Chapter 14 #2
The aerialists glide the expanse of the room over the diners’ heads as if on silk wings, climbing, falling, swooping, and arching their bodies until they become not flesh and bone but kinetic works of art. Watercolors in the air.
“Not bad, right?” Danny says, now eating his meal happily.
I turn to look at him. “There were two chairs already set up. How many times have you brought dates up here?”
Danny grins. “Once or twice.”
“You’re impossible.” I roll my eyes, settling back in to watch the show.
“I knew you’d love it. This kind of art, it requires so much discipline. It reminds me of you.”
“Ah, yes. Because I always wear sequined bustiers while performing death-defying feats.”
“It’s dangerously beautiful. One wrong move, and they’ll crush several rich bastards and their canapes below.”
“Speaking of dangerous, Topher is planning to ask Gracie out.” I don’t mean for it to sound gossipy, but I can’t help but share.
“No way.”
“I swear. He told me out front today while icing the kick she gave him.”
Danny shakes his head. “That guy is brave as fuck.”
“What do you think she’ll say?”
“If she’s smart, she’ll say yes. Topher is total husband material. He keeps his old baseball glove oiled so it will be ready to play catch the second his future kid can grip a baseball.”
“What about you?” I say, tilting my head. “You never answered me at the restaurant. Is being a family man in your future?”
Danny frowns. “I wish. But unfortunately, I’m not cut from the same cloth as Topher.”
“There’s no such thing as being cut from a certain cloth.
It’s the decisions you make each day who make you who you are.
” I hesitate, my eyes back on the gentle swaying of the aerialists.
Then I close my eyes and say what I have to: “Like the decision you made today. I saw you … near the gum wall. You were buying something illegal.”
Danny’s voice lowers. “You followed me?”
I open my eyes and force myself to look at him. “Yes.”
He shakes his head, then looks up at the sky like he’s disappointed. Like I’m the one who did something wrong.
“You’re going to need to hand that little baggy over,” I tell him.
“Afraid I can’t do that. I worked very hard to get it. Dealt with some scary people.”
“I don’t care. I’m working very hard to keep your nose clean before this fight, literally. So, unless you want me to tell Gracie—”
“Don’t.” Danny places his large bear-paw hand on mine. “OK, I’ll give it to you. After the show.”
“Now.”
Downstairs, Danny pushes open his apartment door and the familiar scent of sandalwood and citrus hit me. “Just so you know—” he tries.
“It’s not what I think?” I roll my eyes. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know how hard people clutch their vices. “Give it to me.”
“OK, but one problem. I already gave most of it to Isadora.”
I blink at him. “Who?”
He’s never mentioned an Isadora. But even so, I can picture her clearly.
A free spirit, sex-positive and drug curious.
Fond of ankle jewelry and backpacking around the world, ready to sail away on a pleasure cruise with Danny.
Wild hair and uncomplicated orgasms, with a tiny tattoo on the nape of her neck in some forgotten love language.
I’m instantly, inappropriately, hotly jealous—which makes zero sense!
Danny is a single man. He’s free to have uncomplicated orgasms with whomever he likes.
It’s none of my business. It’s like Emily Post said, “Jealousy is the suspicion of one’s own inferiority.
” The problem isn’t this Isadora woman—it’s my perceived inferiority to risk-takers like her.
Which still doesn’t help this sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Would you like to meet her?” Danny asks.
“God, no,” I scoff. “I mean, it’s really not a good idea. And you shouldn’t associate with anyone who doesn’t share your values. They’ll only hinder you from achieving your goals.”
“But we do share the same values. In fact, we live together.”
What? There is no way another woman lives here. There would be clues: a Stanley cup on the nightstand, a Korean sheet mask in a drawer.
Danny crosses and opens the refrigerator door, pulling out a squat mason jar with the name Isadora written on it in cursive next to a little heart.
“Lauren, meet Isadora, my sourdough starter. Isadora, meet Lauren.”
Relief sprinkles through me like a cool light rain. “Oh.” I smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Isadora.”
Danny pulls the small, clear baggie filled with white powder out of the cupboard, lightly sprinkling some on Isadora’s bubbly surface.
“There you go, greedy girl.” He glances up at me while he works.
“What you saw me buying was black market wild yeast from a line chef that used to work at Boudin in San Francisco. I’m attempting to recreate their iconic sourdough French bread as a birthday present for my grandmother.
It’s her favorite loaf in the world, but she doesn’t travel anymore.
So, I’m going to bake her one. And Isadora here is going to help me. ”
I don’t know what to say. I’d assumed he was buying some sort of new designer drug I’d never heard of. Something that would slip him effortlessly into pleasure overload. But yeast for sourdough bread? Granted, stolen black market yeast … but still.
“I’m sorry,” I say, closing my eyes. “I just assumed—”
“Don’t be sorry.” He steals a look at me from under his thick eyelashes, and I swallow hard. The relief is making me feel high, lightheaded. I need to sit down. “Can I show you something else?” he says.
I nod, collapsing into a dining chair.
Danny pulls something out from under the large hardcover baking book on his coffee table and holds it to his chest almost shyly. Then he hands it to me.
It’s his life map, the one I asked him to draw at this very table only four days ago. He’s added to it. But in the goal corner, where I expected to see him holding his arm up in victory, he’s drawn a farmers’ market stand with woven baskets overflowing with loaves of rustic bread.
I frown and look up at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, me neither,” he says, grasping the back of his neck. “Every time I tried to draw myself in the ring, I got blocked. Couldn’t do it. So, I did one of your breathing exercise thingies, smelled the damn crayons again, and gave myself permission to draw whatever I wanted. This is what came out.”
“You want to be a baker.”
Danny shrugs. “I mean, I’ll fight too. I’ve always been a fighter. But when I look into the future, what comes after all of this, that’s what I see. Waking up early on Saturday mornings to bake, spending the day outdoors watching people enjoy my bread. It’s stupid, I know.”
“No, it’s not. It’s wonderful. In my line of work, they call this a breakthrough. And you could totally make it so.”
“How?”
“Win your next fight, and the one after that. Secure your endorsement deals, then ride off into the sunset with Isadora, baking beautiful loaves for the rest of your days.”
“I’m afraid Isadora’s days are numbered. I plan to murder her after baking the perfect loaf for my grandmother so Boudin’s army of lawyers don’t come for me. But I’ll be gentle. She won’t know what hit her.” He smiles. “Thank you for not teasing me.”
“Not about this.”
“So, since I showed you mine … can I see your life map now?”
“Not a chance.”