Chapter 5 A Missed Connection Thing #2
Sasha flinched. “Why are you being so short with me?”
“You do understand I’m at work, right?” He lowered his voice to a movie whisper. “And suddenly I see you in my line—you—extremely out of context. You didn’t think I’d have a heart attack? What if I showed up at one of your castings?”
She shrugged. “I’d make you audition a piece from Love Jones and then cast you in an erotic thriller or small-town rom-com.”
Brows furrowed with mock severity; he folded his arms and widened his stance; lowering himself a few inches closer to her height. “You’d make me.”
“Easily.”
“You think you could make me audition for you?”
She arched her brow. “I’ve broken tougher men.”
Wes couldn’t help but chuckle at this. And then, with an exasperated groan, he said, “This is not how I thought this day was gonna go.”
With a resigned sigh, he massaged a temple. She shot him an almost-guilty grin. And then, the faintest ghost of a smile played on his lips. Was he thawing out a bit?
“Can we start again?” she asked. “Hi, Wes.”
“Hi, Sasha.”
It felt so unexpectedly dreamy to hear him say her name again. Both warm and titillating, like sinking into a luxurious hot tub. A slightly delirious warmth radiated through her chest. Somehow, her name in his mouth sounded exactly right. She wished he’d say it again—but also hoped he wouldn’t.
Did I really forget that my goddamn soul vibrates in this man’s presence? she thought, pulse racing.
She had to pull it together. Sasha was strong enough to be around Wes without losing focus.
As overwhelming as Wes was, he reminded her of the scariest moment of her life.
And she refused to be pulled backward. Wes represented her tortured past. Seat F was her future.
She was dying to embrace the excitement of a new person, a new start, a clean slate.
“Respectfully, though,” he was asking, “why are you here?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Yes, you do. You always know what you’re thinking.” His expression went serious. “You okay? Are you in danger?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that, this time. I just . . .”
She sputtered for what felt like five minutes.
Nothing coherent came out. Now that she was here, in front of him, she felt ridiculous.
Her Seat F story was going to sound insane.
She’d been so focused on finding Wes, that she hadn’t given thought to how she’d explain everything.
And now, it didn’t matter, because he flipped his towel back on his shoulder, and said, “I don’t mean to cut you off, but I really need to get back. Cool?”
“Cool,” she said, her stomach sinking.
“Cool, cool, cool. We’ll get together. Catch up. Anytime you want, off work hours.” He smiled. “Good to see you. Glad to see you looking so . . . umm, good.”
And then, Wes offered the slightest half smile. Without looking back, he turned around and headed back up into the truck, shutting the door.
And Sasha stayed rooted to her spot in the shaded knoll behind Natural Born Griller. She felt like a fool. An impulsive jackass. How could she have thought this was a good idea?
While she was standing there, mulling over what to do next, she heard Wes’s door reopen. She popped her head up. And there he was, walking toward her, fists thrust in his pockets.
“I’m only gonna ask one more time. Are you in trouble?” He stopped in front of her, looming large. His face was a cloudy mask of concern, with a touch of irritation.
“I swear I’m not,” she promised. “Why do you look so annoyed?”
“Because I am annoyed.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you know, and I know, that I can’t resist helping you,” he confessed.
Sasha’s stomach dropped. She actually didn’t know that. But hearing his confession made her insides flutter in ways she hadn’t experienced in years.
“So. Are you gonna tell me why you’re here?”
“Because, well . . . because I need you.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
Wes tilted his chin up to the sun and exhaled with his entire soul. And then, he looked off to one side, chewing the inside of his mouth. He appeared to be wrestling with the angel and demon on either shoulder. It was unclear who was winning.
“Hold on,” he said, and then slow-jogged to the front of the truck. She overheard him make a quick announcement to his customers, and then he strode back over to her. He made a show of setting a timer on his phone.
“Dozens of scantily clad BBQ aficionados are awaiting my riblets. You got ten more minutes.”
“Right. Well, I don’t want to lead with the ask. It feels impolite. So let me congratulate you on being a . . . food truckian? What’s your title?”
“Small business owner,” he articulated impatiently. “Nine minutes.”
“You have fans. Of all ages! I saw a FB group dedicated to Boomer Barbecuties.”
“Dedicated to what? That’s, uh, definitely an unauthorized thing. I don’t even have Facebook.” He cleared his throat, obviously mortified. “Sasha, if you don’t spit it out . . .”
“I need you to find someone for me.”
He folded his arms again, his expression unreadable. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“Are you permanently retired, though? You excel at detective-ing.”
“Excelling at something doesn’t mean it’s your calling. Barbecue is gratifying to me. Food, feeding people, community—it makes me feel useful. You know, as a human.”
“You were useful as a detective.”
He let out an exasperated noise. “God forbid a Black man pivot!”
“What’s wrong?”
“This is a lot to process,” he said, stepping toward her. “In the past twenty minutes, I’ve been confronted by a bossy ghost . . .”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. I’ve been pulled away from customers, and now you’re questioning my life choices. It’s always something with you. You’re perpetually running from a burning building.”
