Be My Reason Page 13

  “Right,” she says. “Fender Bender—that’s what everyone called him.” She starts laughing loudly. “Nobody would get in a car with him because he had totaled like four cars by the time he was a senior. But he insisted on driving to Homecoming. So Lyn had to ride with me and my date to dinner and the dance.”

  We are practically rolling on the floor. My eyes are watering as we try to tell the story of Jeremy’s dancing. It was worse than his driving.

  All of a sudden there is a loud crack! We all turn to see that Nate has crushed a beer can with his hands. Why do I get the feeling that the beer can is a representation of poor Jeremy Bender? “Uh . . . sorry,” Nate mumbles, when he sees us all staring at him. “Anyone want another beer?” He gets up and goes to the kitchen without waiting for a response.

  It wasn’t a real date. I only went to the dance to keep Emma company. Jeremy just happened to be the friend of her date. I didn’t go out with anyone after Nate. Until Michael, that is. But Nate doesn’t have to know that.

  Later, after everyone is gone, I have a thought and text Ryan.

  Me: What happened between you and Nate when he first got here today?

  Ryan: He was surprised to see me there. Thinks we have something going on. I know how you feel about him so I told him to back off.

  Me: Oh, hell. What did he say?

  Ryan: He didn’t say anything. But I’m not afraid to tell you I feared for my life for a second before you and E showed up. Lyn, I kind of like the guy. Don’t be too hard on him.

  Great, another one of my friends on his side. Well, at least Ryan told him to back off before he became his new BFF.

  Maybe that is why Nate didn’t push me today. I figured since we wouldn’t be seeing each other anymore that he was really going to lay it on thick. But it was quite the opposite. He didn’t make a big deal when he left. He shook my hand, of course, and once again, my whole body tingled in response to his strong fingers touching my skin. But it was almost like saying goodbye to someone you would see every day.

  Chapter Twelve

  This morning, Derek and I are on our way to a catering job. It’s not a huge one, just a hundred or so pastries along with our mobile coffee and espresso bar.

  Derek has been a life-saver now that we are catering. I was able to hire him with the extra funds Ryan invested. He is the perfect addition to Brooklyn’s. He loves to bake and he is the brawn we needed for all of the heavy catering equipment. Yes, he is gay. But he is also strong, funny and the customers love him.

  We are going to some ground-breaking ceremony for a new building. The company that hired us, R.A.D., has us laughing in the van. We are trying to guess what it stands for. So far all I’ve come up with is that they are a skateboarding or surfing business. Derek thinks it is a marijuana manufacturer. Really Awesome Dope.

  We quickly set up the banquet table and coffee bar in the corner of a large tent that is right next to a roped-off construction site. We stand to the side, adorned in our Brooklyn’s Bakery aprons, ready to help novices with the espresso machine.

  “Brooklyn,” someone says behind me.

  I close my eyes. I know that voice. It is in my dreams. That low, raspy, sexy voice that makes my heart beat fast and my legs turn to Jell-O. I whirl around quickly and come eye-to-eye with Nate. Instantly, several emotions wash over me. Happy, relieved, confused.

  “Nate! What are you doing here?”

  Then I eye his shirt. There is a logo of a building with the letters R.A.D. just above it.

  “You?” I say, surprised. “You hired me?”

  “Well, not exactly. My company, or rather my dad’s company, hired you.”

  I’m still staring at his shirt. I point to the logo, almost touching him. I want to touch him. I want to feel the muscles that I know are underneath the shirt he is wearing. But I don’t, because . . . well, it would be weird. I am at work after all. And more importantly, he is off limits. All men are off limits.

  “Riley . . . ?” I trail off and raise my eyebrows, looking from his shirt up to his face and into his deep blue eyes.

  “Architectural Designs,” he finishes.

