Chapter Three
Chelsea
Challenge: Apply for a new job
It rained all week, which kept the coffee shop traffic throttled, giving me too much time to marinate in my own circular thoughts. Sometime Friday morning, blessedly, the storm clouds cleared, leaving behind a fall chill in the air. The blue skies and favorable temperatures brought people to the coffee shop, and everyone ordered their pumpkin lattes.
Because, no matter what a certain know-it-all chef thought, pumpkin spice was delicious.
As delicious as him.
The line for the cash register was at least ten people deep when I saw him. He was focused on a conversation with another guy in blue scrubs. He stood there in a heather gray Henley, relaxed and unfairly beautiful. His black hair an unruly aphrodisiac, with curls springing out at odd angles. His full lips begging me to suck on them again. And those haunting eyes. What would I do if they flicked my way?
I’d worried he’d try to find me given all the things I’d confessed in that weird bubble of manufactured honesty. Not to mention how I’d cried out his name on his kitchen counter while he pounded me. I shivered at the memory. The way he’d claimed me and then tenderly kissed me had shattered me in that moment. I’d fled before he could make me promise more than I could deliver.
That was two weeks ago.
It was better he hadn’t looked for me. I had nothing good to offer him.
But seeing him now with that mischievous smile plastered on his face, gorgeous from head to toe, I composed a breezy imaginary conversation. What would I say to him?
I wished I could have met him far away from here, on vacation, somewhere that torrid night would leave no strings attached. I never should have gone home with him. Not here where I lived, not where he could just waltz into my place of work looking like a snack. He was a toxin I needed to purge from my bloodstream.
I knew this was Old Chelsea thinking, but I didn’t have the benefit of alcohol or my trusty sidekick encouraging me to take risks and make big mistakes. New Chelsea would plant herself at the register and pay the consequences of her rash behavior. She’d look into the eyes of the man who’d seen beyond her mask and tell him she’d liked it. She’d liked it too much.
“I’m taking my break,” I said to Todd.
“Hey, but—”
I rushed out the swinging door, through the back room, into the alley where I leaned against the brick wall and breathed in the cool air. The earthy fragrance of Charlottesville hit me, and I wondered as I always did where it came from. Elizabeth swore it was the ginkgo trees, but I’d never located the source. I’d never encountered that particular scent in the hills where I grew up. I only ever noticed it here, on the Downtown Mall and the university grounds. It smelled like home to me.
My phone flashed with notifications. Mostly texts from Elizabeth.
Call me when you get off work.
I have news.
The last text I’d sent my mom remained unanswered. She hadn’t responded to my last three voicemail messages, either. Guess I wasn’t going to get a thank-you for the check I’d sent her.
She wouldn’t respond to this one, either, but I typed, Is everything okay?
I stared at the phone a minute too long. Maybe she was avoiding me. Or she’d fled the country. She’d probably been working long hours and didn’t have time to call. Or she forgot. Or she was drinking again.
My jaw hurt from clenching. I breathed in, breathed out, repeating the mantra: “My mother is not my responsibility, and I can’t control her.” She was an adult and could make her own decisions, even if those decisions involved neglecting to alleviate my worries.
“Chelsea?” Todd stuck his head out the heavy metal door. “We really need you inside, please.”
I blew a raspberry. “Yeah. Be right there.”
The line hadn’t changed in length, but I’d managed to miss taking Basil’s order. He and his friend waited for their coffee behind a throng of people, his attention on his conversation.
I rang up orders, hoping he’d never look at the register, but I happened to glance up at the exact moment his gaze swept the entirety of the coffee shop, as if he was searching for someone. As if he was searching for me.
My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t flee. I’d tried that gambit, and Todd had dragged me back. So I stared at Bas, like I’d never seen him before until he held up his coffee cup in a silent greeting.
Then he was gone.
I turned my attention to the customer in front of me, thankful for the nonstop work so I wouldn’t relive every second of that exchange. No time to get stuck up in my head. No time to wonder whether Bas had come looking for me or just stumbled into my orbit. Again.
But once I clocked out, my brain replayed that wave. I’d had decadent fantasies about that hand in my hair, those lips on my shoulder, on my throat, on my mouth. Thank God for battery-operated toys.
I crossed the outdoor pedestrian mall with music venues, restaurants, bookstores, coffee shops, and a ton of specialty boutiques.
A busker in the middle of the brick walkway played some rendition of a Fleetwood Mac song. I reached into my wallet to drop a couple of bucks, but finding only a ten, I hesitated. Ten dollars was an hour of work, but the guy was watching me, so I either had to pull a total dick move and walk away or commit to a painfully high donation. I had a soft spot for starving artists, beggars, and anyone who had to sing for their supper. I’d known hunger. I’d known struggle. So I bit back my stinginess and dropped the money in his case. Guess I’d buy a cheaper wine.
