2. Apology Donuts
”I am not exaggerating,” I tell her. ”He jumped up, threw himself in front of me, and then stared into the house like some sweaty, shirtless, snarling animal. What if he had just broken out of jail or was having some kind of psychotic episode?”
I put the phone on speaker and set it beside the coffeepot. The flow of coffee is slow at first, as if it”s hesitant to leave the machine. Just a few drips patter against the bottom of the carafe. Then more, until it builds into a steady stream. I stare at it. Just like I”ve stared at it for each of the last four days. It doesn”t take longbefore the smell fills the air, and I rememberour mornings together. I would walk down the hallway toward the kitchen. Hardly awake and suffocated by the smell of his coffee. I hated it. Some days I lied and told him it made me feel like I could throw up, hoping he would stop brewing it so often. But hewould just laugh and tell me I”d love it eventually. Another one of his lies.
Em doesn”t respond with so much as a grunt, so I continue. ”What if he had a knife? I could have been stabbed by some crazy shirtless guy.”
”Did he have a knife?” she finally asks.
I picture him for the way-too-many-eth time since yesterday. Seeing those tiny beads of sweat covering his chest. Those shorts he was wearing.He couldn”t have hidden a knife in there if he wanted to. His shorts already didn”tdo much to hidethat very impressive… object which I will not think about for another second. ”That”s not the point, Em. You”re supposed to feel sorry for me and gasp and ooh at the appropriate points of this story. I did when you told me about the time you were mugged. I guess I”m just the better best friend.”
”I was literally mugged. With a real-life gun. And a scary man who didn”t introduce himself afterward and try to shake my hand. Muggers and would-be stabbers don”t do that. You already said your guy rushed up because he thought he was saving you. That”s way different.”
”It”s not that different. He”s just a shirtless asshole playing the hero instead of the villain.”
”Aww, myLily has a hero. Her very own knight in shining armor. So romantic.” If it were possible for a person to have sarcastic cartoon hearts twined between their words, Em”s words would have them.
Thankfully, she”s not here to see me roll her eyes at her. If she were, she would carry on even more just to annoy me. ”It was not romantic at all. You don”t think that takes some special kind of arrogance to just assume that I needed him? I can handle myself.”
”Pfft! I wish I was taking a drink so I could have spit it all over. True spit-takes come about so rarely in life.” She sounds sad that she”s not able to make a mess at my expense.
”What? I can!”
”Girl, when we were roommates, you made me answer the door every time we had food delivered.”
”That”s not because I was scared, I just didn”t want to?—”
”A couple times you literally ran to the bathroom to hide.”
I shake my head. ”Again, not scared. I just was not in the mood to deal with humans those days.” I take the now full pot of coffee from the machine and hold my face close as I pour it down the drain. Just a slow trickle as I force myself to take deep breaths, holding each one until it feels like my lungs will explode from the pressure. By the time the pot is empty, there are black dots swirling in my vision, and I hope I”ll pass out. Just like every day before this one, I don”t.
”Anyway, so thisincrediblysweet guy just thought he was protecting you?”Em has never liked to let me win an argument. Even when I am obviously right. ”I mean, if someone thought I was being assaulted, I would want them to run to my rescue. Especially if they were hot.”
”I never said he was hot.”
”You mentioned the fact that he was shirtless about a dozen times. And you threw the word ”sweaty” in there waymore than you needed to. You”re obviously obsessedwith what he looked like, and you wouldn”t be unless he was hot. Ergo...”
”Remind me again why you”re a veterinarian and not a lawyer.”
”Because cats are a lot cuter than criminals. Although they are pretty similar in most other ways. Did you know a cat in New York City stole a woman”s diamond ring? Apparently he?—”
”As much as I would love to hear all about it, I just remembered I have a really busy day planned.”
Em huffs out a breath. ”You don”t even try to spare my delicate feelings, do you?”
”Being best friends means I don”t have to worry about your feelings,” I tell her as I dump the wet coffee grounds into the sink. When I hang up, I”ll wash them down the disposal so I won”t have to smell them all day.
”That”s the opposite of what it means, but whatever.” Her tone tells me she”s the one rolling her eyes now. Emory and I met in college when we were sitting across from each other at a seminar table. We both rolled our eyes at the exact same moment and then burst into laughter. After class, I asked if she wanted to grab lunch, and we”ve been friends since. ”You go do whatever it is you”re going to do while I spend my day saving the lives of people”s beloved fur babies.”
”You already told me that your morning is mostly checkups and trimming nails. Nice try.”
”One day the old man will realize I have my degree just like him, and he”ll let me treat some actual cases.”
”Or he”ll die.” I slip my feet into the sneakers I kicked off beside the couch last night. As I do, I look around. The living room seems even more empty without all the pictures on the walls.
”Shit, Lil, I”m sorry. You know I was just?—”
”I know. Don”t worry. But I really do need to go. Text and tell me how many times you get bit today. Love you.”
”Love you too, babe.”
I toss the phone onto the couch and bend over to fix my shoe. Every time I slide my right foot into it, the back catches and folds under. Just as I pull the worn canvas out and drop my heel inside, there”s a knock at the door.
Maybe I should put up a sign telling them to leave their casseroles and cards on the porch. Or better yet, give them to someone else.”I don”t need more food,” I announce as I trudge to the door. ”And if you”re here trying to convince me to repent my evil ways and rejoin the church, that ship left the harbor and is on a lovely cruise halfway around the world now.”
