Pause by Kylie Scott
CHAPTER FIVE
There’s a sort of forced intimacy that comes with sharing a space with someone. For instance, Leif has a habit of walking from the bathroom to his bedroom post shower clad in only a towel. Then there’s the wandering in, dripping sweat and half naked, fresh from a run with Ed. Not to forget how rumpled and lost he looks first thing in the morning. I’ve taken to shoving a cup of coffee into his hand and forgoing all conversation for the first half an hour or until his brain has come online. It’s best for everyone.
None of this is helpful for my crush on him. But I can handle it. This crush is a bounce. It’s a distraction from everything happening in my life. It’s not serious. And I am not protesting too much. I’m just keeping things straight inside my head. Sometimes you need to have a stern talk to yourself. I seem to be doing this on an hourly basis. Let’s not question why.
It is, however, interesting noting how much more time Leif and I spend together as opposed to the life I had with Ryan. He was always off to the gym or working late. Something I’d grown accustomed to at the time. Though it kind of makes me wonder about how healthy our relationship was really. Guess the rose-colored glasses are well and truly off. But I’m not dwelling on Ryan either. I’m doing my exercises and rebuilding my life, which now includes working at the tattoo parlor. I’m getting my shit together. Romance and menfolk are nice and all; however, they’re by no means a necessity.
Which goes nowhere toward explaining why I’m sitting at the table with my dinner waiting for Leif to make an appearance. Because we’re not hanging out together tonight. Not even a little.
When he finally walks out of his bedroom, it’s in a black pair of jeans, a black button-down shirt, and black boots. His hair is tied back and his gaze is not exactly happy. Honestly, I can’t read him. There’s a line between his brows, but none on his forehead, so his anxiety levels are probably slightly above normal maybe.
“You look good,” I say, holding a rib in my sticky fingers. Barbeque was given to us by God. It’s a fact. Add collard greens and cornbread and you’ve basically got nirvana. Living in the middle of town and having access to all of the delivery in all the land is working out well for me, if not my bank account.
He smiles. “You’re a mess.”
“There’s only one way to eat ribs, and that is with your whole mouth and soul.”
“I see.” He crosses to the kitchen, pulls out a clean towel, and wets it beneath the sink before returning to the table. “Look here.”
Ever so carefully, he cleans off my face.
I laugh. “I feel like a child.”
“Yeah. Well. You don’t look like one if that helps.” And there’s a warmth in his eyes that kills me.
“Thank you.” I look away for a moment. “So you’re all ready for your hot date?”
He shrugs.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate getting set up. It’s so fucking awkward.” He leaves the damp towel at my elbow on the table for later use.
“I hear you. Happily, I’m not at that stage yet,” I say. “Tell me about her.”
“Ah, friend of Clem’s. Works at a place opposite the bookstore. That’s about all I know.”
“Is it a double date or . . .”
“Yeah. Which is just more pressure to connect, you know? Under normal circumstances you can meet, have a drink, figure you have nothing in common or there’s nil attraction and go your separate ways all in under thirty minutes,” he says. “But getting dragged along on a double date means you’re stuck there for the whole night whether you’re interested or not.”
I nod.
“Ed gave me the ‘you hardly ever go out and socialize anymore’ lecture followed by the ‘it won’t kill you so stop being a little bitch about it’ speech.”
“Oh. Sounds involved. Still, it must be nice having siblings that care about you.”
“It is. And I know I’m being negative as all hell.”
“You’re allowed to feel how you feel. This is our safe space, after all.”
“But there’s no point to feeling how I feel, because short of faking my own death I’ve got to go.” He sighs. “So I might as well pull my head out of my ass and get on with it. Who knows, it might be fun.”
“Well said and bravely done.”
“Thank you. I’m going to think of it as quality time with Ed and Clem with the possibility of something more.”
There is no twinge of jealousy messing with my insides. It’s just gas or something.
He rolls up the sleeves on his shirt, revealing his strong forearms. “What are you up to tonight, you little carnivore?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Maybe call Mom and Briar and catch up with them. Put on a moisturizing mask and have a glass of wine. Just going to chill.”
