by Olivia Luck
Then I look at my closest friend, Blake Campbell. The guy was a certified bachelor, never dated a woman for longer than a month, and suddenly, he’s wifed-up with Stella. At first, I thought she was a passing phase. But then it became apparent how the relationship improved his life. Blake’s always had a rock solid exterior. Stella makes him smile easier, relax once in a while, and even take vacations. If Stella makes his life all the better, why can’t I have the same thing? With a different woman, of course. My own woman.
I walk ahead of Tucker into the dimly lit bar. This place reminds me of where I’d hang out with my friends back in Toronto. There’s no pop music or scantily dressed bartenders weaving through the room with drinks. There are a couple of booths, a long wood bar top, and tables dotting the floor. Most of the patrons are drinking beers. The place is mellow. Exactly what we need tonight.
As if there’s a rope drawing me to her, my eyes seek out Violet. Past the bar, three tables are pushed together. Violet, Felix, Dex, and a few other people sit together.
The barroom fades to white noise. Violet practically shimmers; she’s so fucking radiant. Her hair’s down and the different shades of red and brown catch the light. A white blouse showcases the delicate swell of her—what the hell am I thinking? Delicate swell? God, I’m a sap.
“Hey, guys.” Violet smiles broadly when we’re within a few feet of the table. There’s no trace of annoyance that we rolled in almost forty-five minutes after I said we would. Violet introduces us to the other people at the table, a guy named Vaughn and a woman named Coral. Tucker’s onto the blond Coral, taking the free seat next to her. Leaving one more spot for me. Next to Violet.
“Anyone need a drink?” I ask the table at large.
A few orders are tossed my way, including Tucker, who barely looks my way when he calls out his drink.
“I’ll help,” Violet offers. It takes all my mental fortitude not to check out the rest of her when Violet stands. The automatic smile won’t be stopped, though. My hand twitches with the need to rest it on her lower back when we walk to the bar, but I rest it firmly at my side. Nothing would probably freak Violet out more than me putting my hands on her in a possessive way.
“Doesn’t look like he needs much of a wingman. Or woman, in this case,” I say in reference to Felix once I’ve requested all the drinks.
A soft tuft of laughter filters out of Violet’s lips, her eyes flash animatedly. “Felix probably came out of the womb knowing how to flirt. He’s a pro. Dex can’t keep his eyes off him.”
“You’re having a good time, then?” This woman needs a night to let go. The casual observer wouldn’t see the strain Violet’s under, but I spot it. Sadness surrounds her like an invisible cloud. Even though she smiles, the circles under her eyes show she’s not resting well and the spark that drew me to her the first night I saw her is dimmer.
“Yes, of course. I’m glad you and Tucker are here, too. But I have to admit, I’m surprised you didn’t have something else going on.”
I let that one die without an answer. Frankly, I could have done other things tonight, but my gut wanted to be here. With her.
“How’s the little guy?”
“I’m starting to think he likes you more than me,” I tell her. “Rocky’s got a perpetual pout when it’s just the two of us.”
“Well, I have been called a dog whisperer,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.
“Seems so.” I wink at her. I can’t help myself. It’s friendly enough that she doesn’t freak out, just grins back at me until the drinks are presented in front of us and the bartender pushes a slip of white paper forward. She tugs a credit card out of her back pocket to drop it on the counter.
“No,” I say, gently pressing her hand away. I staunchly ignore the jolt of electricity that travels up my arm when I make contact.
“No?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“This is me,” I confirm.
“Thanks,” she murmurs. “You’re always doing nice things for me. How will I ever repay you?”
No longer able to restrain myself, I grab one of her hands. Her slim fingers fit into the cup I make with both of my hands. The zings of attraction fire at will. “Violet, come on. Don’t talk like that. You owe me nothing. We’re friends, right?” She stares at me in shocked silence. “Right?” I demand and she nods slowly. Her gaze drops to where our hands are joined and I wonder if she’s having a similar reaction. Not likely. “Then we’re friends and you never talk about paying me back for anything.”
