Slow Simmer

13. Coffee Date

13

COFFEE DATE

Mara

Typically, when I made it to Sunday, I could take a break from work and tackle all my chores. Grocery shopping and laundry were high on my to-do list since I liked to eat and to avoid looking like a homeless person. I also visited my parents twice a month. In fact, I was having lunch with them today at one.

But right now, I could only think about meeting Ford for coffee. The man seriously distracted me. I should focus on a plan instead of standing next to my dryer and staring dreamily into space.

I needed to frame my expectations. This was not a date . It was a meeting between colleagues. Nothing more—at least, not yet. It would be up to me to turn things around. My stomach churned at the thought. I wasn’t outgoing when it came to men and relationships. If I wanted to get us out of the friend-zone, I needed to walk into the coffee shop with that goal firmly in mind, otherwise I’d lose my nerve.

Scarlet’s words wriggled their way back into my mind. “ The man asked you out. He clearly has more than talking movies in mind. ”

I hoped she was right.

I put my folded clothes away and then stared into my closet, hoping inspiration would strike. I wore jeans and superhero t-shirts every day to work. Today I wanted to wear something different. Something pretty.

I plucked a cream-colored, open-weave, bohemian summer dress from my closet, along with the lightweight sheath that went under it. I’d bought it as a pick-me-up a few weeks ago, but hadn’t worn it yet. It was the perfect not-too-dressy, not-too-formal outfit for meeting a sexy director for coffee.

As I turned to set it on the bed, I nearly tripped over Zephyr. The little stumbling-block stared up at me, grinning his doggy grin.

I leaned over and scratched his head. “You’re too quiet. I didn’t know you were in here.”

I padded into the bathroom where I put in my contact lenses and then styled my hair into a bun, letting a single, blue-tipped strand fall loose to frame my face.

I dressed, then adjusted my bedroom door so I could look in the full-length mirror mounted on the back of it. I stared at my reflection, surprised. This outfit looked good . Would Ford think so too?

The mirror wobbled, then swung to one side as Zephyr nosed the door open and came back into my bedroom.

“What do you think? Do I look okay?”

He cocked his head to one side and then sat, grinning up at me.

I adjusted the door and reexamined myself in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much, do you? Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

He stood and wagged his tail.

I glanced at the clock. I needed to leave now, or I’d be late.

“Want to go for a walk?”

We trotted down the staircase and stepped out onto the front sidewalk. I gave the entrance to Ghost of a Chance only a brief glance before striding off.

Living in an apartment directly above my store meant my morning commute was a breeze, but the location also made it challenging when it came to separating my work from my personal life. After all, why not unbox an order of comics while I waited for that load of laundry to finish?

Which reminded me, I still needed to move my laundry to the dryer. Plus, go grocery shopping. All those weekly chores weren’t going to do themselves.

Today was gorgeous—mild and clear. Perfect for being out and about. I didn’t see many people on the short walk to Loco Mocha.

I spotted Ford sitting at one of the sidewalk tables. Behind him, the huge garage-door-sized windows were open and the delicious scent of fresh brewed coffee greeted me.

He sipped coffee as he thumbed through his phone. When he spotted us, he immediately set his phone aside and rose to greet me.

“Mara.” Those gorgeous eyes that matched the blue of his shirt gleamed with pleasure. “Thanks for meeting up today.” He leaned over to give Zephyr a scratch behind the ears before straightening. “What would you like to drink? My treat.”

My heart gave a hard thump. “Th-thanks, but you don’t need to do that.” I rejected the offer automatically. Why did this man make my brain freeze up?

“But I do,” he said. “You’re here because I asked you to talk with me about superheroes. It’s the least I can do.”

With those words, I realized putting our relationship on a more intimate footing wouldn’t be easy. Inside, I wilted, but I hid my reaction. I could make things right between us. I had to.

I gave a small shrug. “Your treat, then. Thanks. I’ll have an iced caramel latte.”

He nodded and came back a couple of minutes later with my latte as well as a small cup of whipped cream for Zephyr.

“No glasses today,” he commented as he set our cups on the table. “Your glasses are cute, but I like this look too.”

