Izzy
“I think coffee is the best thing in the world,” I say.
I take a long sip of my hazelnut latte and study Nathaniel over the brim of my mug.
His eyes have dark smudges under them and he keeps yawning. I’d bet my last dollar that he didn’t sleep a bit.
When I woke up at eight, Nathaniel was already shaved and showered and raring to head to downtown Romeo to buy some new clothes. Not that he doesn’t look adorable in his sweats and “I heart Romeo” t-shirt.
In fact, I really like how the pants hang low over his hips and the t-shirt is slightly too small and molds his chest and shoulders perfectly. I like him in casual wear. Although, I liked him in a suit as well. I mentally shrug, I guess I like him in everything.
“You don’t mean that,” Nathaniel says. He takes a long swallow of his red eye, a black coffee with two shots of espresso.
“Mean what?”
His lips curl up and I’m happy to see that he’s smiling.
“That coffee is the best thing in the world,” he says.
Downtown Romeo is framed behind him. We’re sitting at an outdoor café table at The SweetStop, an adorable bakery on Main Street. It’s not quite nine o’clock. We’re waiting for the little clothing boutique to open so that Nathaniel can find an outfit that shows off his best assets.
“What do I think is the best thing then?” I ask.
I smile back at him and take another long sip of my coffee. It’s hot and smooth and has the perfect note of hazelnut. It reminds me of sitting outside a bakery in Geneva, Switzerland the smell of toasted hazelnuts and chocolate in the air.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he says with a knowing smirk. He holds out his hand in front of himself.
For a second, I think he’s implying that I like him best of all in the world. I go to protest, but something stops me, because I do like him.
I like him a lot.
I look at his smile, his dark eyes and the stubble that grows on his jaw barely two hours after shaving. There’s a yearning in me that wants to agree with him, but then it’s snatched away. I can’t. Then I look to where he’s actually gesturing and realize that he’s pointing to my plate of Nutella croissants.
“Ahh,” I say thickly, “you’re right. I do like croissants better than coffee.”
He winks, then reaches down and steals one of my croissants. When he takes a bite the pastry flakes down and falls to the table like snow. When he tastes the buttery meltiness of the croissant his eyes widen and he chews more vigorously.
“Mmm, that’s good,” he says, his mouth still full. His eyes widen. “That’s really good. What’ve I been missing all these years?”
I stifle a laugh. “Stick with me. I’ll show you all the wonders of the universe.”
He stuffs the last of the croissant into his mouth and chews happily. His egg white and spinach omelet is only half-finished. Apparently, I’ve turned him to the dark side.
I flake off some pastry from the edge of a croissant and nibble at it.
He wipes his mouth with his napkin and then gives me a satisfied smile.
I ignore the pinching sensation in my chest.
“Have you always smiled this much?” I ask. “Because, to be honest, when we first met, you looked like you hadn’t smiled in years. Like, Oscar the Grouch territory.”
He lifts his eyebrow, but the smile stays on his lips. “Really? That bad?”
I try to clarify. “I mean, I know you were having a bad day. So I was just wondering, is this your regular expression?” I gesture at him, at the cute little smile on his face and the amusement in his eyes. “Or are you usually like you were on the train? All Mr. Serious,” I say in a lower voice.
He snorts and then takes a long sip of his coffee. Then, when he sets it on the table, he says, “I don’t have a mirror handy to check my expression minute by minute, but…”
“But?”
He gives me a sly look and then grabs the last croissant.
“Hey,” I say in protest. “That had my name on it.”
“Sure it did,” he says. Then I watch as he delicately tears the croissant in two. Little pastry flakes twirl to the table, and the fragrance of Nutella fills the air. My mouth waters as he holds half out to me. He watches me with a glint in his eyes.
“Izzy’s half,” he says. I open my hand and he drops the warm croissant onto my palm.
“Nathaniel’s half,” he says, holding up his piece.
I can’t help but smile at him.
He taps his croissant to mine and then takes a happy bite. The Nutella runs down my fingers, so I shove the croissant into my mouth and chew. Then I lick the Nutella off. So, so good.
