Chapter 6

SIX

ELLIOT

“I deserve this.” Gram scooped a third scoop of fudge ripple into each bowl. She tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear and winked across the counter at me. “So do you.”

I shook my head. “It’ll give me diarrhea.”

She waved a dismissive hand and slid one of the bowls to me. “Only if you deserve that, too.”

“That’s not how lactose intolerance works.”

“It’s how the universe works.”

I knew better than to argue with her, especially when she mentioned the intentions of the universe or fate.

“Speaking of grand designs, how is your revitalization effort going?” She took a huge bite of her ice cream.

“It’s a process.”

“That slimy rival of yours stole another contract out from under you, didn’t he?” When I didn’t immediately respond, she got all the answer she needed from one look at me. “He did. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”

If anything, I wasn’t putting enough pressure on myself. I grew up playing in the streets, right here in Oldbridge District. I rode the bus here after school while my parents worked, and I spent all day here during the summers. “This neighborhood means the world to me. I have to save it.”

“You can’t save everyone. They have to make their own decisions, even if they choose wrong.”

I’d save as many as I could. I had one shot to get everything right for my revival plan. It had to be perfect.

I heard a text and checked my phone.

Maeve: Busy?

Gram leaned her elbows on the counter. “Who makes my favorite grandson smile like that?”

I was her only grandson.

“I’m not smiling.” I was definitely smiling. I shoved my phone in my pocket.

“You should marry her.” She shoveled another heaping spoonful of fudge ripple into her mouth.

“Marriage?” I choked on some spit. “We aren’t even dating. It’s platonic.”

“No, it’s not.”

Could I be interested in more with Maeve? Absolutely. Was it fair to her to take advantage when she’d just had her heart broken? Absolutely not.

“She just got out of a bad relationship,” I said.

Gram winked. “So she’s single.”

I sighed.

“The universe works in mysterious ways. There’s no such thing as perfect timing or perfect people. But there’s definitely perfect-for-each-other people, and she’s yours.”

“We hardly know each other.”

“She makes you smile.”

“Lots of people make me smile.” Ask me to name them, I wasn’t sure that I could.

“Not like that.” She grinned like she’d won. Then she grabbed my untouched bowl of ice cream. “I’ll eat your bowl, too.”

“Pity for my digestive tract?”

“No, a treat for mine. And you have a young lady to talk to. You should go.”

Gram had never behaved this way with me before. Honestly, it was a little startling. I thought she saved all of her matchmaking for my cousins.

“Go on now.” She shooed me to the door. “I love you. Go be happy.”

She patted my cheek and smiled.

Then she shut the door in my face.

I stood there a moment in disbelief. Then I took the opportunity as I headed toward my Bronco to find the best response to Maeve’s text.

I found a meme with an anthropomorphic bee covering her weird bee nudity with her bee arms. The text over the top read busy as a bee. And send.

My phone dinged as I slipped into the driver seat. I couldn’t wait to see what she said next.

The text was from Tatianna to the college friend group chat, not from Maeve. Tatianna had sent an image of a small fire at the top of a set of cement steps.

Another text came in, this one from Armstrong. Curious, I ignored the messages that continued to come in from Rachel and T, and switched over to see what he had to say. With any luck, he was reeking of cilantro and livid about the chocolate tornado I’d left in his apartment.

Armstrong: You can’t fool me twice.

Armstrong: I won’t step in it again.

Armstrong: You can’t ruin more than one pair of my Gucci loafers.

Me: ?

Armstrong: Arson is not a joke.

Armstrong: I KNOW IT WAS YOU

It sounded like T had employed the classic flaming bags of poo in her own revenge scheme against Armstrong. He wouldn’t believe me if I insisted it wasn’t me. So, I chose not to respond, and instead enjoyed a nice mental image of him flipping out as he stomped out a flaming paper bag only to find feces ground into the crevices of his heel.

Another text came from Maeve.

A pang of elation struck me as I clicked over, eager to see her response.