“Sounds nice. Don’t watch any more Twilight until I’m back.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Who will Bella choose, the vampire or the werewolf?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“I’ll just have to wait and see. Still, it’s a good thing we reconnected. We only got halfway through the third book when I was reading to you in the hospital. If you’d never tracked me down, I would have just lived the rest of my life with this faint cloud of unresolved drama hanging over me. On my deathbed my final words would have been ‘But was it Edward or Jacob?’” He winks. “Later.”
And he’s gone. On a date. Okay. Great. This is all completely normal and I’m fine with it. I am.
FIVE HOURS LATER . . .
“Anna? Baby? What are you doing?”
His big black boots appear at my side. “Cleaning.”
“And that requires your upper body to be wedged underneath the kitchen sink?” His voice echoes around the confines of the otherwise silent main room. The music stopped a while back and I hadn’t bothered to put on another playlist. I had better things to do.
“Yes,” I say.
Nothing from him.
Like it’s weird to spray and wipe down pipes or something. “I’m not sure anyone’s ever cleaned back here. It’s really dusty.”
“You’re probably right.”
“How did the double date go?” I ask, trying to turn to look back at him, only it doesn’t really work with my upper body inside the cupboard. Maneuvering is also difficult with a spray bottle of cleaning stuff and rag taking up my hands. Sometimes my coordination is off when I get tired. Such is life.
“Will you—can you come out here, please? It’s hard to take you seriously when I’m talking to your buttocks.”
“Um . . .”
“Let me help.”
“Okay.”
He grips me around the waist and pulls me out nice and slow. And I’m kneeling at his feet with my cleaning implements, which is never a good look. Dust-stained old tee and yoga pants only enhance my image.
He crouches down at my side. “So. Anna. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“It looks like you scrubbed and bleached every inch of the condo.”
“Sort of. Yeah. Well, no. Mostly just the main room and kitchen. I don’t think I’ll get to the bathroom tonight. I’m starting to run out of steam.”
“What happened to chilling with a face mask and a drink?”
“I did that too. Then I got bored and figured, why not?”
“Okay.” His tongue plays behind his cheek, but his eyes are serious. “Do you find cleaning relaxes you?”
I think it over. “No. Not really.”
“Right.” His gaze runs over my yellow rubber gloves before he too sits on the floor. “Talk me through this.”
“It’s nothing. Everyone has their quirks,” I say, starting to feel distinctly judged. As if rage and/or anxiety cleaning wasn’t a thing. “You haven’t told me how your date went.”
“It was fine. She was nice. The food was good.”
“Nice? That’s all you’ve got?”
He tugs the hair tie out, letting it all hang loose. “We went dancing and . . . I didn’t hate it.”
“Whoa. Gush about the girl, why don’t you?”
A grunt. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just going through an extended no-interest-in-dating period. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There is nothing wrong with that.”
“You know, I don’t even miss sex that much, now that I come to think about it. Maybe the accident damaged by libido. And I’m fine with my own company. Or I have the guys from work, my family, and you to hang out with,” he says. “It’s not like I’ve become a hermit or something.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m more worried by your cleaning rampage.”
I set down the cleaning implements and wriggle around on my butt until I can lean back against a kitchen cupboard door. Assorted muscles in me ache from all of the hard work and I do not blame them one bit. “Don’t be. My brain was busy, so I figured my hands may as well be too. Get rid of all the excess energy, you know?”
“What was your brain busy with, or is that private?”
Good question. Not one I particularly wish to answer, however. “Mom does this sometimes. It’s part of why I’ve been known to call her house the museum. Everything is immaculate and cleaned to the nth degree. Guess I inherited it from her.”
A nod. “You’re deflecting. But I’m going to let that go because it’s obviously none of my business and you’ll talk about it or not when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He smiles. “The place is so clean. Want to mess it up by baking something?”
I grin. “Sure.”
“Let me get this right, you want to express yourself by getting a large swastika tattooed on your head? That’s what you want?”