“I am not, and you’re being rude.”
“This is just the way I talk.”
“No, it isn’t. I saw the way you speak to your customers,” she said, lightly roasting him. “You’re downright flirty.”
“I don’t flirt with my customers, Sasha.”
“Yeah? I’ve never seen anyone erotically wield a spatula.”
“That’s not flirting. That’s engaging with my environment.” Exasperated, Wes shoved his hands back in his pockets. “I’m going to regret asking this. Who are you looking for?”
“A man.”
“I’ve heard great things about Hinge.”
“No, I’m looking for a specific man. I met him on a plane. We sat next to each other on a flight to Paris. And I can’t stop thinking about him.”
His mouth dropped open, just a bit. Speechless. “You serious?”
“I’m so serious.”
“So, it’s a Missed Connections thing? Like those ads that used to run in Craigslist? Like, ‘If you’re the blonde I gave a seat to on the Q, call this number.’ ”
“Exactly like that. Look, I know this sounds far-fetched. And it gets weirder. But hear me out. I need to find him because I don’t have his contact info.”
“Easy. You have his name, right?”
“No.”
“But he knows yours.”
“Well, no.”
“So, neither one of y’all closed?” Wes looked both wildly incredulous and amused. “What’s wrong with him? And what’s wrong with you? Where’s your game?”
Sasha tucked her bob behind her ears. “Game? Don’t know her.”
“Well, what did you do for six hours?”
“We just talked.” She paused, realizing she didn’t want to share anything else. Especially the hand-holding part. In this day and age, who would hold non-sanitized hands with a stranger?
Wes looked baffled, like he was struggling to understand a conversation in a foreign language. “You were in first class, weren’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“This is sounding like a story about unlimited free booze.”
“Welll, that’s the thing. These days, I have flight anxiety. So, I was on a cocktail of beta-blockers, Xanax, and wine.” She grimaced. “I was wrecked. And by the end of the flight, so was he. Besides, ever since the incident? I don’t give my information out.”
“Uh-huh. I see.”
She could tell he was a little intrigued. He’d even stopped fidgeting and glancing over at his line. While she had him on a hook, she’d keep going.
“Also? Hear me out. A manicurist read my palm and predicted him.”
“That’s your last ‘hear me out,’ ” said Wes, pinching his brows with his fingers.
“I know how this sounds! I realize I sound delusional. Childish, even. But what happened between me and . . . and . . . I’ve been calling him Seat F.”
“Seat F?” Wes was about to wisecrack but then stopped himself. “Can’t lie, Seat F goes kinda hard. Proceed.”
“What happened between me and Seat F was special. Different. I’m not lucky with men.
You of all people know that. I haven’t had the easiest time since I last saw you.
I feel like I’m scared of everything. Living.
Dying. People. But those six hours with him felt like a gift.
It was so special, like I finally got to feel what everyone else feels when they fall for someone, without fear.
Maybe being in the air heightened it. Or it could’ve been the drinks.
Or, shit, maybe I hallucinated the whole thing, who knows?
But you only get one life, right? One chance to chase down what you want.
If he’s my guy, I don’t want to miss out on knowing him.
I’d never forgive myself,” she said, taking a breath.
“I’m tired of hiding from my life. I do everything from home.
And it doesn’t help that my industry has gone fully digital.
I haven’t held an in-person casting in years.
It’s all self-tapes—you know, auditions that actors record themselves, and send to me.
I have no reason to leave the house. And I rarely want to,” she admitted in a low voice.
Wes’s expression had softened. He was taking in her every word, giving her a chance. “I didn’t know you were suffering like that.”
“No one did,” she said, worrying that she had gone too far.
“I stayed home for so long, I started to get weird. I’d talk to the TV.
Like, if a character said hi to someone, I’d say hi back.
Someone cried, I cried. Anyway, the flight taught me that I have a smidgeon of hope left.
I discovered that I’m not irreparably broken.
That maybe I can feel real things again.
Have a real life again. Wes, I have to at least try to find him.
And you’re the only person who can help me. ”
The park buzzed around them with the sounds of Saturday frivolity.
Laughter, music, crying babies, and chatter.
But Wes and Sasha were standing alone, hidden behind the truck, the weight of her words binding them like glue.
Why did she elaborate like that? She hadn’t even given Destiny that many details.
It was invigorating, getting it all off her chest. But now that her words were out there, she felt depleted and empty. Was it a mistake to be so honest?
Fuck it. She had nothing to lose.
But just then, Wes’s timer went off.
“We made a good team once,” she said, eyes pleading.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said. “I haven’t taken a case in years. Even if I wanted to, I’m rusty. And I don’t want to. I worked hard to find a stress-free life. I’m done with other people’s problems. I hope you can understand.”
She nodded silently, fiddling with the gold cuff at her wrist.
“Good luck finding your guy, though. Nice to see you, Sasha.”
“You too, Wes.”
And then he was gone.