She sent a crying bee. It took me a moment of rising concern before I realized what I’d done wrong. I’d implied that I was busy.

Me: Not busy. I saw that provocative queen and sent before thinking

Maeve: Fair. She is pretty hot

Me: What’s up?

Maeve: It’s Bradford’s food pick up day. I sense an opportunity for sabotage. You game?

Me: I’m in

Maeve: Seems silly to take two cars since we live in the same building. Meet me in the parking lot?

Me: I’ll be there in twenty

I made it in fifteen. Maeve was just coming out of the building when I arrived. She looked extra small in her puffy coat. Her hat had a silly monster face on it. I couldn’t help but smile as I pulled up to the curb to meet her.

She opened the passenger side door and slipped in. With her came a gust of cold winter air, along with a sweet and tropical scent. “Hey, I didn’t know this was your Bronco. I park next to you every day. I’m the Sonata.”

I’d parked next to a silver Sonata regularly for months. “How did we never cross paths before your brother’s wedding?”

“I have no idea.”

Maybe it was only because I’d spent my morning with Gram, but Maeve being in my life was starting to feel like fate.

We headed out with Maeve offering directions as we went.

“I really thought you’d drive a Mercedes.” Maeve’s tone suggested I’d pleasantly surprised her with my ancient Bronco.

“Why did you think that?”

She watched out her side window as the city rolled past. “You work in real estate.”

“Lots of people with different styles work in real estate.”

“Not the buying-up-property kind that you do.”

“I don’t buy often.” Almost never. “I invest, mostly.”

She twisted her lips. “Sounds more or less the same to me.”

“People stay in their homes with me. I’m helping keep the heart of the neighborhood the same as it’s always been, while also making improvements.”

“That sounds like a nice thing.” Her tone wavered, like she was unsure.

“I could show you sometime, when we aren’t on a mission of food sabotage.”

“Yes, please.” She looked me up and down, her eyes catching on my wrist. “For the record, I also expected you to only wear suits. And for your watch to be encrusted in diamonds.”

I chuckled. My watch was steel and leather, no monetary value. “Diamonds, huh?”

“Yep. But, you’re nothing like I expected,” she said. “Ooh, here we are.”

As I found a place to park, I wondered why she had expected me to be a certain way. I also wondered if being different than she expected was positive or negative. It was impossible to tell from the way she’d said it.

We got out and headed toward what looked like a health food store.

“Bradford’s been freaking out,” Maeve told me as we stepped up onto the curb.

“I’ve been waiting for it. It’s disheartening when the target of our sabotage is unaffected by our efforts.”

“Oh he’s definitely affected.” She showed me her phone, with a string of texts from Armstrong.

Bradford: You should feel terrible leaving me without my shows.

Bradford: How am I supposed to function like this???

Bradford: There is a wrinkle so deep Botox may not be enough to fix it.

Bradford: Do you want me to die?

Bradford: I’m coming over.

A pang of perverse delight ripped through my chest. “He is affected.”

“Yep.

“He didn’t harass you at home, did he?”

“Nah. I don’t answer the door when it’s him. He’ll be even madder when he sees the trophy pics dropped online.”

Did that mean he’d tried to confront her at her home? I hoped not. “Has he mentioned what I did to his house?”

“Not once. And the texts have been a lot. I figured if he’s not mentioning it, I’m not mentioning it. Maybe he thinks someone else did it.”

I pulled out my phone and showed her the texts from Armstrong about the flaming feces.

“He thinks you left him flaming poop?”

“He does.”

“Did you?”

“If I did, I would want the credit.” I smiled at her.

“I wish I’d done it, not because I want to ruin his shoes or risk burning his house down, but watching him deal with the smelly fire would be kind of awesome. If it wasn’t either of us…how many enemies does Bradford have?”

For a moment I debated whether or not it was my place to share what I knew. But I trusted Maeve. “Tatianna did it.”

I showed her the picture from the group chat.

