Chapter 9 Magical Coffee #2
She had a finger raised and a hand on her jean-covered hip as the sun started beating harder against them, her skin breaking out in pinpricks of sweat.
The spring air felt like it was taking on a summer heat.
"'Boys will be boys' is such a pathetic excuse that perpetuates a lack of accountability and," she jabbed her finger, which he watched cautiously before his blue eyes went back to her face, "what many consider mildly unkind behavior, is often egregiously underestimated and there is an iceberg under the surface you cannot see.
Until it's too late," she said. But suddenly a wave of heat so heavy washed over her.
She saw the color red in her mind's eye as she felt like she had swallowed the sun.
She paused as her body screamed against it.
"Are you alright?" The detective's concern was audible.
"I," she closed her mouth and tried to breathe slowly, her eyes closed and her hands clenching.
"Eloise," he said, more concern in his voice now. Now, he was a police officer in control and he was in charge.
She was going to explode. She felt faint.
That tickling sensation from sweat beading and then trickling made her insides squirm, her hands twitch.
Without thought past her abruptly rising body temperature and the vision of her burning at the stake, her hands reached the hem of her cream and blue striped cashmere sweater.
Without concern for anything except the sudden panic that the sun was inside of her and she was bursting with it, she pulled the sweater up, revealing her average and winter-pale stomach to the bright air, not even the sharp kiss of it stopping her as relief was near.
"What," the detective stuttered. "You're," he paused and made a low sound, "Yep, you're stripping in public.
" Suddenly his large, warm hands, grasped her shoulders and gently, but quickly, moved her behind the twenty-four-year-old rhododendron that was a gleaming forty-foot wall of shiny green leaves; a bracing canvas for its large, fuschia flowers.
It was the town's delight to watch it bloom each time this year, often the backdrop of spring pictures, a local commercial or the artistic hopeful's exciting social media post.
But for them, right now, it was the perfect hiding spot where he held her on the few square feet of brick with a wall at her back and the blooming flowers as their cover.
"I feel like I'm being impaled by sunlight," she got out on a gasp.
It was just her and the detective in the shade of a beloved town shrub and he was politely trying not to look down.
"Ohmygod does the sun have a smell?" she asked, waving a hand in front of her nose. "It's like asphalt and grass burning."
"I don't know what that means," he lamented, his hands tightening the slightest on her upper arms, his eyes desperate with a light of something else she couldn't name.
"Hot flash," she said. Her body temperature now, with one less layer and behind the protection of a town's staple monument from the sun, was cooling quickly and the sudden shock of the hot flash melted away leaving her feeling heightened but without danger, leaving behind something rather soft but loud: humor.
Her mouth was pinched tight to keep it back, but she buckled under the weight as a laugh slipped through.
Taylor froze, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open, his large hands sliding down to her elbows and holding her loosely there.
Then she saw that she was in a navy blue bra with white polka dots and jeans, holding her sweater in her right hand with a detective she had an accidental date with holding her arms in his warm hands, seemingly unable to step away from her, and the laughter being contained burst out freely.
She laughed for the young woman she no longer was. She laughed because she was trying to date and wanted it to be light and easy, because the last time she had dated someone, it had ended with a lost soul in its own way. Why had she hoped that dating this time would be light and breezy?
At this stage of her life?
And now here she was, with a genuinely concerned detective, a handsome as sin one, and she was half undressed. In public. And not for sexy reasons.
She stepped back, his hands hesitating before fully dropping, and lowered her head, pressing it through where her arms were holding her sweater open.
When she popped back up, a tug down and once again fully dressed, she smiled brightly at the detective who was now looking at her like she was an enigma.
She liked how he looked at her. She couldn't name it, decipher it, but it made her feel feminine, like she was the best kind of curiosity.
"Ah, you just witnessed a sexy hot flash," she said.
His eyebrows raised the slightest and he looked surprised, which quickly and smoothly morphed into a smile.
"I am really glad you weren't about to solicit someone you know to be on the police force."
She smiled, charmed by his wit. "Too much paperwork?"