It had been a long day, and I desperately needed to get home and hang out with Elizabeth. I planned to pick up a bottle or two from the wine market a few blocks away, then maybe grab some prepared foods from the organic market. I’d gone in a handful of times since I’d learned Bas worked there, always with an eye on the doors that opened onto the kitchen in case he emerged.
I dialed Elizabeth as I walked.
She answered on the second ring. “Talk to me.”
“How’d the interview go?”
“Weird, but I got the job.”
“Never doubted it.” I smiled, accidentally directing it at a guy passing the other way. He slowed down. I ducked my head and walked faster. “Another point for the list, yeah?”
I’d put Apply for a job on the list to encourage her to finally ask for a promotion at her editing gig, but Elizabeth had gone and found a writing position at the local news station, something Evan had suggested. At least that guy had been good for something.
“Oh, right! I think I’m up to seventeen now.”
I had the list up to check it off. “Thirty-three between us. Where does that put us?”
“Jamaica or Cancun?”
“Ugh. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”
We’d been everywhere within a thousand miles, and I wanted to go far, far away. If we had to go to a beach, I’d rather hit Thailand or Croatia, someplace we wouldn’t run into frat boys.
“Earn more points, Chelsea. We’ll be in Greenland in no time.”
I snorted. “Beats Sanibel Island.”
“I like Sanibel Island.”
“Of course you do.” We could debate the merits of leaving the country later. Right now, I was psyched for her. “We should celebrate.”
“Can’t. Ursula asked me to inn sit. I’m already here. It’s dead right now. I’m hoping to double dip and get some editing done.”
“Boo. It’s Friday night. Who’s going to keep me company?”
“Maybe read a book? That’s on the list, you know.”
I made an ick face. I didn’t understand how Elizabeth could sit, curled up by herself and a bunch of words. I wanted her to hang out with me, where the people were. That brought my mind back to the last time we went out. Back to Bas.
“Guess who I saw today?”
“Um…” Elizabeth could never resist a rhetorical question. “Banksy?”
I cackled. “How would I even know?”
“Good point. So who?”
“That guy from the bar. Bas.”
I passed a young family, Mom pushing a stroller with a kid licking an ice cream cone, chocolate smeared all over his face, Dad wearing a second kid. All of them dressed in orange and blue like it was game day. Their wholesomeness, their togetherness , squeezed my heart with yearning for a different past, an impossible future. I shook off the useless emotion and pressed on.
“Seriously?” I could hear the way her face had just lit up with interest. She’d probably illogically closed her laptop so she could hear better. “Makes you wonder how often you’ve crossed paths without even knowing it.”
A shiver crawled down my spine. “It’s just coincidence. We live in the same town. The odds are pretty high we pass through the same spaces.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.” I slowed down, hesitating to admit this to her, but we had no secrets. “I kind of hid.”
“Chelsea.” She was right to chide me. “I thought you’d really made a breakthrough with him.”
“I didn’t make a breakthrough. I fucked him on his kitchen counter, E.”
She laughed. “I’m jealous. Here you have a chance to see him again, while I’ve been ghosted.”
Two full weeks, and the man had disappeared like he’d never existed. Elizabeth had found his profile on the webpage for an Indiana weather channel, which led her to his Facebook profile. She’d scrolled through his photos but stopped short of friending him.
It was time for her to forget about the sexy weatherman. It was time for me to get laid by someone else. “I think we should take a trip out of town. Blow off some steam. We could meet some other guys. Different guys.” Faraway guys.
“I told you meeting people in a bar was a bad idea. That night only proved it.”
“You weren’t complaining when you were boning your male fantasy.”
“And look how that turned out.”
I didn’t want to fight about this. “Look. We did something on the list, right? So all in all, I’d call that a win.”
“Fuck the list, Chelsea.” She raised her voice. “This stopped being about the list the second condoms entered the picture.”
“You’re right.” I swerved to avoid a gang of teens. “But the whole point of the list is to be more open to new experiences. It doesn’t always have to be comfortable.”
“Like talking to a guy you really liked.”
Fuck. I’d walked right into that. “It’s never just talk.”
“And? What’s wrong with more? Not all guys are like your dad.”
I flinched. She was throwing gut punches at me. “I know that.” I did. “I know men can treat women well.”
“So why not give a guy a chance?”
“Because you never can tell, can you? My mom certainly fell for one of the bad ones. What if I’m just like her? What if I have genetically impaired judgment?”
“You’re not your mom.”
I stood at the corner of Market and 4th, watching the cars go by, waiting for the crosswalk signal to change.
She must have taken my silence as permission to press on. “I’m just saying, you deserve a chance at love, too.”
“Love?” I scoffed. “I thought we were talking about talking.”
