by Hayleigh Sol
“I’m so sorry, Luka. I wish I’d silenced my phone like I normally do.”
The tension eased, apologies given and accepted. We looked out over the water together, pointing at the same time to the bald eagle gliding overhead. A speedboat zipped toward the north shore on the opposite side of the lake, a slower–moving houseboat chugging in its wake, but we were far away.
“Shall I reveal my Evil Genius Plan to you?”
Suspended in the peaceful moment, I was surprised when Luka faced me and asked his question.
“Please do. I love a good Evil Genius Plan.”
His hands were in his pockets and he rocked back a bit on his heels, then shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll just show you. I picked up some stuff to make dinner at camp tonight. Join me?”
The man knew how to hook me in, that was for sure. Dinner and a mystery? I was sold.
Chapter 17
Watching a man who was comfortable cooking a meal that actually included vegetables—on a camp stove, no less—was a major turn on. One I hadn’t been aware was one of mine until this moment. When he added seasonings that weren’t salt and pepper, I nearly melted into a puddle of lust.
Time to distract myself. “Do I get to know about your Secret Master Plan yet? Wait, is it…‘try to take over the world’?” I was pretty proud of my impression that time.
He stopped what he was doing, looking at me with his head tilted. “Brain, from Animaniacs, right? Good one.” I preened at the compliment and Luka laughed. “Well, my Evil Genius Plan”—rats, I’d gotten the name wrong—“was to kidnap you.” My eyebrows raised. “Notice I invited you over here for dinner, where I know your phone can’t interrupt us again.”
I glanced at the fickle device in question. No bars. His plan was a clever one.
“If this is the punishment for my bad behavior,” I said, gesturing at the steaming plates he was setting on the picnic table, “I’ll have to be naughty more often.”
Naughty? You had to say ‘naughty’?
Luka’s eyebrows raised that time. Great, so much for putting the kibosh on the flirting.
The first few bites were spicy, but delicious, and I gave my enthusiastic compliments to the chef. I discovered Luka enjoyed cooking; he even claimed it relaxed him, which had never been the case for me. He considered himself a foodie, not in the sense that he loved food and ate large quantities of it, but more that he liked discovering the secrets behind a certain flavor. It was a game for him to try foods from around the world and experiment with different seasonings until he’d approximated the taste at home.
Whatever his methods, the Moroccan tagine he’d made for tonight was better than anything I’d ever had in a restaurant, even without him using the actual cone–shaped vessel the dish was named for. I’d nearly finished the food on my plate when my intestines gave a warning rumble. Though you’d think it physiologically impossible, my abdomen expanded in insta–bloat.
For the love of sexy men who cook, now is not the time for GI distress! I swear, if you stay cool, I’ll eat bland food all day tomorrow.
Yes, I was bargaining with my own gastrointestinal tract. If it worked, I didn’t care how ridiculous it was. My stomach let out a low groan I took to mean it was considering my offer. I crossed my fingers and hoped with everything in me that I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Silly and anti–feminist though it may be, I firmly believed the guy should be the first to pass gas in a relationship.
Even a friendship relationship.
Luka was looking at me funny. Had he heard my digestive noises or was my face twisted in an effort to suppress the bubble currently forming in my lower abdomen?
In answer to my opening offer, my intestines countered by emitting another, longer groan. How about a little humiliation now and you only have to eat a bland breakfast tomorrow?
Code red, code red! Abort negotiations, abort!
But I couldn’t excuse myself to the restroom; I was at that crucial stage and didn’t dare move from the fully contracted position I was sitting in. The muscles of my pelvic basin were getting all their Kegels in for the month.
Unbelievably, it seemed to work. With a final high–pitched squeal—this isn’t over, lady—some of the pressure in my poor body eased. I hoped Luka couldn’t see the sweat beading at my hairline.
“You good? Want any more tagine?”
“No,” I practically shouted at him. “I mean, no, thanks, I’m stuffed.”
“Are you sure you got enough? It wasn’t too spicy for you, was it?”
I told him it was hotter than I usually ate but I’d enjoyed it. In the interests of deflection and distraction, I peppered him with questions about cooking. He knew more than I’d imagined and I asked if he’d ever considered being a chef professionally.
Luka shook his head as he chewed and swallowed. “You know, despite a couple of undesirable aspects of where I’m working now, I like what I do. Cooking is a hobby for me; if I turned it into something full time, I think that would take away from my enjoyment of it.”
Was that what had happened to me with my own business? Had I taken my passion for conservation and strangled the life out of it by making it my career? Maybe that was why I felt so burnt out.
But the parts that stressed me out so much about my work weren’t related to conservationism. It was staff issues, customers who wouldn’t pay their bills, vendors who didn’t deliver, and worrying over the financials of it all. I was still passionate about protecting the environment and helping others do the same.
“It’s nice that you have something like cooking that helps you relax. For me, trying to decide what to eat has become just one more decision in a long line of them every day. I think that’s why Brad and I ended up eating out all the time, even if I would rather have prepared our own, healthier, food.”
