I do, I really do. “I would love that so much.”
Smiling like a cat who just caught a canary, she says, “Come at four-thirty. That way you can have your supper before you start at five.”
Mary spends the next hour regaling me with stories of her regular customers to familiarize me with the quirkiness of this establishment. When she goes back to work, I realize that God probably isn’t going to show up, and as much as I’d like to keep sitting here watching Byrne help his parents, I should really let some paying customers have the table.
I wave to the Dalys on my way out, but Byrne’s back is facing me, so he doesn’t see when I leave. Heading out into the summer night, I have a lot on my mind.
This has been the singularly most exciting week of my whole life. First, God starts texting me, then he leads me here to the perfect job and the perfect man (even though I shouldn’t be thinking about that). He’s just given me my third miracle. Does this mean I could be canonized? Saint Jennifer. Sounds kind of nice. Oh, wait. Do I have to perform the miracles? I should Google that. In my head, I make the sign of the cross, then ask God for one more tiny thing—for Byrne and his girlfriend to realize they aren’t right for each other.
Chapter Fourteen
Gabe
I spent most of Saturday either wondering where I’ll get my next job or thinking about the lovely Jen Flanders. What I do not do is see my girlfriend. Alexis cancelled plans for the entire weekend which I was actually okay with. I need time to figure things out for myself without having Alexis lose it (and yes, she will) because I’m going to quit. And I am going to quit. There’s no way I’m going to be a part of wrecking somebody’s life just because they signed off on bad legal advice.
After spending the entire day lost in my own head, I decide to stop off at The Salty Nuts to see my folks. I need a good dose of perspective, and there’s nothing like talking to my salt-of-the-earth parents for that.
The last thing I expect to see when I walk in is Jen in an apron taking orders. My mom hurries over to me and before she can say anything, I demand, “You hired her?” I don’t know whether to be angry that she’s clearly trying to insert herself in my love life or thrilled that I’ll get to see Jennifer whenever I want. Which should be never because I have a girlfriend.
My mom gives me a self-satisfied grin. “She’s a natural, and the customers just love her.”
I rub my face, as a sense of exasperation takes over. I am one hundred percent sure my mother hired Jen in hopes that she and I will become an item. I cannot let her keep thinking that she can rule my life. If I do, the next thing I know, I’ll be living next door to her and Dad with a dozen kids.
Sighing, I say, “Look, I know what you’re doing, and it is so far over the line—”
Mom gasps and dramatically presses one hand to her chest. “You think I’m trying to set you up with that kind, beautiful, so-much-fun-that-every-day-with-her-would-be-heaven girl? I’m doing no such thing. I’ve always been a great supporter of the arts, and this job’ll let her paint during the day and make a decent buck in the evenings.”
“You’re a great supporter of the arts?” I ask, folding my arms. “When’s the last time you bought a painting?”
Looking up, she says, “I can’t remember.”
“A sculpture?”
“I bought that statue of the Holy Virgin that time.”
“That was for a church fundraiser and it was at least twenty years ago,” I say. “When’s the last time you set foot inside an art gallery?”
“I’ve got no time for that,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. “And don’t you be cross-examining me like I’m a hostile witness. I gave you life and I swear to God I’ll end it too if you get cheeky with me.”
“You don’t scare me, Ma,” I tell her, even though she totally does.
She stares me down for a second, which is pretty impressive considering I tower over her. Then, she jolts at me like a cat, causing me to flinch. Laughing, she says, “Nice try, boyo. You may be twice my size, but I’ll always be meaner than you. Now for your information, I’ll hire who I like and you’ll stay out of it.” Nodding, she adds, “Besides, we really do need help. I’ve got bunions the size of watermelons and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet all day. Tell me you’re not going to deny your ma some help, so she won’t be in constant pain.”
“Oh, for … Fine. Hire who you want. Just stay out of my love life.”
