Chapter 6
Vanessa
This is going to be a ridiculously easy assignment.
I mean, the guy can’t even resist going to a flea market with a woman who’s obviously not impressed with him.
It’s kind of adorable, actually. Maybe Jason could be Lisa’s person someday.
So yeah, it’s all working out beautifully.
And my dad coming through in the clutch by offering him Mets tickets? Perfection.
Jason’s handling the city streets as if he’s on a Sunday drive in the suburbs.
He’s not even bothered by the people rudely honking before they cut him off.
He’s relaxed. Unwary and unsuspecting. Which means it’s time to hook him with my patented tease-him-until-it-hurts-so-good approach.
I groan dramatically. “At this rate, the market will be closed when we get there.”
“Are you criticizing my driving?”
“Yeah. Isn’t that obvious?”
He lifts his foot off the accelerator, and the truck slows to a crawl. “Better?”
“No. Do you need me to get out and push?”
“Cute.”
“Not as cute as the dresser I can’t buy because I’m stuck in this turtle you call a pickup.”
Jason doesn’t say anything, but the moment there’s a break in traffic, he pulls over and stops the vehicle.
“Oh no, what’s wrong with it? A flat?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” he says as he unfastens his seat belt. “I’m letting you take over.”
“I’m not driving this behemoth! And who owns an F-150 in the city anyway?”
“A person who does construction for a living. Now, if you don’t want to drive, I suggest you sit quietly and enjoy the ride. I’m doing you a favor, remember?”
“Testy, testy,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Whiny, whiny,” Jason replies.
He. Did. Not. But okay, considering that’s the reaction I was going for, I’ll give him that one. “Since you’re a flea market regular, and we’ll be in this turtle-mobile for fourscore and seven years, do you have any tips for getting good deals?”
He makes a low rumbling sound.
“What?” I ask. “You didn’t think that little performance was going to change my behavior, did you?”
“I’m slowly learning what to expect from you,” he mutters.
“All good, I hope,” I say, batting my eyes.
“All interesting, that’s for sure.”
“And the answer to my question is?”
“I don’t even remember the question.”
“Tips. I asked if you had any tips for how to get a good deal.”
“Ah, right. That’s simple: Use me as your secret weapon.”
“How?”
“Simple. Pretend that I’m your boyfriend and we need to agree on the sale. If you’re trying to cut a deal, ask for my opinion. I’ll say the price is too high and walk away. Then you can drag me back and reopen the negotiations. Works every time.”
“Look at you,” I say, shifting in my seat to give him a once-over. “Undercutting small businesses trying to make ends meet in a struggling economy. You must be so proud.”
“Hold up, that’s not fair. This is New York. Everyone knows the first price is too high, and they can always be talked down.”
“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”
“Damn, I can’t win with you.”
I give him a lopsided smile. “And there’s no point even trying.”
In a once-in-a-lifetime maneuver, Jason slips into a parking spot on Columbus Avenue, just as another car abandons it. “This is a good sign. It means we were meant to be here today.”
“Maybe it means the dresser of my dreams is in there somewhere,” I say as I unfasten my seat belt. “Assuming someone hasn’t purchased it already because you drive like you’re manning a parade float.”
“I’m ignoring you.”
“Believe me, others have tried. It can’t be done.”
He flops his head back against the headrest. “Jesus.”
“He’s too busy to help you today.”
“Lucifer’s got all the time, I see.”
My mouth twitches. Dammit, I’m charmed. Focus, Vanessa. “Okay, enough dillydallying. Ready to show me your flea-marketing skills?”
He throws on a fitted Mets cap and surveys the crowd as though he’s preparing for battle. “Let’s do this,” he says, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.
Oh shit. He truly is a flea market aficionado. Why is that so hot?
There it is.
With only a few nicks here and there, the double dresser of my dreams is calling to me. A coat of paint and some new hardware will do wonders to make it fit my bedroom aesthetic.
“How much—”
“Keep moving,” Jason whispers behind me. “Don’t ask about it yet.”
“What? Why not?”
He doesn’t answer; instead, he takes my hand and pulls me past the vendor’s tent.
