Chapter 3

Three

SARA

After a grueling day at work,I finally made it home.

“Good evening, Señorita Hart. Hope you had a good day today,” the nighttime doorman said, a bright smile spanning his face.

“Hi, Pedro. Just another day at the office. Um, did you see Ms. Roberts?” I asked, walking through the long, narrow lobby of my apartment building, dragging my feet on the white, tiled floors. When I reached the elevator, I leaned on the wall for support then pressed the call button.

“Oh, I saw Miss Jen go up a little while ago.”

I rushed in as the elevator door opened. “Thanks, Pedro. See you tomorrow.” Leaning against the mirrored back, I tilted my head up, closed my eyes, and let out a long breath, exhaling the frustrating day out of my body. It wasn’t even Rebecca or Alexei who tormented me. Those two I could handle. Not being able to focus on my work because I was day dreaming of Olive Eyes—that was the new bane of my existence.

Drinking coffee was impossible without thoughts of Mr. Iced Double invading my mind. He’d single-handedly highjacked my morning routine and apparently my afternoon and evening as well. With relief, as I entered my apartment, the welcoming aromas emanating from the kitchen greeted me.

My best friend, Jen, had returned from her week-long trip to Boston. She’d been visiting her boyfriend, Marko, and I couldn’t be happier she was back.

“Jen?” I called out to her as I walked through the foyer, scooping my orange tabby cat, Skiddles.

“In here,” Jen sang sweetly. “Cooking pasta.”

I strolled over to the small open kitchen, nuzzling Skiddles’ nose while she purred her welcome. Jen’s curly blonde locks were pulled up in a messy bun. She wore her hot pink apron, grooving to country music as she drained the raviolis over the sink. My keys and purse dropped on the counter and with a long breath, I plopped on one of the barstools facing the kitchen. Skiddles squirmed out of my arms.

“What’s the matter, hon, Rebecca grind you to the bone today?”

“I guess,” I grumbled, folding my arms over the counter.

She put the drainer down and looked at me. “You guess?” She seemed incredulous. Continuing to stare me down, she pinched her brows, as if trying to solve some mystery about me.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Usually you have some crazy story about Rebecca or Alexei you can’t wait to tell me. Something seems off.”

“It’s nothing.” I shifted on my stool and rested my chin on my hand.

Jen poured the ravs into a big pasta bowl and tossed in the sauce. “Nothing? That normally means it’s something.”

“Just had a long day.”

She scoffed. “You’re really trying to feed me that bullshit, as if I haven’t known you practically all your life? Something’s got you mopey and it ain’t work. What happened today?”

“Do we really have to do this right now; can’t it wait at least until after dinner?”

She looked up from her stovetop while continuing to stir something simmering in a pot. She raised an eyebrow. Her shimmery blue eyes were determined not to let me slide. “No. Now spill it.”

Images of my mom lying motionless next to me in my car clawed at my soul.

Jen could read me so well. I hated it when she did that.

In the four years since the accident, I hadn’t talked much about it. I tried not to think about it either. Things were easier that way. It was simply too painful. Now, the memories were resurfacing and I didn’t know why.

Mr. Iced Double was a much easier topic. After all, he was the other reason I was in the pits, reminding me how lonely and pathetic my love life was.

Noticing the fruit-filled bowl on the counter, I reached for an orange and tossed it back and forth between my hands. “Fine. I met this guy.”

She froze mid stir. “You met a guy.” It wasn’t even a question.

Straightening up in my chair, I said, “Well, not exactly met him-met him. I mean, I ran into Mr. Iced Double at Int’l and I can’t seem to shake him. Don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head.”

She smiled with a glint of triumph in her eyes.

Good. She thinks she cracked me.

“So, who is this…what did you call him, iced what?” she asked as she sprinkled some basil over the pot.

“Who knows. It’s not like we talked. And it’s Mr. Iced Double.”

“You’ve definitely been giving this guy some thought.”

I shot her an icy look.

“Is he hot?” she asked.

“Is he hot?” I repeated, perking up and swiveling on my barstool. “Molten lava scorching type of hot. This guy is so out of my league.” I stopped mid turn to look back at Jen. “I mean, he’s probably some high-power executive and I’m…well, we know what I am.”

Jen continued to stir.

“He was wearing like a tailored designer suit for crying out loud,” I chuckled. “I shop at the local thrift shop.”

“Nothing wrong with a thrift shop, honey.”

Probably.

But that wasn’t really what bothered me. It was the way his gaze penetrated me, as if he saw past my façade. “His eyes were…the kind that can cut through bullshit, you know?”

She laughed. “Thought you were gonna say they were mystifying or some type of fairy sparkly blue.”

I inhaled deeply as I remembered the moment we saw each other. “Olive. With twinkly streaks of honey.”

She cackled. “Look at you all dreamy-eyed.”

What? No. I didn’t do dreamy-eyed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not the high-power executive type of woman. I’m more the no-man-in-my-life type right now, so…”

“For a no-man type of woman, this man sure is on your mind.” Her gaze met mine, an eyebrow hiked. “Plus, high power executives don’t buy their own coffee.”

Trying to mask a smirk, I rolled my eyes and shrugged. “Maybe.”

