FUSE

by Deborah Bladon

"How many letters do you have in there?" I pull on the edge of her purse. "You've read four different ones since we got here."

  She smiles sweetly at me as she pats the hand of the elderly man sitting at a table near the window of the recreation room. "Seven. I brought seven today."

  "You wrote every one yourself, didn't you?" I don't honestly know why I'm asking. I've sat quietly by as she's read each one. Each was personalized and spoke of details about the patient's life that she could only have gained by spending hours listening to them talk about their past.

  She leans closer to me, dropping her voice to a low whisper. "They're all forgetful. Some have been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Some just can't hold onto their memories the way they wish they could. I write the letters, read them and give them to them so they can remember."

  Of course she does. She drinks cocoa and handwrites letters to forgetful older people. How is it that I even met this woman? It's as though we were thrown into space from two opposing planets and we both happened to end up at the pub that night.

  "You're an incredible person, Zoe," I say it because it needs to be said. "I've never met anyone quite like you."

  The soft smile she gifts me in return is breathtaking. "I need to finish reading my letters. You can wait for me in the reception area out front if you want."

  She's giving me an out. She's likely noticed that I've been nervously tapping my foot against the faded tiled floor since we arrived. I didn't know what I was diving into when I offered to come with her. I told her I'd call for a driver, but she refused the idea. When I tried to hail us a cab, she was already trudging up the street towards the subway. She does things her own way and if I want a place in her life as a friend, I'm going to need to adjust to that. I see it. I like it. I admire and respect it.

  "I'll sit over there in the corner until you're done." I motion towards a row of plastic chairs pushed against a wall covered in yellowed paper with drawings all over it.

  "You're sure?" She bats her long eyelashes at me. "You can go if you want. I know the way back to Manhattan."

  "I'm not going anywhere." I push her hair behind her ear. "Take your time."

  Chapter 11

  Zoe

  He told me he'd wait for me but when I glanced up after reading the last of my letters to an elderly woman who had nodded off in one of the oversized chairs in the recreation room, I'd turned around to find him gone. I'm disappointed. I wanted him to stay. I was looking forward to walking back to the subway with him and riding the train back into Manhattan. On the way here, he'd sat close to me, his thigh touching mine. It was an innocent act that was born out of the space confines of the crowded, late afternoon rush of the many commuters hurrying home from work, but it was comforting to me. I liked when he touched me even if was coming from a place of friendship.

  I move across the room to pull on my coat. A quick glance at the windows tells me that it's past dusk now. I'll have to get home, change clothes and head into work at the pub almost immediately.

  I round the corner towards the reception desk when I see him again. He's standing with a dark haired woman. She's the director of the facility. She's excited as she speaks to him.

  "Zoe," she calls to me with a wave of her hand. "You brought Brighton Beck to us."

  In that instant he turns towards me and I catch a glimpse of the smile that radiates from his eyes and onto his entire face. He's happy. I can sense it even if I don't know what true joy means to him. He looks lighter and more relaxed than he did this afternoon when we were edging around the details of his past relationships.

  "You two have met," I say because it's the only thing I can think of. I was convinced he'd gotten bored and had ditched me, along with our promised friendship. Now, I see him engaged in a lively conversation with Ramona, the woman who arranged my volunteer work.

  "You never once mentioned that you were friends with this man." She taps him playfully on the chest. "I've been a fan of his for years now."

  Ramona doesn't strike me as the type who fawns over men who paint watercolors, but you never really know a person. "Beck and I met not long ago."

  "Beck?" she repeats it back with a gleeful lilt in her voice. "May I call you Beck too or is that just for your friends?"

  He turns briefly to look at me. "Everyone calls me Beck. My close friends call me the Yankee."

  I smile at the awkward reminder of my first impression of him. "We need to go. I have to get to the pub for my shift."

  "Right." He reaches to push my hair back from my shoulder. "You should button up your coat. It's getting colder out now."

  "He takes care of you." Ramona runs her hand over my elbow. "You're the luckiest girl in the world, Zoe."

  I smile at the statement. I do feel luckier today than I have in a long time. "He's becoming a good friend. I'll be back at the end of the week, Ramona."

  "Will you bring the paintings then, Beck?" She turns her attention back to him. "I still can't believe you're doing that for us."

  "Doing what?" I blurt out before I realize what I'm saying.

  "Your friend," she begins before she corrects herself. "Our friend, Beck, is donating a few paintings to our silent auction. They're going to bring in more than we need to fund the renovations in the patients' common space."

  I donated a signed copy of a book I've had since I was a child to the auction. Beck just put that to shame by donating paintings worth more than this building is probably worth. I'm impressed. I'm also stunned. Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye.

  ***

  "Where were you today?" Bridget catches me off guard as she sneaks up behind me just as I'm trying to balance a tray filled with shot glasses.

  "Bridget," I shriek at her as I work to steady the edge of the tray with my hand. "Don't ever scare me like that again. I almost lost all of this."

  "That would have totally come out of your tips, Zoe." She states the obvious. "You need to be careful."

  I know she's teasing me. The huge smile on her face is evidence of that. "I have to go drop these off. How's your shift going tonight?"