But it”s not someone bringing yet another casserole. It”s not one of the neighbors or friends or even some distant family member who, until a few days ago, would rather drink boiling water than talk to me. ”I”m hardly dressed for a cruise, but I hear Tahiti is beautiful.” It”s him. Brant. The man who has been living in my head, annoying me, for the last nineteen hours. Even though I have zero interest in ever seeing his chest again, my shoulders slump involuntarily when I see he”s wearing a t-shirt today. As tight as it is, though, it doesn”t hide much, so I still end up staring at his pecs. But only because they happen to be at eye level. Sort of. How tall is he anyway?
”Back to save me again?” I ask.
He doesn”t answer. He just shoves a box toward me. A box with the drawing of a donut riding a starburst. ”You deserve a donut,” the writing on the lid says.
”You brought apology donuts?”
”Not just any apology donuts. State Street Donuts Deli. The best donuts anywhere. And I”ve traveled enough to say that.”
I want to moan, and I would if anyone else had shown up with that box. These really are the best. State Street Donuts Deli was one of only two things I missed when I moved to Denver. I look up from the box to see his lopsided grin and his eyebrows raised expectantly above his green eyes. Eyes that don”t at all remind me of the pines in Big Cottonwood Canyon. No. They”re just green. Plain green that doesn”t make me think of anything. An annoying green, in fact. The green of poison oak. I take a step back, just like I would if I found that irritating green on a hike. But poison oak is smart enough to stay still. Brant, on the other hand, takes it as an invitation and walks into my house.
He looks around and then his eyes come back to me, narrowing for just a fraction of a second. ”Should I set these somewhere?” He doesn”t give me a chance to tell him no before he walks around me and into the kitchen. ”This isn”t what I expected.”
”What did you expect?” I ask. ”Never mind, I don”t want to know. Let me have that.”
I try to move around him to grab the box, but he takes up so much room. When I do manage to get in front of him, I reach for it, but he jerks it back just as my fingers brush the cardboard. He laughs and sets it on the counter. ”So impatient. There”s plenty for both of us. But first, tell me about that.” He points to my left arm and I immediately pull it behind me.
”The only thing I”m telling you is thanks for the donuts, which I already know are the best in Salt Lake. And then I”ll tell you that you can leave and go do your alpha-male hero bullshit with someone who might actually appreciate it.”
Brant turns and opens the box like he didn”t hear a thing I just told him. Even though it”s the last thing I want to do, I lean around to peek inside. Six glazed and six jelly-filled. ”Are those raspberry?” I ask, and my stomach betrays me with a growl.
He chuckles, and even though I try to convince myself the laugh sounds like a truck filled with radioactive waste bouncing along a pothole-laden road, the flutter in my chest tells me I know better. ”Seems like someone might appreciate my caring, male, donut-bringing awesomeness a little more than she”s letting on.” He spins and before I have time to react, his hand is wrapped around my forearm and his eyes are locked on mine. ”They are raspberry, and if you”ve had them before, you know how good they are. But before you get any apology donuts, I want to know why you have a snake tattooed around your wrist.”
My mouth is watering. I”m not sure if it”s because of the promise of donuts or because of the way my skin feels under his touch. ”It”s a rattlesnake, and it”s nothing. Please let go of me.” I don”t even make a pretense of struggling against him.
”I”ve never met a girl who doesn”t have a story behind every tattoo.” His eyes move slowly down my arm. The air is so thick I hear it moving in and out of my lungs, and when he traces the snake with his thumb, breathing becomes impossible. ”No, this one means something.” He flips my hand over to continue tracing on the inside of my wrist, but then he stops. ”Oh.”
His grip lessens just enough for me to come back to my senses and jerk my arm away. ”It”s nothing. Like I said.”
”I”m sorry.” He looks at my other arm, like everyone always does when they find out. ”I shouldn”t have?—”
”It”s fine. It was a long time ago. I was a different person then. But about these donuts?” I change the subject to give him an easy way out, so he doesn”t have to ask me anything about the scar he felt under the tattoo. And so I don”t have to answer the same questions I do every time someone finds out. ”It”s rude to tease a girl with raspberry-filled donuts and then make her wait.”
He looks at my wrist one more time, and then that grin takes over his face again. The one that almost makes me question if my stomach is too twisted to eat any donuts. ”Maybe I am a tease.” He stares at me for a second before turning back to the box. ”But I”m not rude. Especially not to a beautiful woman who invited me into her home.”
”I didn”t invite you in.”
Brant pulls a paper towel from the roll and sets a donut on it before handing it to me. ”Let me make it up to you,” he says.
I smile as I raise the pillowy perfection to my mouth. The sweet mix of vanilla and raspberry overwhelms me as I take a bite. These donuts could make up for a lot of wrongs.
”Go out with me.”
I have to cover my mouth or I would spit pastry all over him and, more importantly, the floor I spent last night mopping. It”s a shame Em isn”t here. No matter how many times I tell her spit takes are stupid, she still cracks up at them. Seeing one in real life? She would die.
When I look up at Brant, he looks as if he wishes he could die. His eyes are wide, and I”ve never seen someone so pale. His mouth drops open so slowly it”s almost cute. Until I realize what”s really going on. ”I mean, to get to know each other.” He shakes his head. ”Not like that. As friends. Never mind, this is a bad idea. I need to go. Just pretend I stopped talking once I handed you the donut.”