Chapter 10
TEN
“Say hi to Berto for me!” Hanna said as Sara flashed her phone toward her from across the living room.
“Hanna! No wonder she hasn’t accepted our casino night invites!”
“Happy Father’s Day, Berty!” Hanna called, realizing she hadn’t fired off her obligatory text to her own father. She sent it into the universe and frowned.
She wondered what Milo did on Father’s Day. Sara finished her conversation with her dad, and Hanna asked, “Do you need anything? I gotta run a few errands.”
“I don’t think so! We’re heading to brunch over at Tom and Marcia’s… I’m assuming you’d rather die than come?”
“Correct!” Hanna replied, though she did miss them.
“They miss you, too,” Sara said, reading her mind.
Hanna stared at her phone, and then the wall, and then an idea formed.
She pulled on her shoes and snagged her bag and sunglasses, heading toward the flower shop she’d never made it back to. Her hand hesitated on the handle, unsure if they’d be open on the holiday, but surely men got flowers on Father’s Day?
“Sunflower girl!” the shopkeeper chimed. Her hair was swept up into a messy knot, a pale blue linen apron wrapped around her this time. “You’re a few weeks too late,” she said, winking.
“I was hoping you’d be open today. I got distracted before.” Hanna strolled around the shop, two sets of shelves along the window lined with bottles of wine, chocolates, and San Francisco mementos. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she hoped it would jump at her.
“Not a super popular day for florists,” the woman said. “But those shelves will be cleared by the end of the night.”
“What do you recommend for someone who definitely won’t be seeing their dad today?”
The woman crossed her arms, ambling around her desk and scanning the shelves.
“Because they don’t want to, or because they desperately wish they could?” she asked.
“The latter.”
“Something strong,” she whispered. She ran her fingers over the dark bottles facing the street, a gold band set with a square emerald glinting on her left hand.
“Beautiful ring,” Hanna noted.
“Thank you. My husband thought diamonds were boring. Ah, here we go, sunflower for the sunflower girl.” She pulled a tall green bottle from the middle shelf, a golden sunflower painted on the side. The label was in another language.
“Is this wine?” Hanna asked.
“Of the gods,” the woman said. “Ouzo. Greek liquor.”
Hanna snorted. Every time she walked into that shop, the universe rewarded her.
“It’s perfect.”
“I’ll wrap it up. You need anything else while you’re here? Some sunshine?”
Hanna smiled. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” She’d need it today. She hadn’t talked to Milo since their little row a few nights prior, and the regret had firmly set in.
She’d taken her pain out on him—pushed him away for the sin of seeing too clearly. It hadn’t been fair.
The woman disappeared into the back of the shop and returned with a small bouquet of sunflowers and pale pink roses wrapped in lavender paper.
“You’re in luck. It’s buy a bottle, get a bouquet day.”
Hanna laughed as she rang her up. She took the bottle and the flowers, wishing the florist well as she headed back to the lofts.
She hesitated outside of Milo’s apartment, unsure if he’d want the intrusion. She left the bottle and flowers at the door, nearly making it back into the apartment before she heard him.
“Hanna?”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t want to bother you today, but I left you a little something.” She pointed to the bottle at his feet. It looked much smaller in his hands than hers as he scooped up the bouquet. “The Greeks don’t make whiskey, but the girl at the shop said this was a good option.”
Milo looked at the label, then at her, a slight smile cracking across his face.
“Thanks.”
“Anyway,” she said. “If you need anything—”
“You wanna come in?”
Hanna looked back at her door. “Uh, sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“And I don’t want to drink alone,” he said, wiggling the bottle in his hands.
“Okay,” she relented. “Sure.”
She slipped through his door, following him into the kitchen as he dug out two shot glasses from his bar cart. He popped the cork out of the bottle and poured two shots, setting the bottle to face her.
“Do you speak Greek, Hanna?”
“Not a lick,” she laughed. His lips twisted into a half smile. “Do you?”
“Enough,” he said.
“Does your mom?”
“No, Mom is a Cali girl through and through. Third generation in the Bay.”
Milo fussed with the bottle, his eyes avoiding hers.
“How did they meet? Your parents?”
Milo snorted, the ghost of a good story crawling over him.
“Traffic school.” He grabbed two glasses from his kitchen and filled them with water. “Mom taught it, Dad frequented it. He used to say every ticket after the first one was just so he could see her again.”
“Expensive way to flirt.”
Milo nodded. “No brunch with the DeBrunes today?”
Hanna laughed. “Absolutely not. No plans with your mom?”