His grin made my toes curl. Stupid toes. Stupid grin.

Then I froze. He definitely knew how to charm someone. What if I was wrong about him? What if he really was a player? I avoided his gaze and sipped my drink. This man seemed to overload all my circuits. I was blowing it.

Ford cleared his throat and then sat across from me. “I have lots of questions about the comic book industry and superhero tropes.” His voice sounded entirely businesslike.

I smiled tightly, knowing I’d blown a perfect opportunity. “Everyone likes to be needed.” I was the one who’d made it clear I wanted to keep our relationship professional, and he was abiding by my wishes.

Be careful what you ask for, and all that.

Irritation with myself twisted my stomach. I nearly smacked myself in the forehead for being so bipolar. I couldn’t keep swinging back and forth between wanting this man and trying to convince myself that I was better off without him. I needed to make a decision and stick with it. Move forward, Mara! Stop being a nutcase. He isn’t Doug!

I lifted the little cup of whipped cream in a toast. “Thanks for this. It’s one of Zephyr’s favorite treats.” I leaned over and held it out to Zephyr. He licked it clean and then settled in underneath the table to watch passersby.

“How was your trip to L.A.?” I asked Ford.

“Good. I ended up leasing my house to some friends for the next few months. They’re filming a movie and need a place to stay while they decide if they want to relocate to L.A. or just rent. The timing worked out for everyone. They get a furnished place, and I get people I trust living there.”

That sounded promising. “Does that mean you plan to stick around Sewickley?”

His jaw flexed. “For a while. I need to be here to take care of some family stuff.” He rested his forearm on the table. “My Sewickley house is empty right now. I could either rent it to someone again or live there. After spending the past couple of weeks in my sister’s place while she prepares for renovations, the decision was easy. People are constantly stopping by to take measurements or drop off samples.” He rubbed his chin. “I have a few items in storage, but I need new living room furniture.”

“I heard you hired Kincaid Gillette to do some painting and repairs. Good choice. He does great work.”

His eyes glinted with curiosity. “You seem to know everyone around town. You’ve only lived here for a year, and you’re already wired in. I’m impressed.”

A flush of warmth filled me. If he knows I’d only lived here a year, he must have asked about me. “Kincaid is Courtney’s brother. She’s one of my closest friends. She mentioned something about it.”

The connection clicked for him. “Now I get it. His brother Conner and I used to be friends. Still are.”

I poked at the ice in my latte with my straw. “You met with a producer when you were in L.A., right? How did it go? Are you going to direct his movie?”

Ford frowned. “I haven’t made a decision yet. It’s a great opportunity, but I still have doubts. We’re negotiating, but I’m not sure there’s much McCormick will let me change. I’ve started exploring my other options.”

That caught my attention. “Such as?”

He shrugged. “Things that would keep me here.”

I raised one eyebrow. “In Pittsburgh?”

“Maybe.”

“Enigmatic man.”

He chuckled. “There are several factors to consider. I don’t want to talk about it too soon, but—” he paused and considered me for a moment, “what the hell.” He shot me a conspiratorial grin. “The conversation you and I had the day we first met got me reexamining everything I believed about superhero movies.”

A rush of pleasure thrilled me. He’d really listened to me instead of dismissing whatever didn’t align with his worldview. I respected him all the more for admitting it. “You mean the one where I called you out about your moldy old ideas?” I teased, just to confirm.

“Thanks for that. You were right.” He tilted his head, his eyes filled with respect and admiration—for me. “Even if McCormick’s movie doesn’t pan out, I’ve decided to make a superhero movie.” His eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “I owe it all to you. Your comments about the movie industry and comics got me thinking, and now ideas keep pinging around in my head.” As he spoke, his face became more and more animated.

Had I really triggered this change in him? Opened him up to something new? The thought invigorated me. “Glad I could help.”

Was this how a movie was born? Was I at the birth of an idea that could become great? Huge, even?

Ford set his coffee on the table. “There’s one thing I’ve been wondering about. Why do you think Deadpool has been so successful? The way I see it, the movie goes out of its way to poke fun at comic books, and the main character is more of an antihero. I’d have thought superhero die-hard fans would’ve hated it.”

