Suzy
Kicking the bathroom door shut behind me, I send my purse sailing to the vanity, ripping off my dreary work clothes. I have twenty minutes before Carlson is supposed to be here, assuming he actually shows up this time. Stuffing the mass of curls into a plastic cap, I hop in the shower and promptly flick on the faucet, dancing and gasping at the ice water slushing down my body. I don’t have time to wait for it to warm.
It was as if the universe knew I had a date, and the universe did what it could to make me late. Kyle emailed a Request for Proposal to me an hour before closing time, my computer froze on me not once, not twice, but three times, then when I was finally able to take off, there was an accident on the freeway and I had to venture out on a detour.
Seven minutes later I’m hastily wrapping myself in a towel. Racing to my room, I tug off the cap, letting hair cascade around me.
That place you like, he declared for all to hear. Except for that little vegan restaurant, we haven’t dined out. Maybe he meant that place. Either way, I’m going with tasteful casual. A charcoal gray sweater dress, black leggings, and black boots.
I’m brushing mascara on my lashes when rapid drumbeats sound on my bedroom door. My fingers freeze midair.
“Suzy, there’s a big dude at the door for you,” my roommate shouts from the hallway.
Oh shit! Ty’s home?
And he just met Carlson.
I leave a trail of fire on the carpet as I sprint out of my room, down the short hallway, and come to a screeching halt.
Ty is settling on the couch, cozy as you please, bare, inked arms stretched out on the back and head bopping to some tune he’s got blasting on his earbuds. Carlson is just inside the front door, digging a burial plot with his scolding hot glare.
There’s going to be a bloody corpse on the couch any second.
“Carlson?” Look at me, I urge with my eyes, not death metal head on the couch. I smile. It might be wobbly, I’m not too certain. “You made it.”
Grudgingly, he tears his slaying gaze from Ty. The executioner eyes soften as he takes me in from head to toe. A grunt of appreciation rises out of his throat.
“Here.” Awkwardly, he thrusts a medium size container at me.
“What’s this?” I’m already prying the lid open. The delicious scent of baked chocolate wafts up my welcoming nose. “Brownies.” I stare down at it, stupefied and touched by the gesture. “You made me brownies?”
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like slaved over the hot oven, then, “You ready?”
This time, my smile isn’t so faint. “Yeah. Let me get my coat and purse.”
For a split second I debate whether I should leave the brownies in the kitchen or take them with me. If I leave them here, Ty wouldn’t think twice about wolfing them down. I don’t normally have a problem sharing food, but Carlson took the time to do this. Flowers or store-bought sweets aren’t his style. Like I once told him, he’s all heart, and he puts effort into his considerate gestures, big or small, and I can’t bear the thought of someone else enjoying what he made for me. This unassuming, looming man who doesn’t think twice about slipping on the black apron and making someone’s day.
I don’t bother introducing Carlson to my roommate. It’s not like Ty cares, and he’s too busy rocking out anyway.
In under two minutes we’re walking out the door with the brownies. Carlson is in a crisp olive-green button shirt and black slacks. He’s solemn with a day’s scruff left on his jaw, and I want to run the back of my fingers on it just to see if it’s as prickly as it looks.
Demeanor still stiff, Carlson doesn’t touch me as he lets me precede him. Despite the fact he’s within easy arm’s reach, there’s an invisible wall he erected between us. I got used to his supersized hand on my back or taking my fingers.
“Ty’s my roommate,” I say nonchalantly as we near the SUV, hoping it’s not a big deal. “I didn’t think he was going to be home. He’s usually out doing gigs at night.” No response from Carlson. “He’s a drummer.” I stop to face him. “Please say something.”
A grunt.
The heck with it. Taking the initiative, I lay my free hand on his forearm. It flexes beneath my fingers. “He’s just a friend. Someone to share the rent. Nothing more.”
“I know that.”
Then why is he scowling down at me? “You sure don’t seem like you believe it.”
“He might be a fool, but he’s still a man. No man is going to allow his woman to walk off with another man. So yeah, I know there’s nothing more.”
As if that about covers it, he ushers me into the car.
“What you did at the office today? That was something,” I begin conversationally as soon as he’s behind the wheel. I’m still recovering from the shock. “I think the entire office heard you, but then, you knew what you were doing, didn’t you?”
“I always know what I’m doing.”
I watch him start the engine, go through the motions of checking the mirrors, judiciously skimming over the gauges, adjusting the temperature, before cautiously glancing over his shoulder and gliding the car out of the spot. Meticulous and precise. “I believe you,” I agree simply. “You mentioned something about brunch with your mother. I’m not sure I heard you right.”
“Ma wants us to go over this weekend. She’s big on brunch.”
“I see.” My thumb flicks over the corner tab on the container lid perched on my lap. Flick. Flick. Flick. “Is it what you want?”
