One
“It's geeks who really make or break a TV show or movie or video game.”
~Stan Lee
Former President of Marvel Comics
“Here you go, Mr. Garnet.” The waitress placed the billfold holding Elliot’s credit card to the right of his napkin as he continued to read an article from the New York Times website.
“Thank you, Tracy.” She was his regular server, one who understood he dined at the restaurant out of necessity, not because of a need for company or idle chitchat.
“I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee for you. I’ll be right back with it.”
It was also convenient that she knew he followed every supper with a cup of dark roast Brazilian coffee, and a generous helping of half and half—not those little individual vessels that sat out warming and cooling for God knew how long. And he preferred sugar in the raw.
“Thank you.” He appreciated her attention to detail, her lack of tediousness, and his appreciation was reflected in his tip.
As subtle as a breeze, she returned with his coffee and a small dish of cream, the packet of sugar resting beside his cup on the saucer. Elliot slid the billfold back to her, having removed his card and left a cash tip. “That’s for you.”
She nodded her appreciation and slipped it into her apron. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Garnet?”
“That’s all, thank you.”
She stepped away and he set to mixing his coffee. As he swallowed the first sip, he applied his focus to relaxing, a practice that eluded him of late.
Nine o’clock on a Tuesday there weren’t many patrons dining, which dictated his reservation time. However, there were always a few case studies of sociology and human nature that would make Henry David Thoreau spin in his grave.
The world had become an endless race of lab rats in a quest to mimic human nature when, in all reality, there seemed a lack of humanity sweeping the species, a drought of tolerance for diversity, and a cruel chill that froze him out of social circles since childhood.
What did he care anyway? He had no interest in pop-culture or keeping up with the Joneses. He was far past the time of caring what others thought of him, and his isolated existence was by choice, not assignment.
Tedious, pretentious illusionists more concerned with performing on social media than accomplishing anything worthwhile. Where would they be if that carefully fabricated veil, threaded with fragile heartstrings, came down? At least he knew who he was and didn’t pretend to be anyone else.
But tonight his observations were more envious than complaining, a rare occurrence that bristled. It had always been him and them. Backsliding into a place of feeling left out only wasted time and energy better spent elsewhere.
Having created the leading social media network, he reaped the benefits of every shallow performer out there. Perhaps it was a bit of profit on the old adage those who can’t … teach.
He’d failed, time and time again, to be more than a social misfit, but he studied others enough to see the tools in demand and make a penny off the fodder of egos, a.k.a.
social media. He and his friends had created the world’s greatest virtual playground, yet still remained sentenced to the shadows of social belonging. Some things never changed.
His eyes scanned the other diners, not really lingering on anyone in particular, but noting the various couplings. Always couples.
Why did people take such issue with enjoying a meal unaccompanied?
There was no deficiency in his life, though extroverts seemed to assume his introverted preferences implied there were plenty.
He simply savored solitude and detested the chore of cooking—and small talk for that matter.
Eating alone exploited opportunities for reflection. There was nothing wrong with—
The broken record of justifications halted as every muscle in his body tightened. The air filling his lungs thickened, turning his breath heavy and jagged as his gaze snagged on a familiar form.
Nadia.
She was sitting only a few tables away. How had he missed her?
Her sleek black hair was twisted away from her striking face, gathered in a heavy knot atop her head that unveiled the soft wisps at her temples, finer than baby’s breath.
Her caramel skin gleamed from every angle, drawing his attention to the sharp slant of her exotic eyes as her dark irises flashed like polished onyx.
There had never been a woman so perfectly put together, so flawlessly female.
He swallowed thickly, his natural reflexes requiring mental commands that shouldn’t be necessary.
Spellbound, he forced himself to breathe and blink as her arresting presence gripped him like an all-encompassing paralysis.
His gaze drifted to her throat, exposed by the deep V of her crimson dress. Her breasts lifted and his body tightened. Her ruby lips parted, a look of distress stealing over her face.