The smell of the simmering sauce pulled my attention. “This is my first home-cooked dinner in forever,” I said as I nodded toward the pot. “I’ve been eating crap, not sleeping well…”

“How many times have you seen him?”

God, she’s persistent.

“Just this morning.”

Jen plopped two meatballs onto my plate. “I made your favorite, by the way. Veal.”

“Lord, I’ve missed you.”

After placing a plate in front of me, she took a seat next to mine and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You know you are beautiful, right?”

Not saying anything, I stared at my food and took a big bite of one of the moist meatballs. Nirvana hit my taste buds.

“Maybe you should say hello next time you see him. You know, strike up a conversation or something.”

I nearly choked on my chunk of heaven and had to take a big gulp of water to clear my throat. “Me? Strike up a conversation? Okay…yeah. I’m not you, Ms. Social Butterfly. I can’t just strike up a conversation with this guy. I won’t be going there anymore anyway, so it doesn’t even matter.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Seriously? There you go again, always running away.”

“Running away? What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Ever since Josh left, you bolt at the mere thought of meeting a guy. I don’t get it. You can’t be alone forever, you know. You’re going to have to tear down that wall someday.”

“I hate it when you bring him up. This has nothing to do with him.”

She popped a few raviolis in her mouth then pointed her barren fork at me. “Yes, it does and you know it, Sara. You need to let go of the past and move on.”

“Why? So, I can get my heart ripped out of my chest again? No, thank you. I’ve got enough problems to worry about. I don’t need guy drama to add to it.”

“You see, that’s just it. Why does it have to be guy drama? We all need love. It’s time you let someone in to take care of you.” She placed her hand over mine and gave it a light squeeze.

Sliding my hand from under hers, I said, “That train’s come and gone. I can’t endure another loss, Jen. I can’t.” I knew she was trying to be helpful. Encouraging, even. We’d had this conversation before. I wasn’t ready to let anyone in. Didn’t know if I’d ever be.

“You are so afraid people are going to leave you. You can’t live life like that. Haven’t I been here for you always?” she asked.

“Yes, and that’s why I love you. Can we not talk about this anymore? This guy…it’s nothing. Really.”

“Yeah, well, your eyes tell a different story.”

“Stop reading into things. I told you. It’s nothing.”

She gave up and turned to her plate. “If you say so.”

I didn’t like to talk about my past, especially Josh. He was the reason I was so fucked up in the head when it came to men. Bringing him up only reminded me of the terrible mistakes I made in dating him.

So, I did the one thing I knew best. Deflecting.

“How was Boston, by the way?” I asked, changing the subject.

* * *

After dinner, as I loaded the dishwasher, I noticed the cheap bottle of white wine Rebecca had given me at Christmas still sitting on the counter. I was more of a cabernet type of girl, but with the way my day had gone, I desperately needed a drink. With resignation, I broke the seal and poured myself a glass.

After queuing a jazzy tune on our sound system, I walked toward the tall living-room windows of the high-rise, two-bedroom apartment. They showcased a clear evening over Central Park. I cracked open a pane to let in some air. Only a handful of pedestrians trotted along the Upper East Side. Some walked their dogs while others were out for a night jog. The loud churning sea of yellow cabs had receded and all that remained was the low and steady hum of light traffic. The rustling sound of leaves was carried sweetly through the window, and the cool breeze brushing in caressed my skin.

I tried to enjoy the quiet of my solitude, but the silence of it all eventually made me crave morning so I wouldn’t feel so alone. Resigned, I chugged the rest of the bitter wine and stared at the empty glass cradled in my palm.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about you, Olive Eyes?”

I’d promised to never let myself be fooled again. Since then, no one had spurred desire in me—especially after the way my last relationship ended. I was convinced my heart had turned into an unbreakable iceberg. Yet today, one pair of mesmerizing eyes had managed to crack the icy surface.

I could feel my heart again.

The notion unnerved me.

He was out there, somewhere in the concrete jungle, and I was up here, perched in my tower, thinking about him.

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

I chuckled.

Talking to myself. I must be going crazy.

I’d never dwelled on the memory of a complete stranger before. Or hit the replay button so numerously, trying to recall an encounter with someone so badly, I picked it apart to its most miniscule detail. His strut oozed of manliness. His voice was like melted butter, warm and silky. And his lips… I’d never seen lips so full and inviting.

Did I mention they were moist?

Christ, I could’ve quenched my thirst on them.

Yeah, denying the effect his body had on me was pointless. Warm currents ran up and down my spine every time he made cameos in my mind. I’d been man-less for four years, but I was still human. Yet, it was the drum beat in my chest and the ache I felt in my soul that truly unsettled me.

Maybe I’d blown things out of proportion. Olive Eyes probably wouldn’t even be able to pick me out of a lineup, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I shook my head.

What the hell happened to me?

It didn’t make sense. And neither did drinking cheap wine by myself on a Friday night while day dreaming about a guy I’d probably never see again.

As I scanned around the room, a part of me couldn’t let go of the loneliness curdling inside my chest. My eerily silent, closet-size living room felt as immense and vacant as a black hole. I swallowed a large gulp of air and went to bed. Whatever was making my mind churn with unease would be gone by morning.

At least by Monday. For sure.

I hoped.