Present Day
It’s been two weeks. I guess I screwed up more than I thought. I was sure she’d come into the shop by now. I’ve made a few extra trips to Clay & Soul, hoping she’d be there, but no luck. I told Laura I needed supplies, but she didn’t believe me. I never go there for supplies.
I know where Kerry works. I could go there—wait for her to come in or go out—but that seems pathetic. Especially since I told her I just wanted to hang out. I wish I’d gotten her number. I could send a casual text. And I know I could ask Padraig to get Kerry’s number from Stella, but I don’t want either of them in this right now. Padraig is relentless when it comes to poking at an exposed weakness, and I feel like Stella would ask a lot of questions. She’s persistent like that.
I check the books. No more appointments for me today.
“Darma, I’m headed out for a bit. Call me if you need anything. I won’t be far.”
“Sure thing, Luca,” she says, not looking up from her phone. She’s not as airy as she may appear on the surface. She’s a good artist and has had a few return customers.
I decide to take a stroll down to the industrial end of the street. There’s a secluded alcove there that edges the water. Maybe I can go sit and clear my head. Get Kerry out of my brain.
Do I really want to get Kerry out of my brain?
Of course I do.
But thinking about her makes me smile. Fills my chest with good feelings.
That’s a good thing, right?
I want it to be, but there is a lingering hesitation deep down that is triggering my anxiety. A little whisper echoing that it’s not a good idea to focus so much attention on Kerry.
I haven’t dated anyone since Mallory. I had a run of one-night stands after she left. But I was also drinking a lot, and my actions back then sort of happened in a vacuum. I hardly remember any of it. And it was all empty and completely meaningless.
After I opened the Jaded Lily and cleaned myself up, I didn’t become a monk, but my social interaction with people outside the parlor became scarce. I had regained my focus on my work, and that was the most important thing to me. I wanted to prove to myself, and to anyone who doubted me, that this was a good path to follow. Occasionally, a customer would flirt and I’d act on it. But on an emotional level, none of that meant anything to me.
Until Kerry walked in.
That night, she was drunk. But she had a boldness about her that I feel she came by honestly. She’s a little more demure when sober, but I like that too.
I feel like she sees me. Not just the tattoos and the biceps. Just me. She doesn’t want to sit at a bar with me and toss back a few shots, pretending to be interested in anything I say for an opportunity to have sex with the hot tattoo guy—not a name I gave myself, but I’ve heard it around. Kerry just wants to hang out. That’s how she put it, right?
Although I wouldn’t mind rolling around with her in between my high-thread-count sheets, I’d also like to just hang out. Talk. Smile. Laugh.
At least, I think that’s what I want.
Then why do I want her out of my head?
Because she didn’t come back.
I blew it.
Oh, yeah.
I take my phone out of my pocket and type a reminder into it that I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Kohl, my therapist. I need to talk this out with her.
Walking while typing on my phone has become more of a habit than I’d like to admit. I finish my reminder as I’m rounding the clearing of the alcove. I see her sitting on a large piece of broken-down concrete—the remains of an old industrial building—which butts up against the water’s shoreline. She’s wearing a long, flowy blue dress with black-and-white Chuck Taylor sneakers. She has one leg hugged up to her chest while the other dangles over the side of the concrete. She’s looking out over the water, completely focused on something other than her surroundings. Pieces of her hair float up and back from her face with each mild gust of the wind.
I could watch her for days.
God, that sounds creepy as fuck.
Should I back away? Leave her to own devices? She didn’t come by the shop. She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. She came here. To think about something, just like I often do.
I decide to leave.
Until my phone rings. The blaring lyrics of a Korn song, my ringtone, fill the air and replace the peaceful silence. I look at my phone, which is still in my hand. The display says it’s my mom.
Of course it is.
I dismiss the call, put my phone on vibrate, and shove it into my pocket.
I look up from the ground toward Kerry. She’s staring at me, just as I figured she would be. The look on her face is similar to the one she gave me at Clay & Soul, except slightly softer. It’s a combination of What the fuck are you doing here? and Please don’t go.
The softness of her expression puts me at ease. I’m not going to bolt. Not this time. Instead, I walk toward her and place my hands in the air to signal my innocence.
“I swear I’m not doing this on purpose. I’m not following you.”
She smiles—she fucking smiles—and pushes hair behind her right ear. “I’m not quite sure what to think about it, though,” she answers. “Let me guess. You come here a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘a lot.’ From time to time. It’s serene.”
Kerry looks back out to the water. “It really is. It helps me remember the beauty of the world. It flushes negativity from my heart, even if just temporarily.”
“Another bad day?” I ask.
“Of epic proportions. I think I got fired today.”
“What? Why?” I close the distance between us. I have an urge to comfort her. I hop onto the top of the concrete and sit beside her, her back facing me, as she’s angled toward the water. I sweep her hair from her neck and place my hand on her shoulder. She tilts her head and places it on top of my hand.
“I don’t know for sure. Something happened between Rachel and Stella. Padraig and his stepmother were involved. We may get kicked off the mayor’s St. Patrick’s Day event.”