I grinned with delight that he’d brought up that particular character. “Oh, contraire, Deadpool is one of my favorites for precisely those reasons. The story works because the writer knows the standard tropes of the superhero genre and how to poke fun at them without alienating his audience.”

He focused on me intently. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“To make a story like that work, it comes down to connecting with the main character. Understanding what motivates him. Showing how he was wounded, profoundly, and how it changed him. In the beginning, Deadpool just wants to be with his girlfriend—the love of his life—and when he discovers he has cancer, he does everything he can do to treat his illness so they can be together. Showing their love makes you root for Deadpool even when he turns into a bitter jerk later in the movie. Their relationship makes you want him to succeed. When the secret government organization eventually takes advantage of him, you care. You want him to defeat them.”

“The director did a great job of conveying that in the movie,” Ford said.

“The opening scene was exciting, but he wasn’t likable,” I said. “He came across as snarky, not superhero material. It isn’t until you learn how he got there—what brought him to that point—that you start to root for him.”

“Movies are great at action scenes,” Ford said. “Anything you can see, they can show—but when it comes to conveying emotions—internal thoughts—movies aren’t so good. It’s hard to show internal conflict onscreen.”

“Why don’t you just do it with dialogue?” I asked.

“No one likes listening to someone complain,” he pointed out. “It’s a turnoff, just like in real life. We like to see our heroes act heroically.”

I thought about that. About how Deadpool complained to his friend in the bar, which went counter to what Ford had just said. “But in the movie?—”

Ford held up his hand to stop me. “In Deadpool, they hooked you in with the action scene, unveiled his backstory explaining how he ended up where he was, and then made you care by showing you why he and Vanessa were perfect for each other. The director did a great job showing their evolving relationship with those short romantic vignettes as the calendar flipped by. By the time she’s kidnapped, you know those two misfits are perfect for each other.”

This was fun. I hadn’t dissected the plot of a comic like this in ages. Not since Chance?—

A sharp pain of loss pierced me. Moments like this hurt the most, when, just for an instant, I forgot he was gone. The bleak realization came pouring back into my heart—and nearly undid me.

“Are you okay?” Ford asked.

My eyes met his. He’d noticed? “I’m fine. I was just thinking about my brother.” I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. “I can see how romance can be hard to show on screen, since a love story isn’t exactly action-packed.”

Ford’s eyes betrayed his concern for me, but he went along with my subject change. “Movies need to either say or show what a character is thinking, and that can be challenging. It takes a great script and great acting.”

He started peppering me with questions about various popular superheroes, as well as some of the lesser-known ones. “What about the indie comics in your store—do you read those as well?” he asked.

I nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. It’s hard for an indie creator to get established. I like to help whenever I can.”

“I picked up one called Ghost at your store. I really liked it. Do you have some other indies you’d recommend?”

The mention of Ghost brought me up short. It took some effort, but after a moment, I was able to think of a couple. “There’s The Dregs . It’s a bit dark, but I really like it. Then there’s Faith . She’s one of my favs. She’s not your traditional superhero since she’s a heavy woman, but she’s funny and kicks butt. It’s penned by a woman and promotes positive body image.”

Ford’s eyebrow quirked. “I like that. That one has possibilities. Any others?”

I mentioned a few more. Ford’s decisiveness, curiosity, and enthusiasm intrigued me. Brainstorming with him like this felt invigorating. I hadn’t felt this alive in months. His excitement tugged at me, pulling me closer to him.

As we talked, my world shifted. The solid resistance inside me finally softened where he was concerned.

Wait. Slow down. We were still in the friend-zone. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.

I abruptly sat back in my chair and put my hands in my lap. Ford was keeping things professional, just like I’d asked.

We were worlds apart. He was Superman, and I was... What? Lois Lane? Yeah, right. Not likely. While he traveled the world and used his creative superpowers to make award-winning films, I drudged away stocking shelves, watching out for potential shoplifters, and keeping my business afloat. The only things that ramped me up these days were my freelance code gigs. Especially the ones Destiny sent my way. What could Ford and I possibly have in common besides superhero movies?

As I mentally shut down the possibility of anything romantic between us, he went and flashed that damned smile at me.

