by Ashley Pullo
“You look nice, Ms. Sinclair,” Frank compliments.
“Thank you, Frank. Can you find me a cab to Brooklyn?” Thessaly asks while checking for a text from Levi.
“No problem, Ms. Sinclair.” He slides his snack to the side and removes the napkin from his shirt. “I just remembered – a dapper-looking fella dropped something off for you earlier.”
“Oh?”
Stepping behind the marble podium, Frank removes a picnic basket. “Yeah, I was confused at first. He insisted it was for Tess Santiago, but there’s no one in the building with that last name.”
Smiling, she takes the basket from Frank and nods. “It’s sorta a joke, but thank you for accepting it for me.”
“That’s my job. Oh, let me get you that cab,” Frank says, plodding in his patent loafers toward the street.
Thessaly reaches in her basket to find her thermos, and an envelope addressed to Tess. She flips it over and traces the wax stamp with the initials, L.P. Opening the letter, a peacock feather floats to the ground. Surprised, she bends down to retrieve the feather, and then unfolds the linen stationery and begins to read.
Dear Tess Santiago,
Thank you for reminding me that love is compassion.
All the best,
Lucas
P.S.
Don’t try to find me. I’m a loner, Tess. A rebel.
Folding the letter and tucking it back into the envelope, Thessaly returns it to the picnic basket. Snickering at the Pee-Wee reference, she opens her gold clutch and drops the delicate feather inside.
“Ms. Sinclair, I got you a borough cab waiting outside,” Frank pants, clearly exhausted from working harder than most days.
“Great, Frank. Can I leave the basket here until I get back?” asks Thessaly.
“Sure, sure. I’ll put it under the desk.”
Walking toward the exit, she looks back over her shoulder and says, “Night, Frank.”
Idling on the corner, the driver of a guacamole green outer-borough cab honks the horn. She gives the cabbie a small wave while shouting, “Give me a second?”
He nods in understanding as she moves toward the alcove once occupied by Lucas. Thessaly bends to read the only indication that he even exists beyond her own interactions. She studies the cardboard sign, wondering if Lucas was conducting an odd social experiment.
Love is fuckin’ yo mama.
Love is 4G on the F train.
Love is an illusion.
Love is free Wi-Fi.
Grabbing the marker and removing the cap, Thessaly thinks, Love is pure. Love is organic. Love is raw. Love is sweet. Love is non-perishable?
Laughing at her own revelation, Thessaly scribbles:
Love is wild honey.
Placing the cap back on the marker and dropping it to swing against the sign, Thessaly walks back to the cab and crawls into the backseat.
“Brooklyn Navy Yard, please,” she instructs, rolling up her window.
Watching as the Saturday crowd congregates on the streets of lower Manhattan, Thessaly’s face suddenly burns and prickles. Fearing that Levi doesn’t want to see her, she nervously taps on the seat of the driver and says, “I, um, forgot something. Can we go back?”
“Breege. No turn back now,” he sputters.
Looking out the window and watching the Seaport disappear into a fuzzy periphery, Thessaly swallows back the cab’s stale air and groans. “Shit,” she mumbles. Out of options, she decides to take the cab to Brooklyn and then return by subway . . . but then her phone buzzes.
At seven o’clock precisely, Levi sends a text.
Levi: I’m waiting, wildflower.
Followed immediately by another text.
Levi: Do I need to carry you up to the roof?
She smiles.
Levi: Are you wearing a dress?
Tess: Maybe.
Levi: That could be a problem.
Tess: ?
Levi: Clothes tend to get in the way.
“I turn back?” the cab driver shouts through the partition.
“No! Brooklyn Navy Yard, please.”
As the cab putters and jerks toward Downtown Brooklyn, Thessaly sends a text to Shelby.
Tess: Do you have the spare key I gave you?
Shelby: Is someone getting laid tonight?
Thessaly doesn’t respond to her brother. Instead, she finds the photo of her and Levi saved on her phone, and then traces a heart on the screen with her finger. She’s never been a hopeless romantic, she’s more of a practical optimist that wants to be loved. And it’s ironic that the man who loved her, the one that offered her a pre-destined future, unknowingly led her to New York and into the arms of Levi Jones.