  “Oh. Right.” I giggle, thinking of the silly names we came up with in the van. “So, what are you doing here?” I ask. “I mean, you didn’t say anything yesterday.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you were going to feel about this.” He looks around nervously and says, “Brooklyn, I’m going to be in town for a while. My dad put me on this project and I’m here to oversee it.”

  In town for a while. My heart leaps for joy.

  Joy? Wait, what?

  My better judgment pops her head in. No, this is not a good thing. I’m weak around him. I need to stay the hell away from him for my own good. “How long will you be here?” Days . . . weeks . . . oh, yes, please, weeks.

  “Probably a few months. It takes a while to get these projects up and going. We basically have to babysit the engineers every step of the way to make sure it will all work as planned.”

  Months! I didn’t even hear a word he said after that.

  Derek walks up and clears his throat. “Lyn, can you please help me with the espresso machine? That lever is sticking again.”

  “Oh, yes, sorry.” I quickly introduce Nate to Derek and then get back to work.

  It takes me twice as long as usual to get the machine working again. I’m well aware that Nate is staring at me. However, I’m not at all sure that what I’m feeling is uncomfortable, more like I’m hoping my butt looks good in these pants. I think back to this morning and wonder if I put enough mascara on to make my eyes look pretty. I even run my tongue over my teeth and am relieved when I taste the remnants of mouthwash, given he was standing so close to me just moments ago.

  “I’ll see you later, Brooklyn,” Nate whispers in my ear on his way by.

  I forget what I’m doing. I actually stop moving and can’t form a cognitive thought in my head after feeling his hot breath on my neck.

  ~ ~ ~

  Back at the bakery this afternoon, I can’t stop thinking about what transpired this morning. Nate will be around for months. Will I see him? Of course you will, stupid, he will probably make sure of that.

  I remember the stolen glances we made at each other this morning. I can still feel the heat of his touch when he brushed up against my arm as he walked by me, and the glare of his eyes when he watched me from across the tent. He was busy and I was busy, but somehow we always knew where the other was.

  What am I doing? I have to stop thinking of him this way. He is a crush, an infatuation even, a schoolgirl fantasy I will never again experience. I have to strengthen my resolve. I have to make sure we aren’t alone together. How hard can that be? It’s not like I’ll be seeing him every day. I can do this. Can’t I?

  Yes.

  No.

  I don’t know.

  Crap. I’m toast.

  ~ ~ ~

  The benefit of living where you work is that when I work late, as I am today, I can just go right up to my apartment and relax. No commute, no waiting in traffic. It’s one of the reasons I love this place.

  It’s not too late, only about six-ish, but it is late for me as ordinarily I cut out around three o’clock since I show up early in the mornings. I’m spent. My hands are raw after the thorough cleaning of the catering equipment. I’m dragging my feet up the stairs. I don’t even think I have the energy to make dinner. I can’t wait to dive into some ice cream and watch a couple of programs I’ve recorded.

  I head straight to the kitchen and open the freezer. Did I buy this much ice cream? There are two gallons of mint chocolate chip ice cream staring me in the face. A going away present from Emma, perhaps. I grab one along with a spoon, bypassing a bowl completely and head to the couch.

  That’s when it hits me. Something is different. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It even smells different in here. I look around and see some boxes piled behind the couch. I thought they got all of them.

  I put the
ice cream down on the coffee table and go over to my room. Everything looks okay in here. Now I head to Emma’s room . . . er, the spare bedroom. My eyes widen and confusion sets in when I see several more boxes on her bed and some suitcases by the closet. “Emma?” I ask to no one in particular because there isn’t anyone else here.

  What’s going on? I peek my head back out into the living room and look around. Then I stride across the room to the suitcases and find an ID tag hanging off one of them. I open it up, pulling the little leather flap away from the viewing window and take in a sharp breath when I read the name.

  Nathan Riley.

  “What. The. Hell?” I say out loud.

  I run out to the kitchen and get my phone.

  Crap. I deleted his number years ago. I tap my screen a few times and pull up a different number. It rings only once. “Lyn, sweetie, how are you?” she says about an octave too high.