Shazam . Check out those dimples. The man had me hooked.

I stared at that full, delectable mouth. What would it be like to kiss him again? This time I could slide my tongue along the bottom edge of his lip—along that border where it met the line of stubble just beginning to emerge.

Ford abruptly stopped talking. “I hope I haven’t bored you. I tend to get carried away.”

He’d caught me daydreaming—about him! My cheeks prickled with heat and I brushed my hair away from my suddenly hot neck. Good thing he didn’t have a mind-reading super-ability. “Not at all. I like talking with you. It’s fascinating—listening as ideas ricochet through your brain. It reminds me of the way Destiny and I brainstormed our video game. Destiny focused more on the storyline, and I loved solving the graphics problems and tightening the code to make it nimble. I loved testing new ideas. Finding innovative ways to look at problems.”

I missed it.

Wait. No!

I loved my store. Loved it with every fiber of my being. Yes, I used to own an indie video game company, but there were plenty of things about it I’d hated. The organizational end of things. The lawyers. The financing. All that stuff had driven me bonkers.

“You come alive when you talk about it,” Ford said. “It must have been hard to give up.”

“It seemed like a no-brainer at the time,” I said with a shrug. “Ghost of a Chance was my dream.”

Ford rose to his feet. “I like it when everything clicks and you know the perfect decision to make. I’m not there yet. I have too many ideas bouncing around in my brain right now. I need to narrow things down.” He glanced at my cup. “Can I get you another coffee?”

I picked up my drink and realized it was empty. “Thanks. That would be great.”

Zephyr stood and looked longingly at Ford.

“Should I get something for Zephyr?”

“Water?”

“Sure thing.” He headed to the counter. His snug tan shorts hung perfectly from his hips. I forced myself not to gawk.

If I wanted things between us to change, it would be up to me. Clearly, Ford wasn’t going to press the point.

I snuck another look at him at the counter.

At that moment, he glanced back at me.

My cheeks immediately warmed with acute awareness.

His grin broadened, and all I could do was suck on the straw of my empty iced latte and look away like some witless nerf-herder fresh off the farm. Why did I freak out whenever he flirted with me?

What was wrong with me? Where had all my confidence disappeared to? Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I should have stuck with my own passion—my gaming company—rather than pursuing a dream Chance and I had once been enthralled with as children.

Wait—was I actually wavering? This was ridiculous. I wanted my store. I’d wanted it for years. The dream might have started when I’d been a kid, but it continued into adulthood. That’s why my brother and I had been opening the store together.

Chance’s comic books and this shop were all I had left of him. I might not have the ability to turn one of his graphic novels into a bestseller, but I had no doubt I could keep our comic book store going. Everyone else might have written off his ambitions, but I hadn’t. And I never would.

Keeping our store alive felt like keeping Chance’s dreams alive.

Ford approached me warily. His brow furrowed as he sat down. “Is something wrong?” He handed me my coffee and set Zephyr’s water next to him.

“No, no. I was just—” I blinked, and the sting of unshed tears made me realize I was on the verge of crying. “I started thinking about my brother again. It’s been over a year, but the loss still hits hard sometimes.”

His eyes deepened with sympathy. “That must have been devastating.”

“He was my twin. We were close, as you can imagine.” I rolled my lips together, pressing them tightly so they wouldn’t tremble. “It’s weird. Even now, I sometimes think, ‘Chance will love this. I can’t wait to tell him.’ And then I remember I can’t. It hurts, you know?”

He nodded. “I think I do. It’s painful to lose someone you love. That’s the simple truth. My mom died when I was young. Nothing is ever the same after a loss like that.”

I gave a jerky nod and then took a big swig of my iced latte. The cold made my teeth ache, which was good. It gave me a new pain to focus on and helped to push down my grief. “Those things shape us. They’re our origin stories, just like in the comics.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Do you see losing your brother as a turning point for you?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“Absolutely,” I said immediately. “It sent me in a new direction. What about you? What was your turning point?”

He shrugged. “Probably losing my mom. I was in elementary school when she died. We thought she’d beat breast cancer, so losing her to pneumonia took everyone by surprise. Dad didn’t remarry. We didn’t move. He kept everything at home pretty much the same, but it was all different without Mom, if you know what I mean.”