Destiny is a matter of choice.
“Fourteen dollas,” the cab driver announces as he pulls up to the Navy Yard.
Removing her Visa from her clutch, Thessaly waits while the cab driver swipes the card. “You can charge seventeen,” she says. Taking the receipt and her credit card, she hops out of the cab and wanders around the corner. The entrance to the farm is not clearly marked, so she peers through several tinted windows until she sees a lady at a reception desk.
Opening the door, Thessaly says, “Hi, I’m looking for Brooklyn Soil?”
The receptionist stands from the desk, grabs her large handbag and coffee tumbler, and replies, “Mr. Jones is waiting for you on the roof. Take this passkey and use the elevator over there.” She hands Thessaly a laminated card on a lanyard and adds, “I have to run to my barre class in TriBeCa – sorry to be so abrupt.”
Smiling politely, she says, “Oh, please go! I think I got it. Passkey, elevator, Mr. Jones.”
“That’s it! Have a nice evening,” the receptionist adds before darting out the door.
Thessaly breathes heavily as she walks toward the elevator. Looking at her reflection in the shiny doors, she turns to examine her side profile, sucking in her stomach and straightening her shoulders. The billowy, low-cut V of her violet dress parts slightly, revealing the contour of her alabaster breasts. She tugs at the hem of her dress, increasing the length to just shy of her knees. Opening her clutch, Thessaly removes a tube of red lip gloss, and then dabs it on her lips. Tucking the gloss under the peacock feather, she presses the up button.
Stepping inside, she inserts the passkey into the slot next to the button labeled R. As the elevator zooms upward, she makes herself believe that no matter what happens, she’s found a new friend – a friend she’d like to fuck her into oblivion, but a friend nonetheless.
The elevator chimes as the doors slide apart. Stepping out onto a stoned path that leads to rows of vegetable crops, Thessaly walks toward a large rustic dining table topped with flowers and two place settings.
“Hey, wildflower.”
Turning her head toward the familiar, smoky voice, she finds Levi, casually standing next to an apple-green wheelbarrow. Smiling, Thessaly runs her eyes over his lean body, appreciating a man that can wear gray as if it were an actual color. Levi’s charcoal chinos fit perfectly – sitting low on his waist and tapering along his muscular calves. His ash-gray T-shirt molds to his firm chest, exposing a tiny stretch of tan skin along his waist when he crosses his arms.
Dropping her eyes to his feet, Thessaly rasps, “You’re not wearing shoes.”
“And you’re not wearing a bra.”
Completely caught off-guard yet undoubtedly turned on, Thessaly fidgets to hide her peaking nipples. “I, um,” she swallows.
Smirking, Levi says, “Hey, it’s cool – I like the way you think.” Grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow and steering it toward Thessaly, he announces, “Your chariot awaits, fair maiden.”
“You’re joking?”
“Nope.”
“I’m in a dress – I can’t sit in a wheelbarrow!”
“Get in or we can’t eat. And damn, Tess, I really want to eat.” Levi guides the wheelbarrow behind Thessaly, taps it against the back of her knees, and clears his throat. “Nice a
nd easy. Brace your arms, and enjoy the ride.”
Giving in, Thessaly drops her clutch in the wheelbarrow and then eases her ass into the belly of the cart. “This is ridiculous, Levi Jones!” she exclaims over her shoulder.
Watching as Thessaly’s long legs dangle over the side, Levi slowly pushes the cart toward the dining table. “Are you ready for the tour?” he asks.
“Sure,” she replies.
Angling to the left, Levi announces, “Over here we have chard, spinach, and yellow carrots.” Inching forward he adds, “Got some heirloom and green tomatoes up against the greenhouse.” Levi tilts the handles of the cart to the right and swerves gently. He makes an abrupt stop, causing Thessaly to grasp the sides of the wheelbarrow and squeal. Laughing, he yaps, “Yellow squash and cucumbers, and hopefully a few pumpkins.” Steering straight but jerking the wheel, Levi slows the wheelbarrow. “Which brings us to the highlight of the tour, lettuce – ten different types.” Heaving the wheelbarrow forward and stabilizing it with his leg, Levi offers Thessaly a hand. “Watch your step.”
