Chapter 9
NINE
EMERIK
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially when the recipient is making me a delicious lunch and looking so scrumptiously hunky at the same time. I simply can’t understand why this man is single. He’s the whole package.
“It’s only leftovers, I’m afraid,” Alexander says, setting down the plate in front of me. The smell is divine. “When I make lasagna, it lasts a long time. The plight of the single gay man. Can I get you a beer?”
“Thanks, yes, that sounds great. You made this yourself?”
“From my nonna’s recipe. It’s never quite as good as hers, but I think I’m getting closer with practice.”
“You know, it’s ironic. I’m lousy in the kitchen, even though I spend my whole day brewing potions. Not that I had much success with this one! Looks like I way overshot the mark.”
“It is what it is,” Alexander says, taking a remarkably practical approach to our current predicament. I don’t know if I would be as forgiving. “It’s funny, actually. It’s been making me rethink the whole idea of romance.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been focusing too much on storybook romance, chasing that perfect meeting where the world stops turning for a fairytale kiss. I haven’t been thinking about anything after that. Frankly, that’s been my problem my whole life—I always chase after shiny objects.”
“I hear you, but thinking about it, I’ve been just the opposite. You may have noticed that I have some issues with self-confidence, and shiny objects intimidate me. I’d never pursue someone classically handsome, like you.”
He looks at me for a moment, appraising, and says, “Why not? You’re talented, and friendly, and rather cute.”
I feel my face heating at the compliment, but I do my best to accept it.
“Yeah, well, it’s the curse of being a magic nerd. I’ve never had much opportunity to hone my social skills.”
He laughs at that, and says, “Yes, I can see that. I remember how cliquey high school was, and it’s hard to break out of that mindset.”
“I’m guessing you were popular in school.”
Alexander pauses for a thoughtful moment, and says, “I had plenty of friends, but it took a while for me to find myself and come out. I didn’t do anything intimate until trade school. Marty—the big guy we saw in the coffee house—dragged me out of the closet and showed me the ropes.”
“Not literally?” I joke.
“No, that came later,” he says with a big theatrical wink. “With a leather daddy named Sven. But back to the potion. I already have a boatload of classic romantic moments, but it’s not paying attention to anything that might happen after the meet-cute.”
“That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I took the goal literally—to orchestrate a meet-cute—and didn’t include the more important stuff, like true love, or at least some basic compatibility.”
“No problem. Like I said, it is what it is. It’s been fun, but I’m ready for it to stop. Do you have ideas?”
I give him the bad news, striving to be upfront and honest about it.
“Unfortunately, we looked through all our books, and the best we can suggest is a sleeping draught. It doesn’t need to be anything magical, so I stopped at the drugstore and got some over-the-counter sleeping pills.
We had a few other ideas, but they’re more, um, radical. ”
“Such as?”
“Wiping out your desire for romance completely.”
“That’s not happening,” he says. “Romcoms may be my guilty pleasure, but I’m not giving them up.”
“That’s what I thought. Another option is to wait it out. We incorporated a time limit, so it should fade naturally this evening. By then, if this morning was any indication, you’ll have a pocket full of phone numbers to follow up. Maybe one of them is the one.”
“There have been some spectacular specimens,” he admits.
“I’ve never been the subject of this much flirting in my entire life, but just the same, I think I’ll just hide out here for the duration and let it blow over.
These guys have all been sexy, but I’m looking for something more serious. I haven’t felt any real spark.”
Then, he gives a little double take, realizing what he just said. “Present company excluded, of course,” he quips.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, covering up my embarrassment by taking another bite of the delicious pasta.
Suddenly, there’s a loud pounding on the door and a forceful voice shouts, “Open up! Police!”
The pounding doesn’t stop, so Alexander jumps up and opens the door, and I swear, an entire SWAT team crowds into his apartment and spreads out.
“Hands where I can see them,” the leader growls.
As expected, he’s handsome to the point of Hollywood stardom, with a chiseled jaw, five o’clock shadow, and steely eyes.
He exudes confidence, and I’m sure both Alexander and I are imagining the tiger he would be in the sack.
Max, on the other hand, is not amused, barking at the officer and putting on a fierce display of protection.
Alexander says, “Do you mind if I deal with my pup?”
The cop softens slightly at this, obviously also a dog lover, and says, “Sure, man. But slowly.”
While Alexander is putting Max back on his leash, I stand, hands in full view, and watch the show.
Cops root through every corner of Alexander’s apartment, looking through drawers, pulling books off shelves, looking under cushions.
Then I notice the front door, thrown wide open, and it all becomes clear. The potion is still busy at work.
I catch Alexander’s eye and nod to the door, and he gets it right away.
“Officer,” he says. “Are you looking for apartment 36?”
“Yes?”
“Down the hall. This is 39. Looks like I’m having trouble with a loose number on my door.”
The cop’s face flushes red, and then he shouts out orders to correct the snafu. “Everybody, down the hall.” As he’s corralling everyone out, he turns back and says, “Sorry, guys. Cute dog, by the way. Maybe I can make it up to you later, take you guys out to dinner or something.”
“Thank you,” Alexander says. “That might be nice.”
The cop laughs and says, “I’ll be in touch, after all, I know where you live.” We hear the team pounding on the door down the hall as he dashes off.
Alexander’s apartment is a mess, but he leads me back to the table and says in a weary voice, “I have tiramisu, if you have room for dessert.”