I did. Nothing would ever be the same without Chance. “Did your dad start dating?”

“Nah. He kept Mom’s memory almost sacred. The two of them were crazy in love. Now I know that having a relationship like that is rare, but at the time I took it for granted. Dad found the woman he wanted to spend his life with, and when she was gone he wasn’t willing to settle for anything less. I respect that—I do—but it’s sort of intimidating, too. Maybe it’s why I’ve never dated anyone for long.” He was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat.

Maybe that’s why he was photographed with so many different women he never actually dated. “Weren’t you married?” I asked, recalling reading about her when I’d cyber-stalked him.

“I was,” Ford said, “for a hot minute. Our careers both took off and our relationship couldn’t weather it, so we called it quits.” He shrugged. “I was crazy about her at the beginning, but was she the love of my life? No. Maybe I was looking for what my parents had. If I was, I didn’t find it. She’s a good person, just not the right person. Not for me, anyway.”

As his words sank in, my heart quickened. Had I found a man who was a romantic at heart? “What made you decide to be a director?”

“That’s easy,” he said with a relaxed smile. “My dad. The movie industry was always my backdrop growing up. It was Dad’s main topic of conversation. Still is. Back in middle school, I made a video for extra credit in my English class, but when my dad found out, he went overboard and tried to take over. Let’s just say we had ‘creative differences’. He wanted costumes and lighting, some sort of soundtrack. I wanted a handheld video camera and a grainy, minimal look. I had to stand up to him if I wanted to make the video I wanted. That lesson has stuck with me. Maintaining creative control is essential.”

I imagined a plucky little Ford Ross going toe to toe with his dad. “Did the two of you end up in a big fight?”

“How did you guess?”

My mouth quirked. “To me, that sounds like your origin story.”

He tossed his head back and let out a laugh. “With my dad as the evil villain? You know, I think you might be right. I bet Dad would laugh his ass off if I told him.”

I gaped at him. “Would he? Not my dad. He’d be offended.” I could picture his face turning bright red.

“Tell me about him,” Ford said, intrigued.

“He’s a doctor. A cardiac surgeon. A great one with an excellent reputation.” Saying so gave me that same flash of pride I’d always felt. “But he’s a perfectionist too. Nothing’s ever good enough for him.”

“And your mom?”

“She’s great.” My heart gave a squeeze. “Best mom ever. She’s my dad’s polar opposite in most ways. Similar in others. When they met, she was a dancer and a choreographer. Now she teaches ballet and tap classes. She’s really laid back unless you don’t try hard enough in one of her classes.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “They sound like quite a pair.”

“I think it’s one of those opposites-attract things. He was always pushing us kids toward STEM careers, and Mom would undermine him at every chance to get us to focus on the arts.”

The bells in the clock tower in the center of Sewickley chimed one o’clock. I was surprised we’d been talking so long. “It’s later than I realized. I’m supposed to be at my parents’ house.” I scrambled to my feet.

He stood as well. “Thanks for talking with me today. You have to let me know if there’s anything I can do to repay the favor.”

My stupid libido kicked in right then, flooding me with images of all the things I could imagine him doing for me. To me. Deliciously wicked things.

I could feel the clock ticking, pressing on me to do something. Take action. How was I going to bridge this romantic gap with Ford in the next few seconds?

Pursuing men might be completely out of character for me, but when what you kept doing wasn’t working, sometimes you had to make a change. Especially with someone as perfect as Ford Ross standing in front of you.

I looked into his eyes. “You’re welcome to drop by Ghost of a Chance whenever you want. I’m not very busy in the early afternoon during the week. I’d love to spend more time with you.” After a brief moment of hesitation, I added, “I’ve really enjoyed being here today.”

At my comment, Ford’s expression changed. “So have I.” He locked gazes with me, and the blue of his eyes seemed to intensify, making my heart thump hard against my ribs. Suddenly, his smile seemed much more personal than the one he’d given me only a few minutes ago. “Since you’re closed on Monday, I’ll see you on Tuesday.”