Chapter 4 Beau
FOUR
BEAU
“I’m coming.” Stupid salespeople won’t leave me alone.
I swear, it’s like they walk right past the No soliciting signs on the front door of my apartment building with no clue what either of those words means.
Last week, they tried to convince me to get cable television.
The week before that, it was solar panels.
Can you imagine trying to sell solar panels to folks renting in an apartment building?
Yeah, me neither. If I wasn’t exhausted, I might be interested in what crazy thing they were going to attempt to sell me this week.
But all I want to do is watch TV. Through a streaming service, like a normal person. As soon as I open the latch, Jacklyn comes barreling into my place.
“What did you do?”
I back away from the front door—my front door—giving Jacklyn plenty of room. “And happy Wednesday to you, too. Would you like to come in?”
“Fuck that shit. I want answers. Now.”
We’re skipping the pleasantries and moving straight to the fucked up date.
“Me? I don’t think I’m the problem here.
Why would you fix me up with him? Seriously.
There’s no way you thought me and Mr. Sunshine would be a good match.
” We’re polar opposites of one another. Even after only spending a few short minutes talking to him, that much was obvious.
It makes me question whether Jacklyn and I are even friends.
“Vee is one of the sweetest and nicest people I know. He’s smart and kind, and you treated him like absolute garbage.”
“That’s not true. Or the whole story.” However, I may have come to a similar conclusion on my own after watching him at lunch yesterday.
“Oh yeah? I can’t wait to hear your version. Go on.”
“Can we at least sit?” I squeak out. I’m not scared of Jacklyn. More like I have a healthy amount of fear for the woman. My trembling will be less noticeable if we’re sitting somewhere.
“This better be fucking good,” she mumbles as she makes her way into the living room.
Once we’re seated, her on the couch and me on the recliner, she crosses her arms and stares.
“I was having a bad day.” Shit. I can already hear just how bad this fucking sounds. “And then he tripped me.” This is the kind of story that sounds better in my head than it does out loud. I sound like a petulant toddler.
“He tripped you?” She raises an eyebrow at me, clearly not buying the story.
“While I was carrying coffee for the whole office.”
“And he did this on purpose?”
It’s hard to remember at this point what exactly happened. “Not on purpose, but he wasn’t watching where he was going. I’d already fallen once and hurt my ankle.” It doesn’t feel like the right time to tell her that it still aches.
“And was that time also his fault?”
“No, it’s because it was rainy and the floor was wet.”
She stares at me, eyes burrowing into my soul. “So, you were clumsy and slipped because it was rainy, then you fell again, but this time it was his fault.”
Well, when you put it like that. Sheesh. “Look, it wouldn’t work anyway.”
“You don’t know that. You and Vee have a lot in common, that’s why I set the two of you up.”
I can’t imagine what she thinks I have in common with him.
I know people say opposites attract, but that’s never been my experience.
Sometimes people are too different. Vincent is the artsy type, a free spirit.
I’m more buttoned-up. Neither of those is a bad thing, but I’m pretty sure it’s a case of oil and water. “Just tell him I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You’re the one who fucked this up. You fix it.”
“Jacklyn.”
“Beau.”
“Can I sit?” It’s taken me all morning to get up the courage to come talk to Vincent. He’s here a lot, so I’d been hoping that if I went over for lunch, as usual, he’d be there.
The minute I walked in and saw him, I almost lost my nerve. Almost. Then I thought about making a call to Jacklyn and telling her that I chickened out of my apology. It came down to a choice between which sounded worse. I’ll never tell Jacklyn that she came out on the losing end of that one.
Or maybe I will. She’d probably appreciate it.
Vincent eyes me suspiciously, which I fucking deserve.
“I can be quiet,” I say. The place isn’t that crowded, so it’s not like I can’t find my own table, which makes it abundantly clear that I’m choosing to sit with him on purpose.
“You can sit.” He nods toward the chair on the opposite side of the table. “And you don’t have to be quiet.”