Grinning, she nods. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.” She reaches way up and takes my cheeks in both hands. “You’re my sweet darling boy. I only want to see you happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You’re not, but you will be. Now go sit down and I’ll bring you some stew to fill you up.”
I sit down at the bar and watch my mom go into the kitchen to get my supper. My dad hands me a mug of Guinness but doesn’t stop to chat. Spinning my stool around sideways, I let my gaze drift to Jen and watch as she charms her way through the bar. People are laughing and smiling at her in a way that I can see why my mom says she’s a natural. She’s definitely a people person.
A good hour passes before things start to slow down. I tap her arm as she passes and say, “Looks like you’re right at home here.”
“Hey Byrne,” she says, her face glowing with happiness. “Your mom saved my life by giving me a job here. I really love the customers and your folks.”
“I can see how they’re a step up from Todd,” I tease.
My mom walks over and says, “Jenny, love, you’ve done a bang-up job tonight. But now that things are tapering off, Joe and I can take it from here. Byrne will make sure you get home okay.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Jen says. “I’m used to getting around on my own.”
“Nonsense, it’s on his way,” my mom tells her. “You go ahead and cash out with Joe and my boy will get you safely to your front door.”
When Jen walks away, she looks at me and adds, “Don’t you even start with me, Byrne. Walking that girl home is simply good manners.” Then she kisses me on the cheek and heads back into the kitchen.
As soon as Jen and I step out into the hot night air, she laughs. “How does she know which way I’m going?”
“Exactly,” I say, chuckling. “If you’re going to work for my parents, you need to know my mom has a habit of getting what she wants.”
“I can see that,” she says.
I stare at her for a second too long, then immediately hate myself for doing it. “I’m afraid she’s got it in her head that you and I would make a good couple and you know ...”
“You’ve got a girlfriend,” Jen says with an overly bright smile. “Listen, you seriously don’t have to take me home. I’m fine,” she says, just as a group of drunk guys pass us. One of them bumps into her, knocking her into me. I grab her to keep her from falling and inhale the lovely scent of her shampoo before I let her go.
“Which way?” I ask her, swallowing hard as I glance at her kissable lips.
“I’m up on 103rd and Central Park West.”
“Huh, that is right on my way,” I lie. It’s actually in the opposite direction of my apartment in SoHo, but I suddenly can’t bear the thought of going home to my empty apartment.
“Wonderful,” Jennifer says with a shy smile.
“Should we walk?” I ask, all the while wanting to take her hand. “It’s a really nice night.”
“I’d love that.”
We stroll through the buzzing streets of Hell’s Kitchen for a few blocks, and I entertain her with stories about my crazy family. I tell her about my older sister Ciara and her family, and about all my aunts and uncles who emigrated with my parents. She laughs and asks a lot of thoughtful questions, as though she can’t get enough of hearing about my life. It feels so nice to share a piece of myself with someone who hasn’t already been shunned by the entire Daly clan. When I’m done, I ask her about her family and immediately wish
I hadn’t because her smile fades. “Only child, miserable parents who definitely shouldn’t have gotten married. My dad’s a lawyer, but not the nice kind like you—his nickname in the legal circles in Omaha is ‘the eel.’”
Her assumption that I’m the “nice kind” of lawyer feels like a punch to the solar plexus and, at the same time, makes me sure that I did the right thing. I shake the thought from my brain and focus on Jen. “Slippery?” I ask.
“Yup. And never home,” she says. “My mom is the world’s best martyr, and she single-handedly keeps the liquor store in Hickle Heights turning a profit.”
“Sounds …” Awful? I don’t want to say that but now that I’ve started, I don’t know how to finish the sentence. “Lonely.”
“It was,” she says, then nods. “But, now I’m here, and I have wonderful friends, and I just know good things are in my future.”
I stop and stare at her, in awe of how she could be so sure and so happy even though she’s obviously had a pretty crappy childhood. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Jen.”