“Oh wow.” Maeve slapped a hand over her mouth.

She looked up at me like she was waiting for me to say something more, but I wasn’t there, so I didn’t have anything else to tell her. The look in her eyes changed from shock and amusement to something else.

She gave me a small smile that didn’t seem quite genuine, though maybe that was me reading something into nothing.

We headed inside.

It was a fancy little shop with ridiculous prices and gluten-free, nut-free, organic snack paste. I didn’t want to know what snack paste was.

“Hi, I’m here on behalf of Bradford Armstrong.” Maeve approached the checkout counter with the confident smile of a supervillain who knew exactly what she was doing. “Account twenty-three.”

The thin guy with his green apron and crisp collared shirt typed into his keyboard. “Yes, here it is. Mr. Armstrong is set to pick up his handmade culinary delicacies tomorrow, not today.”

His nametag labeled him Kombucha. If my parents had named me after fermented garbage water, I think I’d have gone by Bu or Cha, or better yet, whatever his middle name was.

Unless somehow that was worse.

“Oh, I know pick-up is tomorrow,” Maeve said. “Bradford asked me to stop by and catch you before it was too late.”

A small line formed between Kombucha’s brows. “Too late for what?”

“He’s had a special dietary change.” Maeve placed her hands gently at the edge of the counter. “It’s imperative that it’s put in place for his next order.”

“We have listed peanut, tree nut, gluten, and shellfish allergies.”

That was a lot of allergies. Armstrong must have to keep tight control over his food so he didn’t end up going into anaphylactic shock.

Maeve nodded. “Yes, all of that is the same, but his dietician put him on a cleanse. He needs cilantro added to every meal. He doesn’t want to see the leaves, so they’ll have to be blended and hidden.”

“Right.” Kombucha nodded knowingly. “Mr. Armstrong doesn’t like to see any green in his food.”

That was the specification of a toddler.

“Correct,” Maeve said.

“I’ve added a note. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Maeve tapped her knuckles on the counter. “That’s all, thanks so much.”

When we stepped back outside, I said, “That’s a lot of allergies.”

“Oh, he’s not allergic to any of that stuff. He just doesn’t like it.”

“Who doesn’t like shellfish? Or peanut butter?”

“I know. Or the color green?”

“He must take handfuls of multivitamins.”

“No, but he should.” She tilted her chin toward the gray sky. Winter bit at her cheeks, leaving them flush with pink. There was a calmness about her, and a sense of triumph.

“Feeling victorious?”

She nodded. “A bit, yeah. I didn’t realize how fun this was going to be. How about you?”

Spending time with Maeve was fun. But even though this outing, and our every interaction was focused on Armstrong, I found myself tired of talking about him. “I’m feeling…hungry.”

Her smile stole my breath. It was intoxicating, beautiful, and contagious.

“Pizza at my place?” she asked.

She was asking me back to her apartment? “Sounds great.”

“We can’t go on being neighbors who’ve never seen each other’s apartments.”

“Of course not.”

We walked back to my Bronco. Inside, the heat offered a pleasant reprieve from the cold, and another chance to bask in Maeve’s coconut scent.

She sat a little straighter than she had before, like she might be nervous. “What floor do you live on? I can’t believe I haven't asked you that yet.”

“Third.”

“I’m on the fourth.”

“If you’d have said third, and we lived next door to each other, I swear my gram would pinch me.”

She chuckled. “Why?”

I probably shouldn’t have said that. Now I needed an explanation, but I couldn’t tell her that Gram had decided we were fated to be together. “For not getting to know my neighbors sooner.”

Gram was a big supporter of building community. Her teaching me the importance of community had set me on my entire life path. So, it wasn’t a lie.

Back at the apartment building, we headed straight for the elevator.

As the heavy doors clicked shut, Maeve turned to me. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Hell. I’d done something to come on too strong. She wasn’t ready for dinner together, and it was unfair for me to have suggested it. I smiled, and tried not to betray the disappointment weighing heavy in my chest. “That’s okay.”