Since we’d been apart—and with my unpleasant little bathroom issues recently—I had been eating at home more and, though the food wasn’t terribly inventive or exciting like Luka’s, I knew it was better for me. I actually preferred the taste of dishes I made; they weren’t salty or sauce–laden like most restaurant offerings. And, bonus, I’d even lost some unwanted pounds post–breakup.
“Heather always wanted to go out to eat, too. More for the date aspect, I think. She likes getting dressed up, having a reason to go shopping for new shoes, a new dress.”
That wasn’t uncommon for most women, I thought. I used to take more pleasure in getting ready for a date. Before I got so busy and tired all the time. “You’re not a fan of going out?”
“No, that’s all fine. It’s just that it got old when it was all we did; a little variety would’ve been nice.”
I agreed with him. I’d even had the same thoughts when Brad and I had started seeing each other and his idea of dating was the standard dinner and a movie, which quickly devolved into Netflix and chill with takeout.
“Maybe we should get your ex and mine together.” I laughed a little at my own suggestion.
“Maybe we should.” Luka went for seconds of the tagine and I gave silent thanks that my digestive system had calmed down. “So, you said you got some work done this morning?”
Excitement to share washed over me. “I did. I’ve been looking into working with architects and CAD designers like yourself”—he smiled as I gestured to him—“earlier on in the design process.”
“Doing what?”
How to explain my vision… “Well, you probably know that eco–friendly design isn’t exactly mainstream yet.” He nodded. “One of the main reasons for that, I’ve discovered in both the residential and commercial markets, is that everyone thinks it’s so much more expensive to use alternative building materials or install solar panels, switch to LED lights, etcetera. What my company shows our current clients is that, despite the initial outlay, their savings over three, five, sometimes ten years, more than makes it worth th
e investment. That’s where the name Green for Green came from.
“Another thing I’ve learned, though, is that people may want to do what’s right for the environment and the savings in their utilities bills may inspire them to make those initial changes, but they won’t stick with a new habit, like separating out recyclables, unless you make it really easy and convenient.”
Luka nodded. “You’re right. I’ve seen people leave their trash on the break room counter at work instead of separating it out into the different bins we have.”
“Exactly. So, that’s where I come in. My hope is to work with the building owners and the design team and contractors on new construction—or a remodel of an existing building—to first convince them of the savings to be had using more environmentally friendly materials, then to show them ways to get the people who’ll be living and working in the building to adopt and keep greener habits.”
I could tell he understood the goals I was trying to achieve but, like others I’d discussed my vision with, he was probably wondering how I’d accomplish the latter.
“Want an example?” His nod this time was accompanied by a smile that said he thought my enthusiasm was cute. It was the same smile I’d given him when he was telling me about boats. At least he was listening and interested. Plenty of eyes had glazed over when I’d started discussing sustainability; even those who agreed humans needed to do something to save our planet didn’t really want to talk about an action plan.
“Okay, so I haven’t quite figured out the trash separation issue yet”—that probably hadn’t been the best example to lead with—“but contractors and their subs should be installing sinks that operate on sensors, lights that use sensors or timers, HVAC systems that’re more energy–efficient and have those smart thermostats. I know, in residential at least, they make these roofs that reflect the heat of the sun rather than absorbing it, so cooling costs go down in the summer. In landscaping, there are these sprinkler systems that can adjust output based on weather or, even better, soil moisture levels. A couple of universities have been testing the soil moisture ones and I think I read that they can reduce water usage by up to seventy percent. Seventy. How cool is that?”
Luka was outright grinning now. “I can tell you’ve put a lot of thought into this; you certainly know your stuff.”
“And that’s just scraping the surface.” It really was. “But I won’t bore you with more details.”
“No, I wasn’t bored. Your passion for your work is so obvious I can’t imagine anyone turning you or your ideas down.”
Luka proved his interest with insightful follow–up questions. It was a real treat to talk through my plans with someone who worked on the other side of the drafting table—or computer screen—and have him offer up his own input. He didn’t dismiss any of my ideas as being too ambitious or impossible to implement; if there was a sticking point, we exchanged potential solutions. I felt even more excited than I had during my morning research.
“This all sounds great, Maya. When do you see moving your company in this direction?”
And my buzz was officially harshed.
“Did I say something wrong? You just…deflated.”
How observant of him; I felt like a sad, shriveled balloon. One you forgot about until six months after the party when you came across it in the corner of the room, wrinkled and pruny like a nutsack left out in the cold.
“I don’t know when—or if—we’ll ever get there, to be honest. We certainly don’t have the capital, or enough of a network for referrals. The one big commercial project we have right now isn’t going great and Brad thinks we should focus on what the company’s already doing well.”
His slight frown at the mention of my ex made me wonder if I was talking about Brad too much. If I really was going to be just friends with Luka—and the tone of the entire afternoon and evening had certainly been more friendly than flirty—bringing up exes shouldn’t be taboo. He’d mentioned Heather once or twice already tonight.
“Sorry to hear that. You know, I don’t think you should give up, though. You may not get where you want to go next week, or even in the next few months, but I believe you will get there. How could you not? You’re a firecracker.”