When we’re several feet away, Jason says, “You need to assess the situation first. See if it’s a popular item or not.”
“But if it’s in demand, don’t I risk losing out on the chance to buy it?”
“If it’s in demand, you’re going to end up paying too much for it. Better to focus on the items that aren’t getting as much attention.”
“But aren’t they getting less attention because they’re less desirable?”
“Desirability is in the eye of the beholder. The key here is to focus on the diamonds in the rough. The items you have a vision for. Don’t focus on anyone else. Focus on how you feel about it.”
“I want to paint the dresser cobalt blue and replace the hardware with glass knobs. I can already picture it in my bedroom.”
“Now we’re talking,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “And in the time we’ve been standing here, no one’s asked about it. See? We’re gathering data. Ready to pretend to be my girlfriend?”
“Oh, we’re doing that now?”
“Yeah. Would it be okay if I hug you as part of the act?”
“Sure.”
“All right,” he says. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“If this works, I’ll buy you a shish kebab from that stand over there.”
“Make it two, and I’ll deliver an Oscar-worthy performance.”
“You’re on.”
We go our separate ways, and then I stroll past the vendor’s tent and take a spin around the dresser. “How much are you asking for this one?”
The middle-aged white woman selling it stops reading the book in her hands and grins at me. “One hundred and twenty-five dollars. Just needs a coat of paint and some drawer pulls, and it’ll be good as new.”
“Nice, isn’t it?” a voice behind me says.
I turn and look up at a handsome white man with thick-framed glasses who’s giving me a friendly smile. “It is. Calling dibs right now.”
He puts up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s all yours. I’m interested in something else anyway.”
“What?”
“Your number.”
I groan. “Wow, does that really work—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Jason wraps his arm around my middle and pulls me toward the front of his body.
Whoa. I’m surrounded by him. And he smells phenomenal.
So much so that I’m tempted to curve into his neck and sniff him.
Listen, I’m not a dainty person. I take up space and own it.
But I’ll confess to enjoying the way I disappear in his arms. This is more than a hug; it’s an intimacy that appears grounded in familiarity, even though Jason and I know it’s just for show.
What’s more troubling is that I desperately want to forget all the reasons I should be objecting to the way he’s embracing me.
“Find anything you like?” he asks against my ear, his voice silky and low.
The flirty stranger by my side silently slinks away, and I’m left to focus on nothing but my brain’s reaction to the man at my back. This is a superb way to spend a Sunday, the right side of my brain thinks. No, it isn’t, you disloyal tramp, thinks the left side.
“Baby, you okay?” he prompts.
Oh, right. We’re pretending to be a couple, and I’m messing up my part.
Worse, for whatever reason, I go off our nonexistent script and settle my hand over his, essentially encouraging him to remain in place.
“Got my eye on this dresser for our bedroom. It’s a hundred and twenty-five dollars. What do you think?”
“Eh, it’s okay, but I think we should keep looking. I saw another one a few rows down. Want to check that one out before you make any decisions?”
“Ooh, yes. This one isn’t quite what I was looking for.”
“I could do a hundred,” the vendor calls out as we’re walking away.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say over my shoulder. “Just want to see what else is available.”
She gives us a curt nod and returns to her book.
“So what do you think?” I ask Jason. “I want a deal, but I also want to be fair.”
“A hundred seems fair to me.”
“So let’s head back in a few minutes. I don’t really need to see anything else.”
As we’re strolling through the market, Jason occasionally stops at the most random tents.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” I ask him.
“Possibly. Was thinking about a wedding gift for Cami and Bryan. Something unique. Maybe something they could use in Chile.”
“I take it you like your sister’s fiancé.”
“He seems like a good guy. She adores him, and he seems to adore her. Seems like they’re a good match.”
“Those ‘seems’ are doing a lot of heavy lifting. He seems like a good guy. He seems to adore her. They seem to be a good match.”
“Well, shit. I didn’t even realize what I was saying. They are a good match.”
He bites on his lip as he stares at an item, but I don’t think he’s actually considering it.
I place a hand on his arm. “Lisa thinks they were made for each other, and she’s an excellent judge of character.”