The big bald white man smiles down at me in a creepy manner.
Out of nowhere, Ed appears at my side. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there. And while I don’t need it, I appreciate the support just the same. If I can survive a collision with another car and being cut out of my vehicle and playing Sleeping Beauty for seven months while my life goes to hell, I can handle this repugnant asshole.
“No,” I say.
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” says the man. “I’m dealing with him.”
Ed crosses his arms. “What she said.”
“Are you fucking with me?” The guy sneers.
“No,” says Ed. “We are not fucking with you. Fucking with you would be agreeing to your request and then tattooing a pony onto your head the moment you’re in the chair.”
“I’m afraid Larsen and Sons Tattoo Parlor is unable to meet your needs. And that’s because your needs are gross and wrong and you should be ashamed of them.” I tap a pen against the counter. “Leave now, please.”
His expression morphs into fury and he slams his hand down on the reception desk, making the glass case rattle before about-facing and striding out. What a bully. Honestly.
“Get the hell out of here!” Ed shuts and locks the door after the man. Just to be careful, I guess. “Anna, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I’m shaking, but fine. Random violence happening in my face has a habit of freaking me out. Or maybe it’s just confrontations in general. They kind of make me want to hurl. But I didn’t and that’s a win. I told the asshole off. Go, me.
Tessa just keeps on working at her station. But Leif’s tattoo gun turns off and I give him a wave to let him know I’m fine. No one needs to rush to my rescue, for heaven’s sake. This is the problem with men like Ed and Leif, a protective streak a mile wide. Sometimes I love it, that he cares so much, but sometimes it gets in the way.
“I’m real sorry. Every now and then we get some dumbass asking for something offensive or just morally messed up and have to tell them no,” he says. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Really.”
Which is about when there’s a rapping on the tattoo parlor door. Because today isn’t promising to be interesting enough, apparently. A familiar, neatly presented blond woman stands on the other side. Celine. Talk about morally messed up. She looks paler than normal, with dark circles beneath her eyes. Definitely not glowing.
Apparently this bright, sunny morning is peak time for confrontations.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I stride across the entry floor, flick back the lock, and jerk the heavy old wooden and glass door open. I don’t stand back and let her in. Forget niceties. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk.”
“About?”
She takes a deep breath, her hands balled into fists. “I heard you were working here and the thing is, you haven’t officially resigned from your position at the inn. Legally, you’re still employed by us.”
I blink.
“We put you on leave when the accident happened and that’s the ongoing status of your employment. You can’t just start working somewhere else without giving us notification.” Her hand rests on the small swell of her belly. I should maybe be over it by now. Her and Ryan and the baby and everything. But the truth is, on some level, it still hurts. “That’s not right, Anna. You can’t just do that. And to go work in a tattoo parlor of all places. You can’t be serious.”
“Celine, you fucked my husband.”
She clicks her tongue. “Today of all days, surely you’re ready to move on.”
“I was, you know. Right up until you showed up here.” I cock my head. “Just take a moment and let these words sink in. You fucked my husband. You, my boss and one of my best friends, fucked Ryan, my husband.”
Her gaze rests on the ground.
“Did you really think I’d just come back to the inn and everything would be the same as it was before?” I ask. “What did you possibly hope to achieve coming here?”
“W-what do you mean? I’m just—”
“No, really. Why are you here?” And Leif’s tattoo gun is still silent. I turn and again wave a hand at him to carry on with his business. To trust me to take care of mine. As sick as this sort of thing makes me, I’m a big girl. I can handle it on my own. “Well, Celine?”
“I’m trying to tell you that you still have a job with us. A job that you loved, if you’ll recall?” she asks, voice tense, accusing almost.
“You’re right, I did. I’ll be sure to add that to the list of things you ruined for me. Because there is no possible way I’m coming back to work for you now.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to help you.”
And while I’m probably being a bit of an asshole, I can’t help but feel that it’s about time I started pushing back. I’m done with being nice. Finished with saying the polite thing or nothing at all. Especially if someone is so keen on bringing the fight to me. “No, you’re not. I’m not sure what you’re up to, exactly. But it has nothing to do with helping me. I’d guess you’re propping up your ego. Doing your best to convince yourself you’re a stand-up person and all that.”