Good because that part was a lie. I’m not planning to keep my mouth shut. At least not completely.
It’s not even a Tuesday, and I’m out of the office for lunch. That in and of itself is a minor miracle. That I’m here, only partially against my will, to meet someone I have nothing in common with, to apologize for something that’s only partially my fault, is the real miracle.
He goes back to whatever he’s working on, and I sit frozen, unsure how to start the conversation. I probably should have gotten a coffee or something. At least then I’d have something to keep my hands busy.
“So, I might owe you an apology.” Vincent raises his eyebrow at me.
“Okay, I definitely owe you an apology. Look, I know it’s not an excuse, but I was in a bad mood that day, and…
” Shit. I’m really fucking things up. “Look, I can make excuses all day, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I acted like an ass. ”
“How would you have acted?”
“What?”
“I mean, if you’d shown up at the theater and never met me before. How would things have gone?”
I stare at him, mouth open. “Um…I don’t know. I would’ve offered you some popcorn.”
“That would’ve been nice. I like popcorn.”
“Who doesn’t?” I’m sure someone, but certainly not anyone I’d ever met. “And maybe held your hand.” If things were going well, and I saw an opening.
“Sounds like a pretty good date.”
“Yeah.” My mouth goes dry. It’s hard to picture it now, in retrospect, sitting in a crowded café, watching as people bustle around us. “Anyway, I wanted to say that. And I did, so I’ll leave you to it.”
“You can stay. If you want.” He shrugs and looks back at his computer screen; whatever he has there is holding his attention.
I feel like an idiot, but I sit there anyway.
Doing nothing, watching as Vincent moves the mouse around, occasionally clicking something.
He’s so serious, the muscles around his lips twitching as his gaze darts back and forth across the screen.
I’m tempted to ask him what he’s working on, but I don’t want to disrupt his flow.
The only reason I finally get up is because my lunch break is over and I’m expected back in the office. When I leave, he gives me a soft smile. It’s enough to make me forget that I never bothered to get food.
VINCENT
It’s Tuesday, which means Beau will be at Lobelia for lunch. While he’s been here a few other times, Tuesdays are the only time it’s guaranteed he’ll be at a table for lunch.
Not that I’ve been paying attention or anything.
I happen to have spent the last few weeks noting when he’s here.
He’ll stroll in a little after noon and stay until a few minutes before one.
I may be slightly stalking him. In fairness, I’ve been a regular at this café for three years, ever since I moved in upstairs.
We’ve probably crossed paths several times, perhaps standing in line near each other or holding a door open in passing.
It’s weird to think that had it not been for Jacklyn, I might still be here for lunch today.
The only difference would be that I’d be sitting at this table alone, people watching.
It’s become our thing for Beau and me to share a table. Other than a few pleasantries, that’s been the full extent of our interaction. We sit, across from one another—never side by side—and read or work while eating our respective lunches.
I make my way down around eleven thirty to order my tea and a salad, before finding a good table.
The minute lunch officially starts, the place fills up with folks from the nearby office buildings.
Until then, it’s the lull between the morning crowd and the lunch group.
As long as I’m there before the lunch rush, I can grab us a cozy table against the wall.
Today, I’m lucky enough to snag us a spot right by the window, perfect for enjoying the warm sun streaming in. It’s still very much winter, but on days like this, it’s easy to see the edges of spring starting to break through.
Right on schedule, Beau walks in a little after noon, his crisp button-up shirt and neatly pressed pants standing out against the otherwise casual background.
He gives a shy wave when he spots me, before getting in line to place his order.
He gets the same thing every time—a turkey and swiss sandwich and a coffee.
Always a caramel latte. I still don’t like coffee, but even I admit it smells incredible.
So good that today I got myself a London Fog, with extra vanilla, knowing that the minute I smelled his, I’d be craving the sweetness.
It only takes another minute for him to gather up his order and make his way over.
I don’t let him go through the routine of asking if he can sit with me.
