was a long time ago. And I wasn’t the one to hire her.”

  “Dude. All I’m saying is a little heads-up would have been nice,” Zander says in a protective tone.

  “You’re right,” Ethan says. “I’ll bring you up to speed later. Is everything running smoothly here?”

  “Have there been problems?” I inquire, my bodyguard brain kicking into gear.

  “Everything is fine,” Zander says to Ethan before looking at me to add, “We had some minor trouble a couple months ago, but those kids haven’t been back.”

  Hmm. Could be something I should check out. Maybe snake woman is a foster mom. “Is every child in foster care invited here?”

  “Thanks to Ethan, yes. We work with Foster LA Kids to offer a safe place for youth to build confidence, overcome fear, encourage one another, and have fun while staying fit.”

  “I’d love to try it for myself.”

  “Let’s get you some footwear and see what you’ve got.” Ethan puts a hand on the small of my back.

  “I’ll catch you two before you leave,” Zander says before ruffling a kid’s hair and walking away with him.

  “I’m not sure why you brought me today, but I’m glad you did,” I tell him. Against my better judgment, I want to know everything about Ethan. Will it hurt in the long run when we part ways again? For sure. But I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about more.

  We grab our climbing shoes from the front desk. A twenty-something girl with the name Sydney etched on the breast pocket of her polo shirt smiles at Ethan as she hands over his size elevens, but h
e’s looking elsewhere. “Have fun,” she says to him, like I’m not standing beside him. I get it. Ethan has a presence that takes up the room.

  “Thanks,” he says absently before putting his hand on my back to guide me to a small bench so we can put on our shoes. Once seated he adds, “I’m glad you’re here, too. There isn’t a rule against us hanging out outside the restaurant is there?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so,” he says with a mix of playfulness and something I can’t put my finger on.

  For a hot minute, I wonder if he knows about me. Before I can think too hard about it, though, he gets to his feet. I’m on mine a second later. “Hey, Ethan,” a boy, maybe seven or eight with curly black hair says.

  “Hunter, how are you, my man?”

  “I’m ready to beat you to the top. You ready?”

  “I’m ready. Is it cool if my friend Pascale joins us?”

  Hunter glances at me. “Think she can beat me?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  I grin at the two of them. “Oh, it’s on.”

  We wait our turn for the largest climbing wall, Ethan and Hunter talking nonstop about sports. I glean from their conversation that LeBron James is Hunter’s favorite basketball player and Ethan’s brother, Finn, is his favorite baseball player. Listening to Ethan talk about Finn makes me admire him even more. It’s clear he thinks the world of his brother and is proud of who Finn is on and off the field.

  When we reach the front of the line, Hunter can’t wait to race Ethan.

  “Good luck,” I tell them.

  “Pfft,” Ethan says. “I don’t need luck.”

  “That’s right,” Hunter answers. “Cuz luck isn’t enough to beat me.”

  Hunter is too much. And clearly enamored with Ethan, which is beyond cute. This place is definitely about more than climbing. Ethan is a mentor, a big brother, a man to look up to.

  “Ready…” Hunter says, harness on and his carabiner locked in place.

  “Set…” Ethan counters, ready to go as well.

  “Go!” Hunter takes off up the wall with Spider-Man-style moves that have those watching whooping for him.