“We used to be friends.”
“As I pointed out literally thirty seconds ago when explaining my grievance about you fucking my husband, yes. We used to be friends. But we sure as hell no longer are.”
“Anna . . .”
“Did I really used to be this much of a doormat that you thought coming here like this would get you somewhere?” I ask, genuinely curious. “What else are you going to take off my hands? You already have Ryan. I’d imagine you’ll be setting up house with him any day now, huh? Moving into my former home. Then you’ll probably start pushing for the engagement ring. It’s like you’ll be living my life. Or my former life.”
At this, she turns away. Guilty as sin.
“And you’re welcome to it. You really are.”
“It’s not like that,” she hisses.
“No?”
“I came here to try and help you.”
“Thing is, I don’t need your help. And it doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself that you’re trying to help me, it won’t make it the truth,” I say. “I’m sorry if you’re having a hard time with the pregnancy. I really am. But I’m not sorry if you feel like shit about yourself. There are consequences to what you did. I’m never going to open my arms and say that it’s all right and all is forgiven, Celine. That’s never going to happen. I am never going to want anything to do with either of you ever again.”
Her lips are a fine white line. “So you don’t want your job back. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Not even a little. If you really want to do me a favor, don’t come near me again.”
“Fine.” And she too stomps off. Holy hell.
I let the door close and take a deep breath, head back to the reception counter. What a day. What a life.
“You told her,” says Tessa with a smile that’s all sharp teeth. I really like her.
“Didn’t know you were getting a floor show when they hired me, did you?” I laugh with all of the self-consciousness inside of me. “Anyway.”
Meanwhile, Leif has gotten up from where he’s been tattooing some dude’s shoulder and wanders my way. There’s a strange sort of expression on his face. One I can’t read.
“What?” I ask.
He doesn’t touch me on account of wearing gloves, but he leans in until our faces are close together. Until it’s just me and him and nothing else exists. My foolish heart gives a weird little jolt at the nearness.
“I’m going to hug you later,” he says.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“That was very fight club of you,” he says in a voice little more than a whisper. Just for the two of us. “You didn’t back down or run away. And you didn’t let her get away with anything or put her shit on you.”
I shrug. It’s hard to think with him so close.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, I think,” I say, keeping my voice equally low. My eyes get suspiciously wet at his praise. Though it has been an emotional day. Which just goes to show that I can explain away anything given half a chance. What a superpower.
“No problem.”
“No problem,” I agree, only I’m about as wrong as you can get. Because there is a problem. A huge one. And it’s getting bigger and messier by the day.
“You’re dressed up,” is the first thing Leif says, his eyes wide. He sets his motorbike helmet on the side table, and his leather jacket is hung over the back of one of my dining room chairs. “Wow.”
“This is a momentous occasion.”
“It is? I was going to ask if you wanted to come to the bar for the regular Saturday evening giant-Bloody-Mary-with-lobster-roll combo. But I’m sensing you already have plans.” He accepts a glass of champagne, his gaze still roving all over me. There’s a mix of pleasure and surprise on his face and I can’t help but preen just a little.
Truth be known, the plunging neckline on my ankle-length black silk gown is rather beguiling. I bought it for a New Year’s Eve party a few years back and it still fits okay. Tonight just struck me as being a smoky eyes, neutral lips, and hair blown out kind of occasion. A time for thinking and drinking and dancing. So as soon as I got back from my divorce attorney’s office, that’s what I did. My feet are bare because comfort matters, but my toenails are painted black to match. Harry Styles is on the stereo, I have a buzz happening, and all is well.
“You know,” I say, holding my champagne high. Not my first glass, either. God help my liver. “People put all this effort into celebrating weddings, yet they don’t put even half the energy into observing a divorce.”
He raises a brow. “It’s official?”
“Signed the papers this afternoon.”