A rush of air spills out of my lips when I exhale harshly. Abruptly, I toss a pile of bills on the bar and grab three beers to bring back to the table.
“I know you,” the guy, Vaughn, says once Violet and I are seated. Hockey is a topic I’m comfortable discussing. “You did that campaign for Rolex.”
Tucker splutters a bit then throws his head back roaring with laughter.
“As in a model campaign? My, my, Cam, I had no idea you were so multi-talented,” Felix jokes.
“A model,” Violet teases, this time the smile finding her eyes.
“What are your other talents?” Coral asks.
“They play for the Scrapers,” Violet fills in. Coral stares blankly. “The professional hockey team in Chicago,” she adds. Then Coral nods and Vaughn looks equally unimpressed.
“Right,” Coral says.
It’s refreshing to be surrounded by people who don’t care about the two goals Tucker shot last night or our prospects for the playoffs.
“Are you threatening David Gandy’s title as leading male supermodel?” Violet asks.
“Not likely,” I scoff.
We go around like this for a while. I find out Vaughn’s a museum curator and helped Violet secure the location for the Scraper gala. Coral just moved to Chicago from Phoenix and is terrified about the winter. Of course, Tucker offered to keep her warm.
“Another drink?” Felix only says it to Dex, but I overhear the murmur because he’s only a seat away. The men disappear without bothering to announce their departure.
“So, Violet, what’s a beauty like you doing single?” Tucker asks, leaning back to toss one arm around the back of Coral’s chair. Coral flutters her eyelashes at Tucker—a universal invitation.
“I’m taking some time off from dating,” Violet answers hesitantly. She looks at me quickly in a silent ‘help me’ glance.
“Come on. You must have guys asking you out all the time. You’re telling me that you don’t go out with anyone?” Tucker persists.
“Knock it off,” I growl fiercely. Underlying anger threatens to bubble over, and my shoulders tense. I don’t care that this guy’s my teammate. He needs to back down.
“Yeah,” Violet says her voice taut. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I’m taking a break from dating. Indefinitely.”
There you have it. My stomach sinks and shoulders drop. I feel like someone just checked me against the boards hard enough to knock me to my knees. Violet couldn’t be more clear. She’s off-limits. As much as it fucking burns to admit it, I need to move on. Plenty of women who would kill for the chance to be with me.
But why am I hung up on this one?
“Guys, we’re out of here. Cam, can you take Violet home?” Felix is impatiently pulling his jacket on, but his gaze is serious when he turns to me.
Take care of her, he says silently. I nod imperceptibly to his unspoken demand.
“Of course.” Violet shoots me a look of relief. At least she trusts me enough to chauffeur her back to her place.
Well, of course, she’s not worried around me.
What did Mario say? Oh, yeah. I’m just a friend.
Violet
A month has passed since I entered the “real world” again. Working with the Scrapers is invigorating. Flexing my creative muscles has always been more of a joy than a job. Now that I have this event running smoothly, I’m hungry for another one. Unbeknownst to my friends, I’ve been building a website and researching what it w
ould take to set up an LLC. Expertly Planned will one hundred percent my doing. There’s a newfound sense of purpose when the alarm wakes me in the morning. Slowly but surely I’m beginning to believe that there is the chance for life after the death of a spouse.
Not that I miss him any less. Oh, no. I retrace memories of my Max every single day. Persistent questions torture me.
Did Max know he’d leave me one day?
“You’re the most beautiful woman to walk this earth, and I won’t be the only man to believe that in the deepest, most honest parts of his soul.”
Max whispers the words one night while we lay in bed together, threading his fingers through my loose hair.
“Who cares about other men? You’re it for me, and I’ll only ever want you.” I place my palm flat on his chest, using the wall of muscle as leverage to push up and stare straight into his eyes.
“Okay, baby,” he acquiesces huskily.
I knew that tone of voice and the conversation was quickly forgotten.