“That’s comforting.”
Why does he need to be comforted, though? Wait. Forget I asked. The answer is for Lisa to know and for me not to find out. That’s true couple shit and definitely not what we’re doing here. Diving into Jason’s interior and learning what makes him, well, him, is not part of the plan.
“Ready to head back?” I ask, snapping us both out of our thoughts.
“Yeah, as soon as you admit that my tactics worked like a charm.”
“They did,” I say, giving him a lopsided grin. “And I owe you two shish kebabs.”
A woman passes us and hands us brochures. I glance at mine and read aloud the market’s mission, which says “a portion of the profits benefits four local public schools.”
I look up at Jason. “Did you remember this part?”
“I didn’t,” he says sheepishly.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That you’re going to pay full price for the dresser? Yeah.”
We smile at each other, then he says, “She does have a heart.”
“Don’t tell anyone, though,” I whisper. “It’s a closely guarded secret.”
Honestly, it’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. The sad part is, I’m not exactly sure it’s true.
“It’s perfect,” I say, staring at the latest addition to my tiny one-bedroom apartment in the East Village. Never mind that the dresser consumes enough space to be considered my roommate.
Jason wipes his brow. “Doesn’t matter. Those damn stairs were a nightmare, so you’re stuck with it.”
I lightly shove him to the side and hand him a water bottle. “Seriously, though, thanks for helping me get it up here. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He waves me off. “No biggie. Happy to lend a hand.”
“Okay, then,” I say, swinging my arms awkwardly. “This has been great, and now I’m letting you off the hook so you can enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”
“Right. Of course. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
I laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”
A smile dances on his lips as he walks to the door. “But that’s what I heard.”
“Take care,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And thanks again for agreeing to update the store.”
“It’s my pleasure. Your father’s good people. And playing a part in keeping a bodega in East Harlem open is exactly what I’d want to do with my free time anyway.”
Great. I feel like shit. This guy isn’t even half as bad as I initially thought.
As usual, I went off half-cocked, led astray by my need to come out on top in any given situation, and now I’m stuck in a scheme with him at the center.
My only consolation is that he and Lisa might embark on a lasting relationship as a result of my meddling.
I suppose I’ll gain a decent brother-in-law too.
Squaring my shoulders, I resolve to set aside my misgivings and finish what I started.
With all that in mind, I muster a friendly smile, open the door, and lean against the frame. “I’ll see you around, then.”
“Yeah, take care,” he says, throwing up a hand as he passes me.
After closing the door, I fall against it and let out a deep breath. Next time I see him at the store, I’ll try to finagle an invite to dinner or something. Then I can really begin my campaign.
Seconds later, a soft knock at the door startles me, and when I look through the peephole, I see Jason clutching his baseball cap against his chest. I open the door wide. “Back so soon?”
“Yeah,” he says, then swallows hard. “I, uh…I forgot to mention that Camila and Bryan are having a couples shower two weeks from now. They’re not into a lot of the traditional wedding stuff most people do, so they’re hosting it together.
Anyway, I was thinking, since you’re just getting back into the swing of being in New York, it might be nice to hang out with some cool people.
My family. Some friends. Your sister will be there, too, I’m sure.
” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought you might like to tell your parents you’re being social. ”
“Thanks for the invitation, but a couples shower seems like something for close friends and family. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“We’re Puerto Rican, and it’s a party. There’s no such thing as imposing.”
I laugh. “Okay, okay. When and what time?”
“Saturday, the eighth. Starts at three.”
“You’ll send me the details?”
“I’ll need your digits for that.”
“Come inside, then.” I grab my phone off the kitchen counter. “What’s your number? I’ll call you so you can save mine in your phone.”
After we exchange numbers, I walk him to the door again.
“I’m leaving for real this time,” he says. “Bye.”
“Bye, Jason.”
I close the door and grin at this minor victory: an invite and his cell phone number. Now I can send him text messages. Sweet ones at first. Annoyingly detailed ones later. Oh, Jason, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.
Yeah, this is going to be a ridiculously easy assignment. For Lisa’s sake, I hope he’s worth it.