Ignoring the thrill I got from his faith in me—oh, of course I didn’t ignore it. An intelligent, attractive man was smiling at me and telling me I was capable. I wallowed in the words coming from his beautiful lips like a dog rolled around in the dirt after a swim in the lake.
If he’d wanted to rub my belly while telling me I was a sweet girl, I would totally have been down with it.
Over the next couple of days, I found myself in an odd sort of limbo with Luka. We did something together each day—a hike one day, a boat ride and float the next—but there was no other use of the word “date” and, while each of us slipped into flirtatious banter occasionally, the general vibe was friendship. Exactly as I’d determined it should be.
It was frustrating as hell.
We’d decided to day–trip over to Yosemite and I couldn’t help contrast this drive, where he didn’t hold my hand or play with my fingers, with the last time we’d spent longer than five minutes in an enclosed space. Well, on the way to dinner, not the return trip home.
Luka was telling me about a backpacking trip he’d been on with his siblings years ago, before they’d all started reproducing. He said it with an exasperated tone but I knew he was a good uncle who loved his nieces and nephews; he’d already told me about tutoring a nephew in algebra last year and coaching soccer when a niece’s team was down a coach a few years before that.
“So there I am, ankle swelling before my eyes, and we still have seven hours of hiking—without an injury—to get out of the canyon. Alex and Jakub are cracking jokes about leaving me for the wolves and Lena’s looking like she’s considering giving me a piggyback ride out of there.”
I laughed at the picture. “What did you do?”
His eyes moved off the road long enough to glance at me. “Well, I thought about my grandfather, strapped a compression wrap around it, and hobbled my injured ass out of there.”
“God, I can’t imagine how painful it must’ve been walking that far on such a bad sprain. I used to really want to get into mountain biking but I fell and sprained my wrists the one time I tried it and haven’t been brave enough to go again.” After the fact, as I nursed the many abrasions on my legs and my sprained wrists, I’d realized I probably should’ve been wearing protective gear. Still wasn’t ready to get back on the horse, though.
“You said thinking of your grandfather motivated you? Is he a pretty tough guy?”
A wistful smile flitted across his features. “Was. He was, yeah. But not in a hypermasculine, boys–don’t–cry kind of way. He, um…” Luka shifted in his seat, hands flexing on the steering wheel, before glancing my way again. “He was forced into the Warsaw ghetto when the Nazis invaded Poland.”
Oh God.
“I’m pretty sure he lost a sibling, either to starvation or to a concentration camp. And my mother told me once that he participated in the uprising and was sent to a labor camp for it. Grandpa didn’t like to talk about his time in the ghetto—or after.”
Understandably. Luka looked my way once more and I hoped he saw everything I’d always felt about the Holocaust – the horror, the sadness, the disgust that one group of human beings could do that to another.
“That poor man. I can’t imagine what that would’ve been like.”
Luka nodded. “I used to feel that way, too. But, you know, he lived through all that and immigrated to America to give his family a new beginning. He was a good man, quick to laugh, kind and generous with his family and friends. I’m sure he always carried the memories of the war with him, but he started a business and made a good life here, a happy one. And because of him, my family and I have a good life, to
o.”
To hear Luka speak of his grandfather with a smile in his voice made me smile. I suddenly wanted to see a picture of the man.
How long ago had he passed, I wondered.
“I’ve been thinking about your situation with your company”—the apparent shift in topic surprised me but it might not have been a shift after all—“I hope this doesn’t come across as preachy but, whenever I feel overwhelmed or like it’s all just too much, I think about my grandfather, about what he overcame. If he could survive that and bring his family to a new country, a whole new way of life, I can probably survive this thing I’m going through right now. Whatever the ‘thing’ happens to be.” His shoulders shrugged a bit. “It always seems to help.”
Nothing like hearing about a Holocaust survivor to put one’s life in persepective. “Thank you for telling me that, Luka. I guess it’s easy to get lost in your own head, in the stress and self–doubt.”
“Everyone does that; I think it’s human nature. And I’m not saying that what you’re going through isn’t important or that you should think or feel a certain way about it all. It’s more a “this, too, shall pass” kind of thing. Even when it seems like life is kicking you in the teeth.”
We were quiet for the remaining few miles of the drive to the park entrance. I couldn’t speak for Luka, but I was thinking about his grandfather, a man I’d never met but wished I had.
Chapter 18
The somber mood from Luka’s revelations about his grandfather did nothing to cast a shadow on the day, proving his point, in a way. I knew few people who could maintain Luka’s level of cheerfulness; maybe there was something to this adaptable, resilient approach to life.
We’d wandered down a couple of the shorter trails to waterfalls and stopped for the view and photo op Half Dome and El Capitan offered. Despite having been to Bass Lake more summers than I could count, I’d only been to the nearby national park twice. It was always so crowded with tourists. For me, their presence, in addition to the shuttles and buses that brought them, and the amusement park–like cafeterias they swarmed, detracted from the beauty and peace of the natural setting around us.
