Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
CRINGEWORTHY
“Jeez, could that have been any more cringeworthy?” I curse myself as I furiously wipe down the glass cases with cleaner.
I’ve already cleaned them twice since Sam Stone left.
“Why did I have to act like some desperate woman of the night when he had his hands on my waist? I almost lunged for his mouth.” I groan again, recalling my juvenile comment about marrying tacos. “God, I’m so pathetic,” I shout.
“Who’re you talking to, Mac?”
“Shoot. You startled me.” I exclaim to my coworker, Diane, jumping. “You’re here early.”
“And avoiding my question. Why do you think you’re pathetic?”
Diane is in her forties, a single mom of two beautiful girls and divorced from a deadbeat dad.
She’s also an artist, but she hasn’t had time to do any work for, in her words, “fucking ever.” It’s a shame because I’ve seen some of her pieces and they’re unbelievable.
She uses multicolored glass that she fires in a kiln and then sets in gold and silver. They’re stunning.
“Oh, I’m just pathetic when it comes to guys. You know that.”
“I do. I’ve seen you in action before.” She sighs. “You know what your problem is?”
“Yes. I’m a loser,” I deadpan.
She lets out a little laugh. “No. You’re not a loser, angel. You’ve got no confidence. You’re a beautiful, clever, amazing young woman. If you’d just repeat that to yourself like a hundred times every morning, then maybe things would change.”
I chuckle at her idea and at her eternal optimism.
Diane has been dealt a pretty shitty hand when it comes to men, but she’s ever the romantic.
“You mean like ‘Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley’?” That was an old Saturday Night Live segment with Al Franken.
Pops and I watched that show religiously.
I haven’t had the heart to watch it since.
“I can’t say that I’ve seen that show, but if it’s about saying positive things about yourself, I think you should listen to Stuart Smalley.”
“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me,” I recite.
“Exactly. Just keep saying that.” Diane nods as she sets her purse and coat in the back. “Well, you’re off if you want to be. Theresa said it’s been dead.”
Not that dead. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I sold one of my pieces.”
Diane squeals. “Which one?”
“The necklace.”
“Oh, that one was fantastic. Congratulations, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Diane is so encouraging and loving. I bet she’s a wonderful mom.
“And there’s more….”
She stops and turns to me. “More?”
“Yep. He wants another one. He’ll be here on Friday to pick it up.”
“No shit. That’s amazing. It’s just a matter of time before your sales really get going, and it looks like you’re well on your way.”
“You should get a few things done. I’m sure Theresa would find a spot for your pieces. They’re unique.”
“Yeah, I should. I’ll put that on my to-do list. It’ll be number 2,360. So, I’ll get to it eventually,” she jokes.
“I know. You’ve got a full plate. I’m sure you’ll get to it when you’re ready.”
“That I will. Have a good night, Mac. See you later.”
I grab my trench coat from the back along with my old purse and head out the door. “Yep, see you later.”
The late-afternoon chill has already set into my bones.
This coat isn’t the warmest thing, but I can’t bring myself to wear anything else.
Not yet, anyway. The sidewalks are free of snow, but they’re wet and icy in spots, and I, of course, forgot my boots.
I’m sliding around on my cheap flats, attempting to get to the bus stop without falling on my ass, when my phone chimes.
I pull it out of my pocket and see a text from Lauren.
Lauren: Have a drink with me tonight? My treat.
Me: Sure. Something quick. Nothing fancy.
It’ll give me a chance to tell her the story of Sam Stone.
Lauren: The River. Can you meet soon? Happy hour specials.
Me: I just got off. I can be there in fifteen.
Lauren: That’s what she said. Yay. C U there.
I groan at her stupid sense of humor. I hop off the bus right at North Clark and West Armitage and walk the two blocks to The River Shannon, a classic old Irish pub.
I arrive before Lauren and grab a spot at the bar.
Tending bar is the owner and major ole flirt, Denny Flannery. “Hey, Denny. How’s it going?”
“Ah, sweet beauty, how’re you doin’ tonight?” he asks in a slight Irish accent. Oh, and just so you know, he calls all women “sweet beauty.” I’m nothing special.
“Good. Just got off work. Waiting on my friend, Lauren.”