“You mean someone who paints slightly pornographic flowers?” she teases.
“Someone with such a positive outlook on life. This is going to sound like a cliché, but you really are a breath of fresh air.”
She shrugs. “Look how lucky I am. Your mom offered me a job and free meals, which means instead of spending my last penny on food, I’ll be able to buy some canvases and actually create something other than sketches on scrap paper. And someday, I’ll find a buyer for my art. No pressure, by the way, but let me know if you’re still interested.”
I nod, thinking of how very interested I am. I watch as she reaches up and touches a leaf above her head with her fingertips. “You know what else? Unlike my parents, someday I’m going to marry a man who actually likes me and we’re going to be madly, deliriously, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other happy.”
Huh, that sounds nice. “I hope you find that.”
“I will,” she says, smiling up at the night sky above. “I know it. Just like I know there are millions of stars above us that we can’t see.”
It takes us almost an hour until we reach Jennifer’s rundown apartment building. We talk the entire time and I laugh more with her in that hour than I have with anyone else in my entire life. By the time we stop at the cement steps, I feel like everything has changed—what I knew I wanted isn’t what I want anymore. What I want at this exact moment is to kiss her, but I can’t and I won’t. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m a one-woman kind of man. Who is also extremely confused.
“You wouldn’t want to …” Jen starts, pointing with one thumb at the door. She stops herself and shakes her head. “I’m being too forward.”
“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh, no,” she says, her cheeks coloring. “I meant to come see my lily—oh, no! Not like that.” She shuts her eyes and winces, then says, “My work. But no. It’s late, and I feel like I’ve already been pretty pushy about trying to sell you something.”
Wow, she is just so damn cute. And she really is talented. I clear my throat. “You know what? Why not? I feel like this is an opportunity I shouldn’t let pass me by.”
Her face lights up. “Really?”
“Really. Someday, your lily could be up on my wall and someone will say, ‘Is that a real Jen Flanders?’ And I’ll shrug and tell them I discovered you.”
Jen lets out a laugh. “Okay, come on up then.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jen
Byrne’s been staring at the painting for at least a full minute without speaking. My heart is pounding so hard, I wonder if he can hear it, or is it just me? Tilting his head, he opens his mouth, then closes it again. Suddenly, having him in my tiny apartment feels really wrong. Because the truth is, I don’t want him to leave. I want him to turn to me and tell me it’s beautiful and he wants it, but not as much as he wants me. And then I want him to cup my cheeks with both hands and tilt my face up toward his and …
“I’ll take it.”
“What?” I ask, snapping out of my fantasy.
“It’s remarkable. The textures and colors. When I saw the photo of it, I knew it was good, but in person, it’s … totally captivating,” he says. “I love it.” He glances down at my lips, then back up.
“Are you sure?” I ask, sounding oddly breathless. Chill, Jen, it’s just a business transaction.
“I am. I definitely want it. I’m buying it.”
And I want you. “Great!” I let out a little squeal, then, without thinking, I hug him. Oh, wow, I forgot how good a man can feel. He’s warm and hard and strong and he smells like orange and clove, the most seductive scents a man can wear. Suddenly remembering myself, I pull back and apologize. “I’m just really excited. It’s my first sale. Well, other than to my grandpa. He used to buy all my artwork when I was little. A dollar for each piece.” I ramble on, hoping to erase the memory of the inappropriate hugging from a moment ago. “But, anyway, you’re my first real New York not-related-to-me sale.”
With a lopsided grin, he says, “I’m glad I could be your first.” Then his eyes grow wide and he adds, “Sale. Your first sale.”
“Would you like me to have it delivered for you?” Oh, that sounded professional. Although I have no idea how to go about having a painting delivered to him. An image of the Chinese food guy delivering it on his bike pops into my head.
“Why don’t I take it home tonight?”
“But it’s enormous. You really want to take the subway with this thing?”