  Oh God. She knows about this. “Seriously, Emma?” I yell. “What are you thinking? There is no way in hell that I’m letting Nate Riley live with me for a few months. I do not want that man in the same town, let alone the same apartment. You call him right now. This minute. You tell him to come pick up his stuff and go to a hotel, or his sister’s house . . . or anywhere but here.”

  Then it dawns on me. “How long did you have this planned? The whole seeing his sister thing, was that all a lie so that you could stonewall me into this?”

  “Calm down, Lyn.” I can hear her smiling and it pisses me off even more.

  “Calm down?” I yell. “Calm down? Since when do you get to make decisions about my life without consulting me?”

  “Because I know you,” she says. “Because I knew you wouldn’t go along with it. But also because I know that it’s the best thing for you. You are alone now and I hate that. He is alone in a city that he despises. You guys need each other whether you know it now or not.”

  “Plus,” she adds, “I do kind of own the building.”

  “Oh, you did not just play the landlord card with me.” I stomp my foot like she can see it.

  “Sorry, Lyn. I shouldn’t have said that. But please, just give it some time. He really needed a place to stay. Nobody does short term leases anymore.” I hear the pleading in her voice.

  “I have to get out of here before he gets home.” I quickly throw the ice cream in the freezer. Then I grab my keys and fly out the door and down the stairs. “I’ll talk to you later, Emma.”

  “Wait—” is all I hear before I cut her off.

  Then I turn off my phone.

  ~ ~ ~

  I try to fill my parents in as best I can, but it is all kinds of uncomfortable telling them about losing my virginity at age seventeen. They knew I had a crush on him. They saw how broken I was after he left. But this is probably something they never wanted to know, not really.

  They let me talk until my throat gets sore, then Mom leads me to my old room.

  My room. My sanctuary growing up. They never changed a thing. It looks exactly the same way it did when I moved out four years ago. Right down to the picture of Nate tucked into the side of the mirror. It is wrinkled and weathered from the years it spent under my pillow, but Emma never let me throw it out. She said one day I’d be glad I kept it. I’m still waiting for that day.

  My mom tucks me into bed, just like she did when I was little. “I want to tell you something that happened at Emma’s wedding,” she says. “I probably should have told you weeks ago but I didn’t think you would see Nate again.”

  She is rubbing my hair and it is as soothing and comforting as ever. “I ran into Nate’s father.”

  I turn my head around to see her face and I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “He wanted to apologize to us for hurting you all those years ago,” she tells me.

  “What? Why would he do that? It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Oh, but he thinks it was. Something about saying all the wrong things to his kids and making them believe their friends wouldn’t associate with them anymore.”

  “I still think that if Nate wanted to get in touch with me, he would have.” I frown. “It was his choice. He could have found a way even if his dad didn’t want him to.”

  “Perhaps that is true,” she says. “But why not give him the benefit of the doubt. Or at least talk to him about it before you condemn him. He was young back then, just like you were and, as we found out just tonight, you didn’t always make the wisest decisions.” She raises her eyebrows at me and gives me a look that only a mother can give that has my figurative tail going between my legs.

  “Still, Mom, that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to live with him. I don’t want to live with any man. Ever.”

  She smiles sweetly at me. “Sleep on it dear. It will be better in the morning. You’ve had a long day.” She kisses my forehead and goes to the door. “Never say never, Brooklyn.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I can’t help but stare out the front window of the shop. There he is, again, like he has been every morning this week. Nate is stretching out in the park across the street, getting ready for a run. He is without a shirt so I can see the ripples of his stomach, the outlines of his muscles, the hardness of his body. I can almost smell his scent. That mixture of clean freshness and Nate with a touch of man sweat. A heady combination.

  I take a deep breath, knowing that I will get to enjoy his scent first-hand when in about forty-five minutes he will come in the shop and order a coffee, black, and a blueberry muffin. Same thing. Every. Day.