Instead, I opt to close my computer and put it in my bag as he approaches in a clear invitation.
The move seems to catch him off guard before he huffs and puts his stuff down in front of the empty seat.
“No work today?” he asks.
“I thought I’d take a break.” I earned it. Besides, I work for myself, and my boss will understand if I slack off a bit, especially if it’s to flirt with a cute guy. Besides, I started early this morning to capture some photos around dawn, so I’ve already put in quite a few hours.
“And what does this break of yours entail?” He puts his phone on the table, screen side facing down.
“I was thinking we could start with some introductions and go from there. See what it might look like if we started over.” I’ve thought about this a lot.
Probably too much. Jacklyn’s in my head, though, telling me that she’s sure this is the right match.
Beau is certainly handsome, exactly the kind of guy I go for.
Though I usually like them to have a more positive outlook on life.
“What kinds of things would we talk about?”
I get it. On paper, the two of us look very different. But I would follow Jacklyn to the depths of hell. So I’m going to trust her as much as I can. “Well, maybe you could tell me a little bit about yourself. For example, what do you do for work?”
He takes a deep breath and sighs. Well then, I guess that’s over. I’m about to get my laptop out when he finally answers. “I’m an administrative assistant,” he says with all the excitement of a toddler being forced to eat vegetables.
“That sounds interesting.”
“No. It doesn’t, but thank you for pretending.”
“What makes you think I’m not serious? You’ll find that I pretty much always say what I think.
” Or, when the occasion calls for it, keep my mouth shut altogether.
It’s a skill I worked hard on, especially when I started my business.
Clients aren’t always interested in my honest opinion, and if I’m interested in their money, I can’t always give it.
“It’s just…” He takes a long breath. “You know what, never mind. Sometimes it is interesting.” I’m not sure he’s convinced, but I let it go.
The silence stretches between us, each of us digging into our lunches and eating quietly.
When he speaks again, I almost jump at the intrusion of his voice into my thoughts. “So, what is it you do when you’re here working?”
I smile because this is one of my favorite topics. “I’m a photographer,” I say, sitting up a little taller. Am I proud of the work I do? Absolutely. I’m well aware that getting to pursue my passion like this is rare. Making decent money at it is even harder. Somehow, I’ve managed to do both.
“That’s cool. Do you do headshots and stuff?”
“I can, but I mostly do landscapes. Think mountains, rivers, and lakes.” People are friendly, but they make terrible subjects.
Too finicky. The best shots show off their flaws, but they’re rarely willing to choose those; instead, they always ask me to touch them up until they’re barely recognizable.
Flowers and water are much easier to deal with.
“That’s amazing. Can you show me?”
“Of course.”
For the next thirty minutes, I show off my portfolio on my computer, pointing him toward my favorite pieces, even pulling up a couple of shots that aren’t in my portfolio for one reason or another, but they’re favorites.
He leans in to examine each of the photos, squinting at the screen.
I’m tempted to take him upstairs so he can see the ones hung on my wall, see them stretched across canvas, and at the proper size.
Before I can get up the courage to make the offer, the alarm on his phone goes off. “I guess I have to get back to work,” he says, but doesn’t move.
“Yeah,” I say, unable to think of anything else.
I’m sure he’s going to say something else when his jaw twitches, but instead, he picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder.
“This was fun. I’ll see you again…sometime.
” He swipes his trash from the table and dumps it into the bin by the door before walking out.
I stare for a while, hoping he’ll realize he forgot something and come rushing back in, giving me a chance to pick up the end of that conversation.
Sometime. When is sometime? Am I supposed to sit here every day at lunchtime, hoping he’ll come in? I mean, I could, but that’s probably not a healthy way to live my life. Besides, that could definitely be called stalking.
I sit until my tea has gone and most of the lunch rush has vacated the tables.
At least now I know that Jaclyn’s right. We do get along well. Maybe if that first meeting had gone better, things would be different. It’s easy to imagine a different setup.
I guess we’ll never know.