His eyebrows knit together and he gives me a mock-offended look. “I’m a big guy. This is nothing for me.”
“Yeah, you are,” I say, then realize how that sounded. “I mean, you’ll be fine.”
Turning from him, I take the two steps required to get to my closet and grab the roll of brown dust cover paper I’ve been waiting to crack since I moved here. Of course, being the gentleman he is, Byrne helps me. Oh Venus, goddess of love, why does this one have to be taken?
After a few minutes, we’ve got it all ready and he picks it up and makes his way over to the door, doing his best not to look like he’s carrying an enormous—and very awkward—painting. He sets it down on the floor and smiles expectantly at me. For a second I wonder if he wants something more than some art. “So? I guess there’s one thing left to do before I take this home.”
I should say no, but honestly, he’s just so irresistible. I close my eyes and pucker up, leaning in for a kiss. I wait. But nothing happens.
“Umm … I should pay for the painting,” he says.
My eyes open and humiliation jolts through my veins. “Oh, God. Sorry, I thought that … I don’t know what I thought. I’m too excited to think clearly.”
“No … no problem,” he says, looking adorably amused. Oh, my God, what was I thinking?
I quickly jot my email address on a slip of paper, wishing I could crawl into a hole and never reappear. Or at least never have to see him again. I hand it to him without making eye contact. “That’s the address for my PayPal and Venmo.”
“Perfect.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and, in under a minute, I’m flush with $3500 in my bank account. I don’t know whether to cry or scream or plant a huge, juicy kiss on him. Except I already tried that last one and it didn’t go over well. Okay, I didn’t so much try as I puckered up in anticipation. But still—total fail.
“Okay, well, thanks for this,” he says with an awkward nod.
“Thank you,” I answer, holding my arms out. “This is a very special moment for any artist. Sorry I got … overzealous about it. And for the record, I didn’t really want to kiss you. It was more of a European artsy thing, you know, kiss kiss!” Please stop talking. “Because you have a girlfriend that you love which is a good thing.” Still talking. “Wonderful, actually. I hope the two of you will enjoy many romantic evenings in front of my lily.” Wrap this up, already! I bow to him. “Na
maste.”
“And back at you,” he says, bowing to me before he turns the knob and makes his way out of my apartment.
I shut the door behind him and lean against it, banging my head a couple of times. Why would I think he wanted to kiss me? Stupid, Jen, so stupid. My phone pings and I grab it out of my purse, hoping it’s a message from God. Instead, it’s an email from my bank informing me of a transfer in progress. I just made more money in a few minutes than I take home all month. I set out to sell my art and I’ve done it. Only now that I have, I kind of wish I’d asked God for love instead of money.
Nope. That is crazy talk. This is huge. I should celebrate.
I wait until I know Byrne’s gone before hurrying over to Zay’s to tell him my incredible news. I also need to check on him because I haven’t seen him in a few days and he didn’t answer the door when I knocked earlier before going into work. I’m getting worried about him.
I knock sharply on the door, then wait. No answer. So, I yell, “Zay! It’s me! Open up!”
Nothing.
With my ear pressed to the door, I hear a faint creaking of the floorboards. Something must be very wrong. What if he’s hurt and bleeding out without the strength to move? Heaven knows how long he’s been there! “Zay! So help me, if you don’t open up, I’m going to think you’re dead in there and I’m going to call the paramedics!”
I can probably kick a door down, right? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Sandra Bullock do it in that movie where she was an FBI agent. Or that other one where she was a cop. Anyway, totally doable. I charge across the eight feet to Zay’s for the extra momentum needed to break in, shouting, “I’m coming for you, Zay!”
Right before my foot makes contact, his door opens, and I go flying through like I’m performing some kind of psychotic kung fu demonstration. Unfortunately, I land on the person who let me in. The person who is not Zay.
“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” I demand of the red-headed woman I’m currently lying on top of.
The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2) Page 9