He nodded with crinkled eyes. "Way too much paperwork." And then his eyes looked into hers, the humor shining in them circled by an honesty and directness she felt.
Sweet oranges bloomed.
She closed her eyes at the suddenness of the scent flooding her and the moment was broken. When she opened her eyes he had taken a step back and put himself together in a relaxed but less warm stance.
"Uh, so I apologize for yelling at you and then embarrassing you in public by stripping on the street corner. I'm usually pretty cool."
His mouth fought a strong-pulling smile but he captured it and nodded. "I am just glad someone was there to stop you from your urge to revisit your high school summer camp flashing days."
She fought her own smirk. "I never went to summer camp."
"Probably for the best. You would have been a menace."
His blue eyes couldn't hide their mirth, and something was happening between them.
It was bubbly and uncomfortable in that pleasant and curious way.
Being around Detective Taylor White reminded Eloise of the seriousness of being playful.
It was far too easy to grow up and leave behind laughter and wonder, forgetting how deeply important they are for a full life, for joy.
And Eloise was a woman who had placed joy on a shelf before she left her Midwest town to run.
What would it be like to dust it off and learn its voice again?
The way it laughs and sometimes cries, the way joy has a penchant to wrap itself around the ribs of people who understand simple things like planting flowers and sitting quietly with coffee, laughing with a good friend, finishing a good book.
He seemed like the kind of man who understood those things and it was comforting in a way, and frightening in an altogether different way.
But then he shifted and looked down at his boots clearing his throat before he looked back at her. His eyes were carefully masked now, the easy banter and the growing moment between them gone.
"Hey, the guy I told you about. He's really interested."
"Oh," she said, a shocked tone not hiding her whiplash. "That's good. Nice. I would want that if I decide to go on a date with him."
"Right," he said lifting a shoulder. "That makes sense. So?"
"Hmm?" she asked, still disoriented by his less open demeanor, by his shocking shift of mood.
"Do you want me to set you up with him?"
"Oh! Right!" she exclaimed and laughed twice before she shook her head and said, "But still, no."
"Oh," he said nodding, his own thoughts scattered like hers. The awkwardness smelled like a high school gym. "Is it because of the blueberry poptarts?"
"Obviously." A small smile from her and a flash of dimple from him.
"Okay, so I'm going to go home because I clearly need that nap and then butter."
"Right," he said, his eyes lighting again. "Because when I almost flash the town, butter is...on...my....mind." He tapped his temple with the words and one side of her mouth lifted at him trying to dispel the awkward mood.
"I'll see you around, detective," she said shaking her head and turning toward The Lost Souls House. "And just because I flashed you doesn't mean we're finished with the loose end of no one looking into Bess being bullied," she called over her shoulder.
"Fair," he replied. "Do you really eat butter when you're having a rough day? Because it's supposed to be ice cream," he shouted as she walked away. "Did someone who didn't like you tell you it's butter?"
She bit down hard, scrunched her nose as the laughter stacked up inside of her. She raised an arm without looking backward, wiggling her fingers as her shoulders shook with the heavy weight of mirth he was pouring into her.
"Also, your shirt is on inside out! See you around, Eloise Willow!"
And then she turned a corner and let out a sweet billow of sound. Why did the detective who could not date have to be so alluring? Humor and quick wit were her kryptonite and rare; add in the light blue eyes that made you feel like you're in their orbit, and he might be a recipe she could go for.
But he made it clear that he didn't date, for whatever reason. She respected it. And she wouldn't play with it. Never in the history of a man saying he wasn't ready for commitment was that code for "but maybe for you."
So many women pick up the challenge anyway. She had herself, once or twice in her younger years.
Maybe in another life. But in this one, he wasn't available and she wouldn't try and stretch her heart for him with hope, knowing exactly how that story ended; a feeling of being stretched too thin with small holes poked through leaving the one who hoped feeling worn and see-through.
The fact was, if she got back into the dating pool it would have to be the shallow end, just the toes, nice and easy. The danger couldn't be that great if she stayed above water.
She needed a first date. A real one. Where the guy knew he was also on the date.