When Nathaniel has finished every last crumb he says, “To answer your question, you’re right. I haven’t smiled as much as I have since I met you, in…years.” He looks thoughtful for a moment then says more seriously, “It’s been years.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I reach out and put my hand on his arm.
He looks down at my hand resting on the warm skin of his forearm, then he smiles at me.
“Nathaniel Barry, my Aunt Erma told me you were in town!”
I snatch my hand from Nathaniel’s arm and look past him. There’s a cute, young woman in a poufy floral dress, beaming at Nathaniel.
“Chloe?” asks Nathaniel, like he’s not quite sure.
Chloe nods, “that’s me. Wow. I haven’t seen you since we were fighting over the swings at that playground in New York. Remember that?”
Nathaniel looks back at me and gives me a sardonic look, as if to say, “Who me? I’d never fight over swings.”
I’d enjoy the idea, except I’m grappling with the weirdest sensation. It feels almost like jealousy, which is crazy, because I’m actively trying to help Nathaniel woo another woman. So that can’t be right.
Chloe moves next to the table. She’s set down a sketchbook and is showing Nathaniel some drawings.
“I’m doing this card line on soul mates. It was Veronica’s idea. She’s my business partner. My aunt told you about our greeting card company, right?”
Nathaniel nods, and even though he’s wearing a tee and sweats, he looks business-like and serious again. “She mentions it almost every time we talk. That and your baby.”
Chloe blushes a pretty shade of pink and gives the sort of smile that you see on moms that love their kids wholeheartedly.
Then Chloe seems to realize that Nathaniel isn’t alone. She looks at me and her eyes widen. “Oh I’m sorry. I got carried away. I always do when I’m talking about new card ideas. And then I was thinking about swings and my aunt and you must be Nathaniel’s soul mate. My aunt told me all about how she saw you and you’d be in town this weekend and how you’re just perfect for Nathaniel.” Chloe holds out her hand for me to shake and gives me a big, happy smile. “I’m Chloe by the way. It’s so nice meeting you.”
I stare at her hand. Nathaniel has gone stiff and completely still. His face is totally devoid of expression. Awkward. This is so awkward.
I clear my throat. “Oh. I’m not…” I shake my head, “I’m not Nathaniel’s soul mate. I’m…helping him get his soul mate back. Errr…I’m…Izzy.”
Chloe looks confused, then embarrassed. She wrinkles her nose and then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just assumed, you looked so cozy together and happy and I thought...” She tilts her head and studies us. Nathaniel has relaxed a bit. He’s looking between Chloe and me.
“We just met Thursday. On the train,” he explains. Then, more firmly, “We’re just friends.”
I take Chloe’s hand. She has paint and ink on her fingertips, and there are little callouses, I’m assuming from where she holds her pens and paintbrushes. She gives me a warm, self-deprecating smile and shakes my hand. I realize that I like her, I really like her.
“Nice to meet you, Izzy,” she says as she pumps my hand.
“Likewise,” I say.
Chloe picks up her sketchbook and holds it to her chest. “Well, my studio is just up there.” She points to the windows above the bakery. “If you need anything, let me know.” She turns to Nathaniel, “I hope everything works out. Trust me, I know how crazy things can get when it comes to soul mates. I hope you find everything you’re looking for.”
“He will,” I tell her confidently. “I’m helping him. Nothing can go wrong.”
Nathaniel snorts into his coffee. I kick him under the table. I’m sure he’s thinking about all the things that have already gone wrong, but that was the past and this is today.
Chloe nods, “I’m sure it’ll work out great. Erma’s predictions always come true.”
“Exactly,” Nathaniel says.
I wonder why he doesn’t sound as excited as I thought he would. Shouldn’t he be happy that it’s practically guaranteed he’ll get Gertrude back?
After Chloe leaves we finish our coffee, Nathaniel puts money on the table for the bill.
“I’ll pay you back,” I tell him as we walk toward the little boutique.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
Apparently, he has no idea that when your bank account is empty and you don’t have a home, a meal is a lot more than nothing.