  "You're not getting off that easily." She looks past me to her station. "I have a minute right now. Tell me where you've been all day."

  I want to keep my blossoming friendship with Beck a secret because I know that she's going to make assumptions about what it really means. Anyone would. He's gorgeous, he's single and he sees me as a potential pal. It's not that I'm completely embarrassed by that. I should actually be honored that he wants to develop a close bond with me but I can't ignore the fact that I feel rejected in a sense. He may have been trying to pick me up the first night he was here in the pub, but he was trying to pick up Bridget and almost every other server too. I don't fit into what he desires in a woman and that stings, regardless of how much a friendship with him might come to mean to me.

  "Zoe." She taps me softly on the shoulder. "Where did you go today?"

  I inch slightly forward on my feet, wanting her to clear a path for me so I can get to the table of businessmen who are waiting for these shots. "I was volunteering today. I was in Brooklyn."

  I see the skepticism in her expression but she doesn't push at all. "You better drop those off before you drop them on the floor."

  I nod as I scurry across the crowded bar, the entire time my mind focused on Beck.

  Chapter 12

  Beck

  She looked like an angel when she said goodbye to me at the subway station. The tip of her nose and her cheeks were a soft pink from the cold as we stood on the street to say goodbye. I wanted to insist on walking her home, not because I don't trust the safety of that part of the city. I do. I just wanted to soak up every moment I could with her. She'd told me stories about her grandfather who has Alzheimer's as we rode the train back into Manhattan. The seats were crowded, so she'd leaned against my side as we held tightly to one of the poles. The edge of her small, delicate hand was touching mine the entire time. I feel like I'm sixteen again and she's the girl I
have a crush on.

  When she leaned forward to hug me before she turned to walk down the street, I'd clung to her. She smelled perfect and her body molded into mine as though it was made for me. Her lips grazed my cheek before she whispered in my ear that she was grateful that I'd gone with her and that my donation to the center's silent auction would change lives.

  The woman is a saint. The woman thinks I'm a saint. I'm falling hopelessly for her and I can't.

  I'm in a bar in mid-town. I'd ached to go to Easton Pub so I could stare at her for hours again but I couldn't bring myself to do it. She didn't flinch when I told her I just wanted us to be friends. I thought I saw disappointment in her expression but if it had been there it was fleeting and short lived.

  On the subway I caught her staring at me. She was studying my profile and I wanted, more than anything, when I turned to look at her, for her to reach up so she could cup my cheeks in her hands to kiss me. I want to kiss her. I crave the taste of her lips but if I do it, she becomes another woman in a long string I've used to get over the pain of lost love. My heart is fragile still. It shouldn't be after all this time, but it is.

  I can't risk getting involved with a woman who loves someone else. I did it with Liz. She loved and will always love Mark regardless if he's walking this earth or not. I didn't realize how much I cared for Alexa until she was involved with Noah and now, thinking back, I wonder if that's what made her so completely irresistible to me when I got back to New York.

  I've been more honest with myself in the last week than I have been for years. I didn't try to contact Alexa for more than a year before her wedding even though we were both here in New York for most of that time. I know where she lives. I have her number. Hell, I even know where she works, yet instead of trying to win her back, I fucked other women. I didn't think about her when I was doing that. I didn't feel anything for her until her wedding day. It's messed up.

  "Do you want another drink, handsome?"

  I turn towards the perky blonde server who has been attentive to my needs since I sat down almost two hours ago. "I think I'm going to call it a night."

  "I get off in a couple of hours." She nods towards her plunging neckline. "I bet we could have a lot of fun together."

  She'd win that bet in spades. I'd devour that tight body all night if I'd walked into this bar a few weeks ago. "I'm sure we would but not tonight."

  "Do you want my number?" she asks before she starts writing something down on a square napkin. "You can call me any night this week or next."

  I stare at the napkin as it hangs in the air between us. I should take it. I should call her and I should bury my cock in her. That's who I am. "I'll have to pass."

  The surprised look on her face mirrors what I feel inside. I don't turn down women who want me. I never have. I push myself to my feet and adjust the collar of my jacket.

  "You don't like blondes?" She takes a step forward so I have an unobstructed view of the top of her perfectly round tits.

  "No, that's not it at all."

  "Is it because I'm not pretty enough?"

  She's gorgeous. It's a question she should never need to ask any man. "No. You're a beautiful woman."

  I'm rewarded with a dazzling smile. "What is it then? What's wrong with me?"

  "You're not Zoe," I whisper under my breath as I brush past her. "There's only one Zoe."

  ***

  I peer through the glass of the pub to where she's standing near the bar. The place is packed and the haze on the window is evidence of the heat in the room. She's pulled her long brown hair into a high knot at the top of her head. Her neck is on full display. The curve of it is flawless. I haven't painted anything but abstract watercolors in years, yet looking at her now, standing there with the flush of heat across her brow and her lips pursed together, I wish I could capture that on a canvas.

  I want to go inside and talk to her. She's the only person I want to be near right now but I know that I have to control the desperate need I feel. She's hiding something that still pains her. She's protecting her heart and I know, with almost unequivocal certainty that the pain involves a man.