“Huh.” He clinks his glass against mine. “You didn’t tell me that was today.”
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about it until now.”
Nothing from him.
“I was thinking of doing a bit of crafting with the certificate when it arrives. Some flowery stamps, maybe,” I say. “A little glitter. Really make it special, you know? Bring out the love and joy inherent in the document.”
Still nothing from him.
“I am twenty-seven years old and divorced,” I say, testing the words. “I am a single woman once again.”
He sips the champagne. “Yes you are. You’re finally free. Is ‘congratulations’ the right thing to say?”
“Sure. Divorce is about two people bravely committing to the romantic idea that they can make it on their own. It’s quite empowering really.”
“Then congratulations, Anna.”
“Thank you. I’m glad it’s over.”
And he’s being so damn cautious. It’s right there in his wary gaze. “I bet you are.”
“I’m not going to burst into tears or something,” I say. “There’s no need to look so scared. Out of all of the emotional trauma I’ve experienced this year, tonight actually feels like a good thing.”
“I don’t mind. Cry if you want or need to. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not afraid of you.” He downs half of the glass of champagne. “You know, this isn’t half bad.”
“Glad you approve. I thought if we were going to celebrate, then really only French champagne would do.”
A small smile.
“I’m okay, Leif. I promise.”
“You’ve been through a lot of shit.”
“So have you,” I say. “We both deserve good things.”
He smiles for real this time. “I’ll drink to that.”
“You need a refill.” I grab the bottle out of the bucket of ice on the kitchen counter and perform my duties as host of this very small party. A wedding wake, if you will. A marriage memoriam. There’s even cheesecake in the fridge for later, because a party is nothing without cake.
“How much have you had to drink?” he asks, giving me a curious glance.
“We may be onto our second bottle, here,” I answer. “Briar and I FaceTimed a couple of glasses’ worth earlier. A bid-adieu-to-the-cheating-bastard kind of thing. Will you dance with me?”
“I’d be honored.”
The music changes to Leon Bridges and he slides his arms around my waist. I set one hand on his shoulder, the other still holding onto my drink. We sway in time to the music. It’s so easy with him. So comfortable. Also, Leif is tall and firm and smells nice. The perfect companion for this sort of thing. He’s ridiculously handsome up close like this. Lady-part-tingling male beauty. And I get to put my hands on him in a purely friendly manner. Lucky me.
“No man-hating angry music,” he notes.
“Nope.” I smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I went through an intense period of despising your gender. But that kind of emotion isn’t sustainable long term. Not for me, at least. Especially not with Celine involved in it up to her pretty little neck. Two people alone are responsible for this situation. No point throwing away the whole world over their misdeeds.”
A grunt.
“I guess I still have my moments of rage,” I say. “I mean, of course I do. It was a deeply shitty thing to have happen. But being pissed off for the rest of all time seems like it’ll do me more harm than good.”
He nods.
“I want to move on to bigger and better things. Be happy. And I can’t do that if I’m letting this stuff drag me down.”
“Sounds wise.”
“You think so?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I nod. “Not that I think I’ll ever marry again.”
He raises a brow. “No?”
“Nope. That is not on the agenda. Been there, done that, getting the divorce certificate.”
“Why not?” he asks. “You might meet someone who makes your ex look like a sad excuse of a man. Someone who makes you deliriously happy.”
“I might. One day . . .” I sigh. “But weddings are so big and expensive and stressful. And it’s not like the vows necessarily mean a whole lot. I mean, why bother?”
“It’s true. Words are cheap. That’s why I recommend tattoos, because ink is forever.”
“Hm.” I think about this. “But can’t you get tattoos erased now? Or at least redone?”
He shakes his head. “Not entirely. There’s always a mark. No one gets to walk away free and clear.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Of course.” He seems surprised by the question. “That’s why we all do it. To have it carved into us in blood and skin and ink. To mark out something that’s important enough to stay with us to the end. Something we can’t change our mind about. Not like promises or wedding vows.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Not that I wasn’t a stunning bride. I wore this white strapless ball gown that was like a dream. The skirt was all done in box pleats,” I say. “I looked like a walking, talking cake. It was glorious.”