“I want to see your place first.” She pushed the button for three.

I watched her from the corner of my eye as the metal box carried us up. She held her breath. Was it nerves? I’d have to be careful not to push. I’d have to remember that dinner didn’t mean anything.

She followed me down the hall to my apartment.

I rarely brought anyone here. I found myself scanning the space wondering what she thought of the deep green walls that had been that shade since before I moved in, or the sofa that lacked any decoration or frill.

The corners of her eyes crinkled. Her lips twitched. “You’re not rich.”

“No.” I thought that was obvious, since we lived in the same cheap apartment complex. A twinge of worry twisted through my thoughts. “Is that a problem?”

“The opposite, actually.”

Her tone was light and honest, easing my concern. Maeve likely associated Armstrong’s wealth with his numerous negative qualities.

She stepped right over to the bookcase where I kept my cameras.

“Instant photography, right?” She pointed to my Spectra Pro.

I nodded, picked the camera up, and aimed it at her.

She gave me a shy smirk as I snapped the shot. The image slowly printed as I set the camera back on the shelf.

“Now the car and the watch are starting to make sense.” She looked over the rest of the shelf giving each camera a turn. “You like old things.”

“Not for the sake of their age. I like particular things. Like my watch, which belonged to my grandfather.”

She fully turned to face me. “That’s sweet.”

Her scent wasn’t just coconut. There was some kind of sweet tropical fruitiness to it, too. I wanted to fill my lungs with it, with her. “I fixed up the Bronco with him during the summers.”

“That’s even sweeter. You’re nostalgic for time with your grandfather.”

“I am. You figured me out. What about you?” I asked. “What do you like?”

“I mentioned gaming, right?”

I nodded.

“I was a professional gamer for a short time. It was all I ever wanted to be. But then it was over, because reflexes don’t last. It’s worse than physical sports where sometimes you get a pitcher or quarterback in his thirties or forties. Gamers peak in their late teens and early twenties.”

Her arm brushed mine as she let it drop. That tiny contact sparked awareness across my entire being. I pretended it was nothing, that I didn’t want to chase that sensation over and over again.

“What do you want to do now?” I asked.

“That’s the thing about living your dream. Once you do it, there’s only down from there. So I love my job at the arcade, and my goal is to do exactly what I’m doing, screw the haters.”

She bumped her elbow into my arm.

Who could begrudge this amazing woman her happiness? “Sounds like you know exactly who you are and what you want.”

“I do.”

“That’s a super power.”

She bumped the toe of her shoe into the side of mine. These tiny contacts couldn’t be an accident. If they were, she’d have pulled away after the first. Instead, she kept inching closer to me.

She chuckled. “No one has ever put it to me like that. It’s nice.”

We turned to fully face each other, with barely a few inches left between us. Her eyes were winter clouds before the first snow, wide and searching as she looked over my face. I realized it was her hair that smelled like coconut. And it was her mouth that smelled like pineapple—lip gloss or a fruity mint I hadn’t noticed her pop.

Somehow, nothing in the world seemed more important than finding out which.

I kissed her.

We were standing so close I could almost taste her, and then there was nothing almost about it.

She tasted like pineapple and happiness. She tasted like adventure and fun and the world outside of rational possibility.

She pressed her palms against my chest and flexed her fingers against my coat like she wanted me closer, wanted to hold on like I could float away.

For every pass of our lips, she was with me—tasting, testing, teasing.

Until she stopped.

She sucked in a breath and took a step back.

The reasons I wasn’t supposed to kiss her punched me in the gut.

She wasn’t ready. I was supposed to be her friend, her partner in revenge. I was supposed to be a safe person that she could trust.

“I…I have to go.” Her face was red. She looked away, like she couldn’t stand to look at me.

She hurried to the door.

She left.

I wished I could take it back. The sweetness on my tongue turned bitter with regret at the realization—I’d screwed up.