  When the door to the pub opens, a group of people pour out onto the sidewalk next to me. It's almost closing time. Zoe will be coming through that door before long and when that happens I need to be as far away from here as I can. I need my bed. I need sleep and I need to find a way to stop wishing that I'd met her before I'd ever met any other woman.

  Chapter 13

  Zoe

  I gaze towards the bank of windows that overlooks the street. It's him. I know that it is. I'd stared at Beck's profile as we rode the subway back into Manhattan from Brooklyn hours ago. I know the shape of his nose and his etched jawline. I watch as he pulls the collar of his jacket up around his neck before he blows softly into his fisted hands. He's cold. I want him to walk through the door and sit down.

  I'd been scoping out every chair in the pub since my shift began hours ago hopeful that he'd show up for a drink or two. Even if he just sees me as friend, I like being around him. I loved talking to him on the train today. He'd listened attentively as I told him about my grandfather. He seemed genuinely interested in my stories about my childhood and the confusion I felt as I watched my grandfather slip into his own mind and out of my life.

  He looked directly into my eyes when we said goodbye on the street after we emerged from the subway stop. I was tempted to ask him to walk me home but if he knows where I live, that will only complicate things. He wants us to be friends and friends take their time getting to know one another.

  I turn back towards a table of couples that has been in the pub all night. Their tab is almost as high as their spirits are. They're celebrating an engagement and I need to go over there to remind them that we're closing in a few minutes.

  I adjust my apron before I swing my neck back to look at the window one last time hopeful that I'll finally catch his eye. He's gone. The space where he was standing is empty and all I can see is the traffic whizzing past the front of the pub.

  I'm just a friend. That's how he sees me. I can't, for even a brief moment, forget that basic fact.

  ***

  I fidget back and forth in my boots on the crowded sidewalk in front of the building that houses his studio. I'm here for one reason and one reason only. I need to talk to him and I have no idea how else to reach him.

  We've never exchanged cell numbers. I'd found a contact form on his personal website but I doubt that Beck reads any of that email. There's also a phone number but when I'd dialed it, it took me to the office of his manager in Los Angeles.

  I've been standing on the street trying to build up the nerve to buzz him for the past ten minutes. It's shortly after eleven and today is the only day this week that I don't have to work or volunteer. After I'm done seeing Beck, I'm heading straight home to work on my application for law school. Just this morning, I'd received an envelope my mother sent to me containing one of the glowing letters of recommendation from a former professor. I almost had my entire application complete and once I send it in, it's going to be the start of my future.

  "Zoe?" A male voice calls from behind me. "Zoe, is that you?"

  I twist quickly on my heel and almost run straight into Albert, Beck's assistant. He's carrying a paper tray with two cups and a newspaper in one hand.

  "Albert," I say his name with a smile. "I'm here to see Beck."

  "Is he expecting you?" He furrows his brow as he reaches past me to open the heavy glass door of the building. "He didn't say anything to me about you stopping by when I called him earlier."

  I'm instantly nervous. Maybe I was wrong to come here like this. He is Brighton Beck, after all and I'm sure I'm not the first woman he's brought to his studio. The way Albert is looking me over makes me feel like I'm making a huge mistake.

  "I just wanted to speak to him briefly." I fish in my purse for my smartphone as I follow him into the lobby of the building. "I would have called him but I don'
t have his number but I can give you mine to give to him."

  Wow. Just wow, Zoe. You couldn't sound any more like a girl experiencing her first crush if you tried. Calm down.

  "Why don't you just come up with me?" He tilts his chin towards a bank of elevators. "I'll tell him you're here once we get up there."

  I want to remind him that the space is open and Beck is bound to notice me standing behind Albert the moment we walk into the room but I don't. Instead I fall in step beside him and ride the elevator up to the floor where Beck and his studio await.

  I don't say a word as I watch him unlock the studio door. The moment I step through over the threshold and into the space I see Beck.

  I'm going to hyperventilate. I can feel it. I can't look at him but there's no way in hell that I can look away. He's only wearing a pair of faded jeans. His feet are bare as is his perfectly chiseled torso. The man is gorgeous. He's standing clear across the room, in front of a large canvas, with a paintbrush in his hand.

  "Wait for me here." Albert points towards the leather couch in the small reception area. "You can sit if you want."

  I don't want to sit. I want to follow him to where Beck is. I want to run my hands over his chest. I want to do things that I haven't wanted to do with a man in months.

  I pull on the pendant of the silver necklace I'm wearing as I watch Albert tap him on the shoulder. He turns around quickly and within an instant his eyes are locked onto mine. A wide smile takes over his mouth as he raises his arm towards me.

  He's coming over. Shirtless Brighton Beck is walking right towards me and I'm pretty sure my heart just stopped.

  Chapter 14

  Beck

  This is what my dreams are made of. I came to my studio after watching Zoe through the window of the pub last night. I should have gone home to bed, but I wanted to come back to this space because she'd been here only hours earlier. I'd lain down on the couch trying to find sleep but it didn't work so I pulled out my paints, stood in front of one of the canvases and I let myself feel again.