“Ah, Lauren. ’Tis another beauty, that one.”
“Yes, she is. Say? Can I get a black and tan? Guinness and Harp, please?”
“Sure thing, lovey.” Denny turns and starts the process of pouring the perfect glass of golden Harp at the bottom and dark Guinness at the top. Yum.
Denny slides the glass to me and asks, “Tab?”
I nod and take my first sip. “Perfect,” I sigh.
Before I’ve taken a second drink, Lauren slides onto the seat beside me. “Jeez, you couldn’t even wait for me?” She giggles.
Denny arrives with his full flirt on. “Oh, sweet, lovely beauty. What can I get fer ya?” He says, adding lovely for her. She is lovely, wearing a suit made with a subtle tweed pattern in tans and grays all over. It’s such a classic look. The woman can wear anything.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” she says, pointing to my drink. Minutes later, we’re both enjoying our beverages. Lauren has filled me in on her workweek, and I’m trying to decide whether or not I want to tell her about my humiliating experience with Sam Stone. Ah, hell. I’ve got to tell her.
“So, how was your day, darling?” Lauren asks in a posh voice.
I know she expects me to shrug off her question as I usually do, but not this time. I turn my stool around to face her. “Well, you’ll never guess who stopped in to the store today.”
Lauren blinks as she tries to guess. “Frederick?”
“No, not him.” I doubt I’ll ever see him again. “No, it was Mr. Three o’Clock.” I sit still, waiting for the impending reaction from her.
“What?” she shrieks. “And you didn’t call me right away? What kind of friend are you?”
I chuckle at her reaction. “You know I’m not supposed to make personal calls while I’m working. Beside, you called right after Diane came in.”
“What happened?”
“Well, he came into the store, looking for a gift for his mom.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“Not at first. He browsed all of the jewelry cases until he spotted one he liked. It was one of mine, Lauren.”
“Serious?”
“Serious.”
“That’s awesome, hon.” She motioned for me to keep talking.
“I showed him the necklace, and he bought it.”
“Wow, that stuff isn’t cheap.”
“I know.” I sip my beer. “Oh, and another thing….” I take a long drink just to make her a little crazy with anticipation. “I know his name.”
“Holy shit. What is it? You should have opened with that.”
“Sam Stone. He works for a security company. SPD Security or something like that.”
“You mean APS Security?”
“Maybe. You know it?”
“My dad has used them for clients before. They’re big-time. Super expensive.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll just go with it.
“Yeah, well, he works there.” What else can I say?
“Well, there’s more,” I say, sipping my beer.
I take a deep breath and start at the beginning.
I tell her about him choosing my necklace.
I also confess the part about asking him if he wanted to “marry tacos.”
Lauren spits out some of her beer. “You are a class-A dork, Mac.” She can’t seem to stop laughing.
“Shh, it’s not that funny. I was so embarrassed.”
“Well, he laughed, didn’t he? So, that’s good. But, Mac, did he recognize you?”
“Not right away. It wasn’t until he had to save me from falling on my ass. He had his hands on my waist. When we were inches apart, he said he remembered me.”
“Holy crap, Mac. Did he kiss you?”
“No. But I was so close to lunging for his beautiful mouth. Thank goodness he pulled away when he did, or the comment about marrying tacos would have been nothing compared to the humiliation of forcing myself on him.” I visibly shiver.
The thought is too horrific to consider.
“He did say that I was the best New Year’s kiss he’d ever had,” I say as my cheeks heat from the memory.
“Well, honey, the most important part of that entire story, besides the fact that he bought your necklace—congrats, by the way—was that he said you were the best kiss he’d ever had.”
“The best New Year’s Eve kiss. There’s a difference.”
“Semantics. This is great. So, you’ll see him on Friday?”
I nod. I hope so, I really do.
“Well, I’m sleeping over on Thursday night, and I’m going to make sure you look like a million bucks. He’s not going to know what hit him.”
“Lauren,” I whine. I hate makeovers. “Nooooo.”
Lauren snickers as she drinks the last of her beer. “Gotta go, babe. Blake will starve to death if I don’t get home.”
We hug and part ways at the door. “See you.”
“Toodles, Mac.”