“I bet you were beautiful.”
“Thank you.” My smile is all things dreamy with a side order of tipsy. “I’d show you some photos, but I actually burnt most of them in Mom and Dad’s barbeque a few months back. Another cathartic healing moment on the road to singledom.”
“That’s okay. You can draw me a picture sometime.”
“Will do,” I say. “But even if I met someone amazing who against all odds was actually trustworthy, I don’t really see any benefit to having a wedding. Marriage clearly can’t make up for qualities that aren’t there to begin with. Love. Loyalty. Little things like that.”
His hand presses lightly against my lower back. A comforting presence. “One day, I’m going to convince you that some relationships are in fact worthwhile and some people can be trusted. But right now, drunky Anna, I’m just going to let you babble.”
“In vino veritas,” I say. “Thank you for indulging my deep thoughts. And I wasn’t ruling out relationships in their entirety.”
“No?”
“No. Just being more realistic about future possibilities,” I explain. “I think this is actually quite healthy of me, casting aside the childhood fairy tales of the perfect Prince Charming and so on.”
Leif snorts. “The dude couldn’t recognize the love of his life without her makeup on and a fancy dress. I mean, how great was Charming really?”
“You’re talking about Cinderella, I take it?” I laugh.
“Yes. It’s a stupid story. Shoe size is a poor indicator for choosing a life partner. Ask anyone.”
“This is a valid point.” I pause mid sway to take a sip of champagne. Ah. Bubbly nectar of the booze gods. Get inside me.
His gaze turns speculative.
“What?”
“I’m not sure if I should ask,” he says.
“Go for it.”
“All right. Did you really think Ryan was Prince Charming? I mean, really, really?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah. I guess I did. I mean, he wasn’t always a dick. Sure, he had his foibles, but things between us used to be generally pretty good.”
“Generally pretty good,” he repeats.
“Dude. Marriage isn’t easy.”
“I believe that.”
“But maybe with the right person it should be,” I say, thinking deep thoughts. “I don’t know. He was the first person I ever slept with. He’s the only person I’ve ever slept with. Sorry if that’s too much information.”
Leif just shrugs.
“It’s one of the things that concerns me now and then, actually.” I must be inebriated or I’d never say this sort of thing out loud. “In those dark and foolish moments of extreme self-doubt. What if Celine was better in bed than me? What if she made him howl at the moon while I was only rated an okay? What if in the end that was why he chose her?”
He frowns.
“‘Could do better,’” I say in a somewhat plaintive voice. “I used to get that a lot in gym class at school. ‘If only she would apply herself.’”
“I’m pretty sure acing gym class doesn’t automatically mean you’ve got mad skills in bed.”
“But wouldn’t it suggest that I had stamina and a certain flexibility?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of gym class flunkies who do just fine in the sack.”
“Maybe.”
“Enthusiasm trumps dexterity every time.”
“Yeah. Think about it, though,” I say. “I’ve only slept with one person. What do I know about going wild in bed, really? Maybe I need more practice. More hands-on experience.”
“There’s a lot I could say to that, but none of it is probably appropriate or helpful right now. Continue on with your ruminating.” He swallows. “One question first. Was the sex even any good?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I think so. I mean, I have nothing to compare it to. Yet.”
“Right.”
“We were a couple within about five minutes after we met when I was a freshman.” I take a moment to think it over. So many memories both good and bad. “I guess I didn’t really know any better. Any high school boyfriends were fumbling-hands-type affairs. Boob gropes and valiant attempts to get their hands down my pants before curfew. Nothing serious.”
He just nods.
“This is my chance to do some sexing and catch up to the rest of the population.”
His brows rise. “That’s your plan?”
“Why not?” I ask. “The last thing I need right now is a serious relationship. Therefore it’s the perfect time to get me some.”
“Okay.” He looks away for a long moment. I’d pay serious money to know what’s on his mind. “No serious relationships, huh?”
“Just like you.”