“Bas is cute, Chelsea. You should just call him.”
Nope.
I’d witnessed my dad in public, fooling strangers and friends with a phony charisma he wore like a mask. Behind closed doors, he never treated us with the same consideration. He’d probably wooed my mom with that bullshit. How long until he revealed his true nature? Worse, whenever he’d go too far, he’d fake nice to make amends. And my mom bought it every single time.
Love blinded her, but my eyes were wide open.
“Call him,” she singsonged.
Easy for her to say.
I worried she might issue it as an actual dare, but I didn’t think she’d threaten nuclear annihilation over anything this real. At least she never had before. Still, I swallowed down bile at the prospect of her dropping that letter in the mail. I’d filled pages with caustic anger toward my dad, placing the blame for my fucked-up emotional state at his feet. It was never intended for his eyes, but Elizabeth, evil genius that she was, threatened to get his address from my mom and send it for any dare I failed to do.
With that threat hanging over me, I’d never failed to complete any challenge, including baring my soul to a sexy Greek guy. Now I was paying for it.
My lizard brain drifted back to his magnificent body, wishing I could call him and ask him to come over tonight. And I bet he’d come. Hard. In me. He seemed eager enough.
I couldn’t explain why he scared me, what I feared. “There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“The sea has been overfished,” she countered.
“Well, who wants a fish anyway?”
“Seriously. Where’s my Prince Eric?”
Fuck that. “Where’s my Aquaman?”
“Oh, hey.” She sounded serious as an empty wineglass. “I just got a text from Evan, what the fuck?”
“Yeah?” Had we conjured him? “What’d he say?”
“He wants to call me. What do I do?”
If it were me, I’d ignore it, but Elizabeth was infinitely forgiving. Whatever I advised, she’d find a rationale to let him take another crack at her heart. “You know you’re going to talk to him. Go on. I’m almost at the wine shop. Call me later, okay? Or come by if it’s not too late.”
“You got it.”
I clicked off the call and crossed the street alone with my thoughts.
And my loneliness.
And the unwanted longing for something I couldn’t even name.
I was tempted to search for weekend flights to Puerto Rico. I could pick up a faraway stranger and slake the unhealthy desire Bas had unearthed.
Elizabeth always chided me that running away would never solve anything. Wherever you go, there you are. But if I changed enough variables, the constants might follow. I didn’t expect travel to free me of my baggage or to fix me. What I needed, what would make me happy, would be to become someone else entirely, but since science hadn’t come that far, I had to make do.
Travel, sex, even art allowed me to escape myself. I had to admit, the checklist served a similar purpose, distracting me from me. If only for a moment.
My therapist, Dr. Rubin, had challenged me to create the list to reprogram my patterns of behavior so I wouldn’t go straight to old habits, easy fixes when I was plummeting into anger and depression. I kept asking myself what I would do if I were that new person. I kept scratching at the possibilities.
When I entered the wine cellar below street level, I paused to breathe in the atmosphere, the damp, musty smell of the underground, the chill of dank spaces. I loved this small store with its cramped inventory of curated wines. It was like stepping out of time, or out of place maybe, like I’d gone to France or Italy. And I let myself be transported as I perused the pinot.
My shoulder nudged someone, and I looked up, right into the curious face of one Basil Stavros.
I stopped breathing.
What were the odds?
“Oh,” I said.
“Oh, indeed.”
Stupid words fell out of my mouth. “Looking for wine?”
He chuckled. “No. I was looking for a book.” He glanced around. “Shit, is this a wine shop?”
I shook my head. His sense of humor had not improved. “Don’t they sell wine at your grocery store?”
“It’s not my grocery store, and yes, but it’s not fancy enough.”
“For who?”
“For my brother, Nicky. It’s his birthday next week, and he’s a surgeon.”
I tilted my head. “And that matters because?”
“Because I can’t show up with a bottle of wine with a screw top.”
Curiosity stifled the warning sirens in my head, and I had to ask, “Do you have many siblings?”
“Three sisters and a brother. I’m the baby. You?” He ran his fingers along the bottles, studying the labels.
I relaxed. Maybe he wasn’t interested in me after all. Maybe that night had been enough for him. “Only child.”
He hummed, like he was processing that. “I used to think I’d want to be an only child. What’s that like?”
Maybe because of how we met, truth tumbled out easily. “I never knew any different. I used to want a sister. But three? You and your brother must have had to team up.”
“My brother’s about to turn forty, so no. We didn’t spend a lot of time together.”
“Oh.” I didn’t have any experiences to draw from to respond to that.
“My sisters teamed up against me. You are looking at a man with a wealth of information about the various versions of Pride and Prejudice .”
I laughed. “You have a lot in common with Elizabeth.”
“You don’t have an opinion about Colin Firth?”