“Is that a pocket hose?” Thessaly points to a coil of soft green nylon and laughs.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen on TV, it’s my hose that grows.”
“Up to fifty feet,” they recite in unison.
Standing clumsily and lunging forward, Thessaly catches her balance on the edge of the dining table. She runs her hand along the rustic pine, stopping at a cutting board loaded with strawberries and blueberries. Chilling in a large galvanized bucket in the center of the table is a liter of Grey Goose vodka, four bottles of raspberry hard cider, and a half-gallon of fresh lemonade.
Placing his hand on Thessaly’s back, he asks, “Are you hungry?”
“I am. Should I sit here?”
“Sit here,” Levi suggests, sliding out a wooden crate topped with a tufted pillow. “I need to grab a few things from the kitchen.” He reaches over Thessaly and takes a jar of Sinclair honey and two mason jars. “Make us some of your honey vodka lemonade.”
Smiling as she looks up at Levi, she asks, “Strong or sweet?”
Levi kisses the crown of her head and whispers, “As sweet as you.”
While Levi gathers a platter from the kitchen enclosed in a white modular building, Thessaly prepares the cocktails. The lemonade is extremely tart, so she swipes a few strawberries from the cutting board and drops them in the glasses. Thessaly spoons the honey and drops a golden dollop into each glass, stirring all the ingredients with a silver rod.
Standing behind her with a pleased grin, Levi announces, “Lobster and a roasted tomato-corn medley.” Levi places a large platter on the table and then adds, “And some straws for our lemonade.” Whipping out a package of Sour Punch Straws and tearing it open with his teeth, Levi removes a handful of stringy red candy and plops them in the mason jars. “Shall we?”
“This looks amazing!”
“Actually,” Levi starts.
“Leftovers?” Thessaly interrupts with a smirk.
Sliding into a rusty wire chair next to Thessaly, Levi reaches for his drink while nudging her leg. “I was going to say, that you look amazing.”
“Nice save, Jones.”
Raising his jar of vodka lemonade, Levi says, “Let’s toast.”
“Okay,” she replies. “To a nice meal and even better company.”
“That’s sweet,” Levi teases. “To a decent meal and sex on a farm.”
Masking the sexual tension with humor, Thessaly sputters, “Sex on a farm is nothing like the movies.”
Smiling, he asks, “What movies are you watching?”
“You know what I mean.” She blushes.
Using a pair of serving tongs, Levi places a lobster tail on each of their plates. “I get you, Tess.” He then serves each of them a heaping spoonful of the tomato-corn salad and casually reveals, “I lost my virginity in a barn – it was nothing like I had practiced.”
With her eyes sparkling and her smile expanding, Thessaly demands, “Do tell.”
“Not much to tell. Priscilla Dobson and I had Amish-sex after a school dance.”
Scrunching her nose, she asks, “Amish sex?”
“Yep. Missionary position with the lights off.” Cracking the shell of the lobster tail with his bare hands, Levi carefully slides out the tender meat and feeds it to Thessaly. “And then we went to Waffle House,” he mumbles.
She takes a bite and nibbles on the tip of Levi’s finger. Bringing her cocktail to her mouth, she drinks half, and then dabs her mouth with a napkin. “So, I want to talk to you about a few things,” she says.
Levi waggles his brows and asks, “Like, favorite positions?”
Smiling, she replies, “Like, your honey.”
Looking at the Manhattan skyline, Levi brings the vodka lemonade to his mouth and finishes it off. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking his lips, he says, “Tess, the bee project is something we started months before I met you. Colonies of displaced bees gave us an opportunity to create a partnership with a refugee program, as well as an apprenticeship program for women interested in beekeeping. Most of the women that enrolled in the program come from domestic abuse shelters or unemployed single mothers in the city works initiative.”
“I had to ask,” she says, placing her hand on his arm.
“Brooklyn Soil doesn’t plan to sell honey. But as you know, honey is a direct result from keeping honeybees. And the only way for us to sustain the program is to get rid of it.”
“So you’re including it with your wholesale distribution?”
“Yep, that’s the plan. And the weekly market in Long Island City will set up an instructional tent focused on honeybees and urban farming. They’ll give cases of the stuff away.”