“Sure,” he says, sounding a little hesitant for some reason. “Whatever makes you happy.”
“I guess we’ll see what makes me happy. Currently I have no real idea.”
“There’s no rush. Take your time,” he says, licking his lip. He has nice lips. “Ah, do you think you missed out on much, hooking up with him so early? In ways other than sex, I mean.”
“Maybe. Probably.” I think it over. “In a lot of ways I let him and our relationship define me. Not a mistake I’ll make again. You’ve got to be your own person separate of any coupledom. Have your own life and interests. I mean, look at how many friends I lost in the divorce because the situation was awkward or made them worry about their own relationship on some level or me on my own just didn’t fit with their perceptions of the world. I only made sense to them when I was part of a matching pair: ‘Ryan and Anna.’ It’s ridiculous. I need to be my own person and have my own friends.”
“I’ll be your friend, single girl.”
“Thank you. I’d be delighted to be your friend too.”
Enough about me. Time for a change of subject. “What were you like when you were younger?”
“Virginal and virtuous.” And he says it with such a straight face. “Those are the first two words that come to mind. Along with ‘very.’”
“Right.”
“Mostly I hung out in the back room at my uncle’s tattoo parlor with Ed. We met all sorts of people. It was an education.”
“I bet.”
“We’d draw tattoo design ideas and ask a million questions and generally get in the way,” he says. “Our older brother, Niels, was the sporting type. He was big into football. And Ed was more artistic than me. He was always painting the walls of his bedroom and doing the emo artist thing. I was the loudmouth out of the three of us. Always cracking jokes and trying to woo the girls, but not always successful.”
“I can see you as a little charmer.”
“Ha. No. I had no game,” he says. “It took me years to become the practiced lothario you see now before you.”
“Ha.”
“I’m ready and available to whisper dirty things in your ear whenever you’re ready,” he offers. “Free of charge even.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’ll keep it in mind.” I smile all serene-like because I am an amazing actress sometimes. “You never came close to getting married or settling down?”
He downs some champagne. “I’ve dated some great girls. Or women, I should say. And there was one or two that maybe made me want to keep things going. To explore something more . . . but in the end for various reasons it didn’t work out.”
“Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Guess not.”
“What reasons?” I ask, because booze is so great for removing any and all social constraints. Like being polite and minding your own business even matters. Cheers!
“Ah, well, one was a tattoo artist that I met at a convention. We tried long distance for a while, but in the end she wanted to be in L.A. and I wanted to be here.”
“Okay. That’s sad, but inevitable. And the other?”
“This was back when Ed had just taken over the parlor and we were all working our asses off to make it a success,” he says. “Joni couldn’t handle the hours I was working. I mean, she had a point. She was going to school during the day and tending bar at night. We barely got to see each other.”
“You really liked her?”
“We had a lot of fun together.”
I frown. “Fun isn’t an emotion. It tells me nothing about how you felt for this woman.”
“It was ten years ago, Anna. That’s a long time. I don’t know how I felt.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” he asks. “What is ‘hmm’?”
“Maybe if you can’t remember how you felt, then moving on was the right answer.”
His expression tenses as he gazes down at the next-to-nonexistent space between us. Or maybe it’s more about the neckline of my dress. I’m showing a lot of skin and I do not care.
“You don’t like my dress?”
His lips compress. “I love your dress.”
“Then why so glum, my friend? This is, after all, a party.”
“Nothing.” He eases back a little. Just so our hips and chests are no longer touching. “Everything is great.”
“Okay. If you say so.” My brain is suddenly busy as can be. “I kind of hijacked you the minute you walked in the door. If you’d rather go to the bar, I completely understand. It’s your routine. Your end-of-the-workweek celebration. I can do the one-girl disco here just fine.”
“What? And miss out on swilling champagne, slow-dancing, and watching Twilight?”
“Go, Team Edward.”
“Eh,” says Leif. “Not saying he doesn’t have cool hair, but Jacob has all those rippling muscles.”
“That’s true. It’s a hard choice.” I smile. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
His smile is slow and beautiful. “It’s an honor.”