“Not particularly. What’s yours?”
“He’s the quintessential Darcy.” He pulled out a bottle of petite sirah, frowned, then put it back. “Although I loved him best in Bridget Jones. ”
I pictured him, outmatched by three sisters, unable or unwilling to demand control of the remote to pick something he’d consider more masculine, and I envied his sisters. I’d never have dared reach for the remote unless my mom and I were home alone.
“What kind of wine are you looking for?” I perused the shelves. “I’ve tried many of these.”
He stopped scanning the wine and examined me. “I wonder how many times we’ve crossed paths without even knowing it.”
Exactly what Elizabeth had said. We might have spent years walking right past each other. How could I have been so blind? “Probably not that often.”
“I thought I saw you earlier. At work?”
“I didn’t see you.”
His expression pinched. “I guess that truth serum wore off, huh?”
I scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m not a liar.”
“What then? Secretive?”
“More like private.”
He arched one of his glorious eyebrows. “Same diff.”
“So tell me, then. When was the last time you had sex before me?”
His eyes blinked like a defibrillator. “Wow.”
“What’s wrong? Is that a secret?” I tilted my head to the side and cocked a brow. “Or do you just prefer to keep it private?” My voice came out raspier than I’d intended.
He pressed his lips together, then snorted a laugh. “Touché.” His gorgeous mouth curved into a frown. “So you really didn’t see me in the coffee shop?”
“It’s possible,” I conceded. “We were pretty busy, but there might have been someone who looked like you.”
“I’ve probably been in that coffee shop a hundred times this year alone. How have we never met?”
“And I’ve been in your market nearly every day.” I moaned, thinking of the food there.
Mistake. Bas stared at my mouth, and I realized suddenly how close we stood. How the shelves pressed in on us, encouraging us. I swallowed back a memory of his cabinets rattling below me as I clung to him and begged him to fuck me harder.
“What do you typically buy at the market?” His voice came out thick, and he might as well have been coaxing me to come for him again. My heart skipped a beat, and heat pooled between my thighs.
“That Kahlua-soaked tiramisu for starters. Oh my God.” Were we seriously going to talk about food while his dark eyes sought mine, while he had me backed into the corner of this store—alone?
“Yeah?” He licked those fucking irresistible lips, a smile creeping its way out. “I created that. It’s not exactly organic , but—”
“But it’s orgasmic.” Had I just said that out loud? “I’ve drawn up legislation to make it legal to marry it.”
He coughed a laugh. “What else?”
“The baklava. Don’t tell me you make that, too.”
“You have a sweet tooth?”
“Yeah, but I also get the mushroom raviolis. The pasta there is to die for.”
I loved how his eyes shone, how his neck flushed whenever I praised his cooking. Or maybe the proximity was killing him, too.
“I’d love to cook something for you sometime.”
Oh. Not where I saw this going. “Thanks, but—”
“But you’re not in the market for a boyfriend.” He pressed those succulent lips together. “No strings. Just dinner.”
I considered it. And it would check another item off my list: Let someone cook you dinner. But it sounded too domestic. Too much like a real date, which was why Elizabeth had added it to the list in the first place. She knew what it would mean for me to let someone get that close. I shook my head.
“Are you trying to lure me back to your place?”
He ran his thumb over his chin, and I objectified the scruff that once scratched against my inner thighs. “You’ve already been to my place.”
True.
I pictured us there. The way he looked at me when he’d stripped me bare, both figuratively and literally. “You know I can buy your food any time I want it.”
And there it was. That disappointment on his face at last. The realization his persistence wouldn’t pay off this time, and I wasn’t worth the effort. He reached out like he was going to caress my hair. Holding my breath, I braced for the spark of urgent need his touch would ignite.
Instead, he pulled out a bottle of Ca’ Bea del Maniero from the rack behind me.
“Good choice,” I said, my lips flattening.
He grinned, the bastard. “Would you like to share it with me?”
“I thought it was for your brother.”
“Right.” He reached back and grabbed a second. “How about I bet you dinner that you’ll give me your phone number?”
I choked on a laugh. “Is this one of your terrible pickup lines?”
His goofy smile came out. “Wouldn’t you like to see where all that food gets prepared?”
God, I would. “You’d cook for me at the market?”
“I’d cook for you anywhere.”
That little flattery should have made me bolt, but there was something disarming about his lopsided grin. Like his pickup lines were half joke and he’d shrug it off if I said no. Elizabeth would be beside herself with pride if I said yes. Plus, it would earn me a point. How could I pass up this rare opportunity?
“Lead on.”
“Really?” He pressed his lips together, smothering a smile that threatened to break free. It was so endearing, it made me question my sanity.
But New Chelsea took a deep breath and nodded. “Show me what you’ve got, Stavros.”