Max’s prophesy continues to plague me. He spoke like he knew emphatically that he wouldn’t be around to grow old and gray with me.
Grief crashes over me, rough waves dragging me into the depths of heartache. Will it ever relent? At times like this, I fear I’ll never escape. And I fear escaping. If I swim out of the wave, will I forget the way Max’s skin smelled first thing in the morning? Will I forget the way he teased me with endless nicknames that just didn’t make sense? Come here push pop, he’d whisper when I was in a foul mood. I want to be his push pop. I’d give anything, anything, for him to whisper that one more time.
But as soon as I go down that path, my heart seizes up and I’m on the verge of a panic attack. So I fold the memories into the back of my mind and keep working.
Cameron and Rocky have become new constants in my life. More so the dog than his owner, but still, they’re both new friends. Whenever Cameron’s on the road, Rocky stays at my place. Occasionally, I walk him when Cameron’s unavailable. I’m still plowing through my list of movies, thanks to Cameron’s ridiculously generous gift. Rocky and I watch movies together on the nights I’m not out with friends.
All in all, my existence is decent. Good, even.
Thanksgiving looms only a few weeks away. The temperature’s low enough tonight that I needed to wear a gray overcoat and low-heeled brown ankle boots. I wind an infinity scarf around my neck, careful not to mess up the milkmaid braids I twisted on my head. The days are shorter now, and when I walk outside, it’s quite dark. A row of streetlamps bathes the sidewalk and street with light.
At the bus stop, I pull out my cell phone to figure out how long until my ride arrives. My life would be much easier if I went back to my old condo and took the car that’s been sitting idle in the heated garage for over a year.
You need a car. Just go get it. It’s okay to drive the car.
A Chicago Transit Authority bus heaves toward me, groaning as it slows to a stop. At that moment, I make an instant decision to skip the bus and spin on my heel. I dig my phone out from my purse and request a taxi from a ridesharing app. There’s not much time for me to second-guess my decision because a sedan arrives a minute later.
“Where are you headed?” the driver, a twentyish female, asks from the front seat. Large sage eyes stare at me from the rearview mirror.
“Belmont and Ashland.” My stomach flips at saying the words aloud. I truly haven’t been back to the loft Max and I shared since the night I found out he died.
The ride across town is silent except for the sounds of traffic. My mind is racing. After Max died, I couldn’t stomach the thought of returning to the place of the loveliest memories of my life. The small condo belonged to Violet and Max, not the single, depressed Violet. I left my heart behind in that home. I’m afraid to unwrap the tarnished, broken muscle. In the deepest recesses of my mind, I wonder if my heart could ever be put back together.
Can I do this? Am I ready to go back?
Yes! Baby steps, Violet, baby steps. You don’t have to go to the condo. Start with the garage and get the car.
The driver parks in front of the exuberant façade of the building I once called home. The two-bedroom loft is inside a converted movie theater. The outside has ornate carvings and large window bays. Max had bought it before I moved in. Stability was one of the things that drew me to him.
My hands are trembling when I push the car door open. It feels like my feet have fifty-pound weights strapped to them because my legs won’t cooperate with my command to move forward.
“It’s just a building,” I mutter to myself. A barking dog reminds me that I’m on a mission that ends with me walking Rocky. No more time to dawdle.
I keep my head tucked low to my chest when I enter the building using the key ring buried deep in my purse. Lord knows I had no plans to visit this place, but for some reason, I keep these keys on the same ring as the one to Stella’s apartment.
The building’s just as I remembered. Architectural details display its rich history. I move quickly through the lobby to a narrow staircase leading to the underground garage. In the absence of me driving, Felix has used the car. He nearly took over ownership of the truck. I’ll need to tell him that I plan to use it again.
When I climb into the driver’s seat, I scan my body for panic. There are dozens of sweet memories from riding in this car. But now, at this moment, it’s like sitting behind the wheel of any other truck. None of Max’s smoky scent lingers in the cabin of the car. The interior is spotless as if it had never been the first big purchase Max made when he got his job at the firehouse.