Elliot’s brow pinched as he tried to recall a time she looked anything other than happy—not that he was an expert, after only meeting her twice. Barely sparing her dinner partner a glance, he registered she was with a man. Of course, she was. Women like Nadia were hardly short on company.
Her companion dominated the conversation, gesturing with his hands as his body language implied he was closed off to whatever they were discussing. When he reached for Nadia’s fingers resting on the table, she tucked them into her lap, drawing her narrow back into the seat, away from the table.
The urge to interfere was unwise and unprecedented, a reflex he immediately stuffed away.
Self-preservation radiated from her poise and graceful posture, enhancing her beauty with a silent show of pride.
She tipped the scale of intimidation so off balance Elliot sank back in his own seat, but his shoulders weren’t nearly as stiff or assured as the woman he watched.
She was simply unreachable by every standard, yet she captivated him in ways no one else ever had.
The stiff set of her spine contradicted the plume-like grace she usually held. The sharp divot between her high-arched brows and the brisk flutter of her thick lashes were unspoken signals of her upset.
The irrational instinct to protect her pounded harder, but too many unpleasant experiences from his past kept him still. There were heroes and then there were men like him. It was best not to confuse the two.
Her long fingers twisted the linen napkin, tossing it down as she abruptly stood.
His throat dried as his heart hammered in his chest. Her lithe body, pure flawlessness, was hugged by that deep red dress, accentuating every curve and denoting what seemed a billboard for the devil’s truest temptation.
He wanted to be that dress, wrapped tightly around her every curve.
Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, he casually adjusted the napkin over his lap. She was the only woman to ever cause such an intense reaction in him without fail, and it was happening again. Damn it.
The man—her boyfriend most likely—stood and Elliot sank deeper into his chair.
He was exactly the sort of man he’d expect a woman like Nadia to date, rife with testosterone, the clichéd societal ideal of masculinity.
Every chiseled muscle was defined to the public eye, despite his clothing.
The man was palpably attractive, everything Elliot was not, and he likely shared an intimate knowledge of Nadia.
Elliot’s glance dropped to his coffee as envy burned through him like a glowing poker. All of his life he’d diverted his desires with things he could legitimately earn. He didn’t enjoy craving things outside of his reach, yet here he was coveting her.
Nadia was his darkest desire, someone he shouldn’t know—didn’t really know—but there was no diversion from the suffocating hunger he suffered in her presence.
The agony of looking into her beautiful eyes was indescribable—a torture he’d experienced twice and had no interest in repeating.
She was too breathtaking and every time he’d been in her presence he felt like something inside of him was dying.
He lifted his gaze as she brushed past her date. The man grabbed her arm and Elliot’s shoulders locked. Sliding his coffee away with unsteady fingers, his lips faintly trembled as he watched the heated couple, the tension between them unmistakable to anyone watching their argument unfold.
She jerked her arm out of her date’s hold. Elliot’s breath sucked past his teeth. What right did that man have to touch her so aggressively? He was three times her size—twice Elliot’s size.
“Nadia, wait,” the man snapped, going after her.
“Get away from me, Ian.”
“God damn it, Nadia…”
Checking his pockets, Elliot quickly gathered his belongings, stashing his iPad in his shoulder bag, and followed them to the exit, keeping a safe distance.
Lingering in the shadowed vestibule by the ATM, he watched the two argue just outside the entrance of the restaurant.
Their muffled voices rose as they likely assumed they were without an audience.
Elliot edged closer to the glass to better make out their words. Nadia’s long legs and pointed heels paced over the pavement.
“This means what?” she snapped, an indignant set to her brow. “You sublet our home because you suddenly needed a change? Lófasz.”
The Hungarian lilt of her voice heated his blood, sinking deep into parts of his body usually left cold. Why did she have such an effect on him?
“Nadia, it’s nothing personal—”
“Nothing personal?” She laughed coldly, her exotic eyes narrowing. “You … you think I’m an idiot, Ian. A man does not just decide to sublet his home and two days later he is moving. I know these things take time. No. A man does not do anything like that. A scared little boy does this!”
“I gave you a place to live.”