“Padraig won’t let that happen,” I quickly respond. If it involves his father, Padraig will fix it. They don’t have the best of relationships, and I don’t agree with a lot of the choices his father has made, but Mr. MacNamara isn’t a horrible man. He’s reasonable to an extent.
“Maybe,” Kerry says, shifting herself on the concrete so that we’re sitting side by side, facing the same direction. Her legs dangle over the edge just as mine do. She looks down at her feet.
“This job shouldn’t be this stressful. This dramatic.” She runs her fingers through her hair. “I mean, yes, event planning is stressful. There are a lot of moving pieces. But Rachel is so unpredictable and uncoordinated lately. I hate to say it, but I’ll almost be relieved if she fires me. At least she’ll have forced me out, rather than me walking away. Less guilt.”
She’s speaking with a hint of that boldness I saw the first night I met her. It’s masked slightly, however, with uncertainty.
“But you’re still worried about Stella?” I interject, hoping what I’m reading on her face is correct.
She nods. “Of course. If I’m fired, then Stella has to deal with it all on her own. And that isn’t fair.”
Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her back and pull her into me. She leans her head on my shoulder. “I didn’t move to this city for headaches like this. I moved here to get away from that.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Downtown Atlanta. I moved there after college because I thought I wanted to be part of the hustle and bustle of a big city. I grew up in Isle of Hope, which, to the eyes of a teenager, is boring as hell. I thought metropolis was where I was supposed to be. I was a low-level marketing executive at a firm. Worked in a high-rise. Lived twenty minutes outside the city to be able to afford rent. Took me almost an hour-and-a-half to get to and from work every morning because of traffic. Because I was so junior, I was expected to work ten-to-twelve-hour days. Weekends. I worked all of the time. I didn’t have a life. I was burnt out in a year.”
I squeeze her closer to me. She sighs.
“So I quit. I moved here. Close to home, but still a good city feel.”
“A good compromise,” I reassure.
“Stella hired me on the spot. Right place, right time. I really thought I had made a good decision.”
“I think if you let everything smooth over, things will get better in time,” I say.
She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out her phone. “No calls. Not a single one. Not even from Stella. No news isn’t always good news.”
I wrap my other arm around her front, and I hug her tight. “It’s going to be all right.”
She brings her arm up and caresses mine. “Thanks, Luca.”
She gently pulls away from my embrace and makes eye contact with me. “We’ve known each other for, like, two minutes, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. How do you do that?”
“I swear I didn’t do anything.” I smile. She laughs.
“But I do feel kind of the same way,” I add in agreement.
We pause. We stare at each other, frozen for a moment. But not in an awkward way. A comfortable way.
I have to make a quick decision. The right decision. She wants me to kiss her. I see it. I feel it.
I lean in closer to her. I put my lips against the side of her face, next to her ear.
“Why didn’t you come see me?” I whisper. I don’t move from my position. Her breathing intensifies.
“I’ve just been busy with work. I really was planning to. I’m sorry if—”
Before she can finish the next sentence, I cup my hand around the back of her neck and place my lips on hers. I kiss her gently, then pull away slowly. “I’ve wanted to do that since the night I met you.”
“I’ve wanted you to do that since the night I met you.”
I kiss her again, a little harder this time. She brings her hand to my chest and glides it up to my neck and into my hair. Her touch sets me ablaze, and I want to do everything. Right here, right now. This isn’t just a primal, animalistic, I need to get laid feeling. This is more. I want to take my time. Savor every second. I want to devour this woman, and I want her to devour me.
I keep my lips locked on hers. A little fast. A little slow. Hard. Soft. Her fingers wax and wane through my hair. I’d love nothing more than to strip her down right here and kiss every centimeter of her body until she writhes and shakes with ultimate pleasure underneath me. But as difficult as it is, I think with my brain and restrain myself. But I will continue to kiss her until she tells me to stop.
Or until my damn phone vibrates in my pocket. Kerry must feel or hear the vibration, because she laughs into my mouth. I smile and rest my forehead against hers for a moment.
“I have to check it. It might be Darma at the shop.”
She nods, our foreheads still touching.
I pull my stupid phone out of my pocket. Sure enough, it’s a text from Darma.
Getting kind of busy, boss. I can handle it but could use a backup drafter.
“I have to head back to the shop.” My face is still so close to hers that I’m able to get a whiff of her hair. The scent is delectable. I don’t want to go.
“I understand.”
“Any chance you want to come with me? You could look through some more of the portfolios. Maybe get a better idea of what you want? I could finally show you that vagina tat you so sadly missed out on the last time you were there.”
Kerry laughs. Out loud. Like a Julia-Roberts-in-Pretty-Woman laugh. Yes, I’ve seen the movie. It’s my mom’s favorite. Not my proudest confession, but that is who Kerry reminds me of right now. A full-bodied, with her mouth wide open, laugh.
“I really do want to see that tattoo.”
I jump off the concrete and face her. Then I lift her from the ledge, and place her on the ground. I kiss her, soft and quick. I grab her hand, entwine our fingers together, and walk with her back up to River Street.