It’s then that I realize I’m gripping the wheel hard enough to make my knuckles turn white. I peel my fingers off the leather-clad circle then suck in a breath through my nose. My diaphragm expands from the oxygen. I hold the breath until I can’t anymore. All the air escapes my mouth in one, slow exhale.
Okay.
The engine awakens with a growl. Billy Joel croons through the speakers when I connect the Bluetooth through my phone. I press on the seat warmer, my favorite feature of this car. I smile to myself, remembering how Felix calls this a butt warmer. The drive to Cameron’s house doesn’t take too long, and I easily find a spot to park across the street from his house. I use the key he gave me to unlock the front gate and jog up the limestone stairs to the front door.
“Rocky,” I call when I push the door open.
It’s not weird to me that the lights are on in the living room. Cameron likes to leave them on when his dog is alone at night. The coquettish giggle gives me pause. Then the clatter of a wine glass hitting a countertop makes me frown.
Click, click, click. Rocky’s nails flick against the wood floors as he bounds toward me. He’s a mass of black fur and eager eyes.
“Violet?” I hear Cameron’s voice first, before he appears in the living room, and I nearly gasp.
How have I not noticed he’s handsome until now? He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves folded to his elbows and displaying his powerful forearms. The white shirt shows off his stark tan. Even his crooked nose is attractive. Then I notice the confusion in his expression and realize I must have mixed up the dates.
“Who’s that, Cammy?”
A bottle blonde in a skin-tight blood red dress sidles up next to Cameron. Her silicon-injected lips pout toward him while she presses her (fake) breasts into his shoulder. Yes, she’s wearing six-inch stilettos inside his home. Meanwhile, Cameron’s barefoot and wearing dark wash denim.
There’s a twinge of some emotion jittering through me. My stomach knots and I shift awkwardly on my boots. Darn, but I feel like a fool.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Cameron. It’s the wrong date, huh? You need me to walk Rocky tomorrow not tonight,” I rush to say before he can speak. Shoot. Did I just say date? I meant day. Ugh!
Cameron brushes the woman off, coming toward me. Instinctively, I take a baby step toward Rocky. I bend my knees to rub the spot behind his floppy ears. I
feel stupid and out of place and . . .
“Hey, it’s all good.” Cameron places his hand on my shoulder, and even through the jacket, I feel his soothing warmth.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” I say, hoping the woman who’s now shooting daggers at me with her eyes hears me.
Cameron doesn’t bother correcting me, confirming my suspicions that he’s with this woman. She’s all wrong for him; doesn’t he know that? Cameron’s down to earth, laid back, and authentic. This woman is phony from the tips of her plastic nails to the extensions running down her back.
Wait.
What am I thinking? Cameron can date whomever he likes. This is none of my business.
“Oh. You’re the dog walker. I get it,” Blondie says with a toss of her long, faux hair.
A tight smile stretches across my face. My cheeks might crack from the effort.
“Right. That’s me. I’m so sorry to interrupt. If you want, I can take him for his walk or . . . just go. Whatever.” The words are falling out my mouth stupidly.
“Don’t worry about it, Violet. Everything’s cool. Do you need a ride home?” Cameron’s staring at me now. Intently. As if he desperately wants me to believe it’s no bother that I interrupted whatever’s happening here. Suddenly, I want to get out of here even more than I did a minute ago. The thought of Cameron being intimate with this woman makes me nauseated.
“No—no,” I stammer. Gosh, the thump of my pulse at my neck is distracting. “I drove this time.”
Cameron raises his eyebrows in obvious surprise. In the past month, I’ve never once mentioned a car. He’s probably wondering where it come from. He doesn’t ask, though, probably because of the woman hovering at the edge of our conversation.
“Okay. Well. Sorry. Again. Have a great night.” The words come out in a jumble of nonsense. I bend down to press a kiss to Rocky’s forehead because I couldn’t leave here without doing something else weird, and then I scurry out the door without hearing Cameron say good-bye.