“We’ll have dinner with my grandpa and all the nieces and nephews.”
She leaned against the counter, spinning the cork between her fingers.
“You have a big family?”
Milo closed his eyes, counting. “Seven grandkids just between my brothers. Can’t even count the cousins.”
“Aw,” she said, running her finger over the edge of the shot glass. “Uncle Milo.”
“Mi-wo to most of them. Alright. You ever had the nectar of the gods before?”
She shook her head.
“Close your eyes.”
Hanna glared. “Why?”
“Ouzo is meant to be sipped slowly on a patio over the Mediterranean. Not in my shitty bachelor pad. We’ll have to do some visualization. Close ‘em.”
Hanna squeezed her eyes shut, feeling vulnerable in front of him in a way she didn’t completely dislike.
Milo spoke softly, in a sing-songy tone. “You’re on your third course of feta-stuffed olives, the tzatziki is flowing, the sun is setting over the cliffs. A gorgeous Greek god is sitting across from you, feeding you grapes. His name is Milo,” he whispered.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Concentrate.” He moved closer, the heat buzzing against her chest. “You there in your head?”
“Yes, Milo,” she sighed.
“Great, take a sip.”
Hanna lifted the shot glass to her lips, letting it roll over them slowly. The flavor was intense, herbal—incredibly complex. She opened her eyes as he shot his back, clearly more accustomed to the flavor profile.
“What do you think?”
“It’s interesting,” she said, taking a second sip. “Not at all what I expected.”
“The gods will sneak up on you like that,” he said, just inches from her.
Since meeting him, he’d teased her relentlessly—the suggestive comments, the long stares.
In one month, she'd blushed more on account of him than she had over every other man she'd ever met combined. But the way he looked at her then—like she wasn’t some project to work on, or a fawn left in the woods—did her in.
She could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against the countertop. Something had shifted. She wondered if he’d taste like ouzo, complex and bitter, but only for a moment before he’d warm her head to toe.
“I think it’s time, Arizona,” he whispered.
“What?” Her heart beat faster.
Milo’s grin widened, and she worried he could hear it.
“It’s time to destroy you,” he said, tilting his head to the living room. “We’re doing it. We’re watching A Walk to Remember.”
Hanna wanted to fight him, but she saw it, swimming in the mossy green of his eyes. He was well-therapized. He was as healed as he could be. But he was not invincible.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Whatever you need.”
Milo moved to his living room, leaving her breathless as he dropped to his knees in front of his bookshelf.
“Ah, ha,” he exclaimed as he pulled a pink DVD case from the fray.
“Who in the hell still has a DVD player?” Hanna groaned.
“There’s popcorn in the pantry,” Milo mumbled.
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“And?” he asked.
Hanna shrugged. He had a point. She fished through his pantry—surprisingly well stocked for a man she’d only observed eating takeout or Sara’s cooking—and tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. Two glasses clinked together in the living room as he mixed the ouzo with something bright yellow.
“Again, it’s ten AM,” Hanna called.
“Grab me some ice, will ya?”
She finished off her glass of water, largely in preparation for the cocktail she was about to imbibe, and filled the glass with ice as the microwave pop, pop, popped behind her. When it sounded its alarm, she dumped the contents into a bowl she found in his cabinet and set it on the coffee table.
“I didn’t realize you did cocktails, too,” she said.
“I own a whole-ass bar, Hanna.”
“Fair.” She giggled and crossed back toward him, but the laugh broke into something else. “Milo,” she said, a lump bubbling in her throat as he set their drinks down and slipped the DVD into the tray.
“Yeah, Arizona,” he returned, not taking his eyes off the DVD menu.
“I don’t want to cry in front of you on Father’s Day.”
Milo stopped flipping through buttons and settings and turned to her. He dropped the remote to his side and tilted his head.
“Even as a gift to me? I’m very sad today.”
“You’re depraved!”
She flopped onto the couch and pulled at one of the fleece blankets he kept along the back. Milo leaned forward, forcing her to hold his gaze.
“You said whatever I need.”
“And you need me to be a fucking baby?”
He grinned. “I need you to start processing all of your bullshit, so that I can eventually fuck you senseless without worrying about breaking your heart, Hanna. Is that what you want to hear?”
She reared her head back, swallowing the outrage in her throat.
“I warned you,” he said. “Direct.”
Something about his demeanor brought a more direct question to her lips.
“Is that the only thing that’s stopping you?”
“Yep,” he said, turning back toward the TV to start the movie. “Would have made a move on you in Phoenix if I hadn’t caught you hyperventilating three times in a six-hour period—”
“Fuck you!”