  Then he will walk out the front door of the bakery and around the back to the private entrance of our apartment. When did it become our apartment?

  I know he does this on purpose. Well, I think he does it on purpose. He never looks over this way to see if I’ve noticed him, so maybe it is just his routine. Oh, I’ve noticed. Along with every other red-blooded woman in the bakery at seven in the morning. And a few men, too.

  “He’s good for business,” a cute redhead says, pulling me from my trance.

  I look around and realize that the shop is more crowded than usual. People are hanging around instead of popping in for coffee and then leaving for work.

  I roll my eyes and put on a fake smile. “What can I get you?” I try to complete her order without looking outside again. Instead, I look at all of the women eyeing my new roommate. Then I turn to see Kaitlyn all wide-eyed and frozen in place as she was cleaning the coffee filter.

  “Et tu, Brute?” I use a napkin to dab the invisible drool from her chin.

  “Lyn.” She breaks the stare and looks at me. “If you don’t get your head out of your ass soon and jump on that masterpiece of a man, someone else will.”

  Someone else. I abhor the thought of anyone else with him. Touching him, smelling him. Then I chastise myself. I am such a hypocrite. How can I be mad at other women for wanting him? He isn’t mine. He will never be mine.

  I get back to work and try to concentrate on anything but the man who I know will walk into my shop in—I check the clock—thirty minutes.

  I think back to earlier this week when I made the decision to try and live with this situation. Make the best of it. Lemonade from lemons and all that.

  When Emma went away to college she was placed with the roommate from hell her first year. She couldn’t get her dorm assignment changed so instead, she rearranged her class schedule so that she was gone when her roommate was home. I decided to take a page from the Emma chronicles and go with avoidance as well.

  I have moved my usual crack-of-dawn runs to the late afternoon so that I’m out when Nate gets home from work. I have caught up on loads of bookkeeping at the shop by coming down here after my shower and eating dinner while I reconcile the books. Then when I go back upstairs, I read in bed for hours, avoiding him out in the living room watching television.

  It is working. I have barely said two words to him all week. In fact, I think I talk to him more when he is placing his order here at the bakery, than w
hen in our apartment.

  I only wish he would go out more. He sits at home every night watching movies or working at the drafting table he has set up in his bedroom.

  I’m coming out of the back with a tray of fresh muffins when he walks in. I watch him make his way to the counter. He is walking towards me and all I can see is that sweaty body, muscles all shining and rippled. His eyes are on me, devouring me like the muffin I know he is about to order.

  Women are practically lined up on either side of him as he walks by them, like a football player passes the cheerleaders lining the way out to the field. Their collective chins are hitting the floor as he reaches the counter and pulls out a few napkins to wipe off his face.

  He doesn’t look at any of them. He doesn’t break eye contact with me. I think there must be twenty women in here that would like me dead on the spot. I would wish me dead on the spot if I were one of them, watching the way he looks at me like he is the moth to my flame.

  Only I fear I will be the one who gets burned.

  “Morning, Brooklyn.” He smiles that white, toothy smile that gets my internal juices flowing.

  “Good morning. The usual?” I ask.

  “Yes. Thank you.” He pulls a ten out of the pocket in his running shorts and hands it to me. It’s moist with sweat and I resist the urge to put it to my nose. That would be wrong on so many levels. I put it in the register and give him his change which he dumps in the tips bucket.

  “Thanks, Brooklyn. You look lovely today.” It is the same thing he has said every morning this week. This is the same dance we do every day. He turns to walk out the front door, past the dozen or so eyes that are looking at him like a piece of meat and they are the lionesses waiting to attack.

  Today, however, before I can even think twice and keep the words from leaping out of my mouth, I say, “Nate, why don’t you just come through and use the back entrance?” He stops in his tracks. I can see the reflection of his huge smile in the window. He turns and walks past the women again, then past the counter and into the back room.