“And what about the email from your sister and the bed and breakfast proposal – do you have anything to do with that?”
“Does it really matter?”
“No.” She laughs.
“Tess, there’s something I need to clear up as well.”
“Really, what?”
“Are you still in love with that guy? The one with the yacht fetish.”
“Mason? No! He’s just, he’s like, totally in the past. Why would you even think that?”
“I saw some texts.”
Fearing that she will always have a connection with Mason that could pose a problem, Thessaly gasps for the right words. “Um,” she whispers.
“Look, it doesn’t bother me that you have a history or whatever, but I need to be certain that I’m the only one that fucks you.”
“You are! I mean, you can,” Thessaly mutters. “Mason and I are friends. I promise.” She grabs her glass of lemonade vodka and chugs the remaining cocktail, avoiding eye contact with Levi as she fidgets on her crate. She places the empty glass on the table and closes her eyes – roiling from the sudden rush of tart lemons.
“Good?” Levi refills their glasses with vodka and laughs.
“Very good,” she agrees, opening her eyes and smiling.
“Let’s see . . .” Levi counts off conversational topics with his fingers as he speaks. “Tour of the farm, lobster, honey, refugees, prick with the yacht . . . what else can we talk about before I rip off your dress with my teeth and bend you over that wheelbarrow?”
Breathing heavily, Thessaly throws back the vodka like a quenching oasis of water in a dry desert. Slamming the glass back on the table, she then shoves two whole strawberries in her mouth to avoid the question.
“Um, Tess?” Levi teases.
Wiping her forehead and chewing quickly, Thessaly snickers nervously. “Talk about stuff,” she rambles, staring into Levi’s eyes.
“Do you like the Foo Fighters?” he asks.
“I love them.”
“Good. You can be my date on Thursday,” he says, feeding her another bite of lobster.
“You got tickets?” she asks, covering her mouth.
“Hey, a straight dude can crush on David Grohl, too.” He winks.
Leaning into Levi and feeling the sudden warmth from the vodka, Thessaly purrs, “I really want to feed you.”
“Oh really?”
Moving Levi’s hand to his own thigh, Thessaly teases, “So no hands.”
She stands from the table and carries their plates to the opposite end. Levi watches as her ass bounces with each step, smiling approvingly when she bends over to pick up a fallen napkin. He touches his growing bulge, pressing against the restricting cut of his pants, and emits a small moan.
Returning to Levi with a feline smile, Thessaly glides her hand along his shoulder as she moves behind him. Curling her fingers in his hair, and reaching her mouth to his ear, she rasps, “You’ll need to be restrained, Mr. Jones.” Taking a deep breath and silently repeating her new mantra, bold, bold, bold, Thessaly leans down to grab the pocket hose.
Levi shifts in his chair and lowers his head to hide a chuckle. “Sweet Tess, can I change chairs first? My ass will go numb if I sit in this wiry piece of shit any longer.”
“Oh, yeah. Totally,” she quietly obliges. “Which one do you want?”
“Not sure,” Levi answers as he stands from his chair. Noticing the garden hose in Thessaly’s hand, he knocks the wire chair to the side and grabs Thessaly by her waist. Dragging her to his arms like a paper doll, he whispers, “Drop the hose, Tess.”
Thessaly complies.
Levi lifts her chin and parts her red lips with his thumb. Moving Thessaly toward the table, Levi lifts her onto the rustic pine with the strength of one arm. And then using both hands, he spreads her legs and positions himself between her thighs.
Levi kisses her neck as his hands roam her body. Easing Thessaly on her back and grabbing the tufted pillow from the crate, Levi tucks it under her head while sucking on her bottom lip. Thessaly’s chest rises and stalls as she holds her breath and digs into Levi’s shoulders.
“Relax,” Levi whispers against her mouth.
Grabbing a piece of ice from the galvanized bucket, Levi pops it between his teeth and slowly drags his mouth over Thessaly’s neck. In response, she arches her back and moans in pleasure while Levi continues to trail the ice down her chest. Thessaly flinches slightly, aroused and tickled all in the same sensation, so Levi pins her down and continues.