“Yeah.” His eyes stay on the road, studious and vigilant. “It’s what I want.”
“She might think there’s more between us than there is.”
“Ma isn’t stupid. She sees what she sees.”
What does that mean? I’m still pondering it when we pull up to the valet at the front of a trendy fusion restaurant. There’s a scattering of people waiting and shivering outside, making me glad I have my coat, much as it is.
Carlson rounds the car and helps me out. “So, this is the place I like?” I observe with humor as he takes my hand and leads me past the hopeful crowd. I’ve never even heard of it. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“You’ll like it,” he assures me. “Hi, Tim,” he blandly greets the smiling host.
The host is an attractive man, neatly dressed yet not stuffy. “Good evening, Carlson. Table for two,” he says as though he’s been expecting us, grabbing a couple of menus. “Right this way.”
Every table is filled except one. Chatter and the occasional clattering of dishes and silverware reverberates within the open ceiling and concrete floor. The rustic wooden tables are left unclothed with a flickering glass votive at the center. Servers hurry by but manage not to appear frazzled. One of them waves at Carlson as he slides my coat off my shoulders before pulling out the black metal chair at the only vacant table.
“You’ve been here before.” It’s not a question.
“Yes,” is all he says and takes his own seat.
He appears subdued but restless all evening. I bid for more, but he’s already looking down at the menu. “Carlson.” His gaze shifts up. “I want to be open with you, and I’d like you to be open with me.”
His sober features don’t change. “Haven’t I been open with you?”
“It takes prying. Kind of like the lid on that container I left in the car.”
Leaning over the table, the gem blue eyes gleam. “Doesn’t that make you want to taste what’s inside more?”
I bite my lip. He has a point.
“But I get it,” he continues, leaning back on his chair. “Sometimes you just want to eat without having to do the work.”
“It’s hard for you.” He’s more than comfortable talking to Mr. Hawkes and Gemma, but for some reason, I get the impression he’s conscientious with me. Lounged across from me, he’s practically vibrating with edgy unease. “Is it me?” I ask, even though I don’t really want to know.
“It’s not you.” He stops there as though struggling to give me more, glancing out the window fleetingly then back. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“Why would you think that?”
Before he can respond, a young, attractive woman appears, wearing a trim white blouse and skinny jeans. I wonder if wearing a dark bra beneath the light top is part of the dress code. I suppose it’s better than no bra.
“Carlson.” She’s all cozy smiles, squeezing his broad shoulder with proprietary fingers. “Good to see you again. Your usual?”
Since he obviously knows our server, I wait patiently for him to introduce us.
He twitches, looking unnerved. “Give us a minute, would you?”
An embellished wink. “You bet.” Another familiar squeeze before she dashes off.
“I guess you come here a lot,” I observe. Why didn’t he introduce us?
A lurching shoulder. That’s all he offers.
“The food must be good,” I attempt at conversation again, disappointment beginning to gnaw at me but try to put it aside. “If you come here often.”
“Sure.”
It’s an effort to pull my mouth into a smile without cracking. “Smells good in here. I’m sure it’s great.”
This isn’t working. We’re sitting in a nice restaurant, a place he obviously frequents and where the staff knows him by name, yet the strain and distance between us are tangible. I don’t know if it’s lingering from his interaction with Ty or my budding jealousy that other women seem to be more familiar and comfortable with him than me. Does he not want to be having dinner with me? Why is he, then?
It’s as if he’s going through the motions. Taking me out. Idle chitchat without disclosing too much of himself. The brownies. A prelude to getting laid?
He wouldn’t have to work this hard for Melissa. Why me?
You’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.
All or nothing. I wanted him so much. Utterly infatuated with him for what feels like my whole adult life. He was the only man I could see, the only man I quietly set all my heart on, even when he barely – and grudgingly – acknowledged me. Carlson is a kind man. Perhaps he felt bad for me, talked himself into giving us a try even if he wasn’t feeling it. A tiresome endeavor.
I glance out the window. It’s dark. Can’t see much. Like my head. Muddled and blinded.
There are tears at the back of my throat. I don’t know why. If I consider them too much, they’ll break free and take control.
“Salads are good. I know you like greens,” he comments, no clue to the hailstorm of emotions sitting across from him, all mild words. “Lobster bisque is delicious, too.”
In the reflection, his head is bowed over the menu, all he cares to look at. I’m sure he knows and has tried every item on it. He has a usual, so he must be perusing it for my sake.
Considerate. Thoughtful.
His gentleness, kindheartedness, they’re just a few of the traits about Carlson that keep ruthlessly sucking me in. They might be the reason why he’s here with me. The whispers about us at HC - maybe the gallant, honorable man in him couldn’t stand for it. That’s the type of man he is, the kind to stand up for the underdog.
There’s pain, immeasurable, splitting my heart in half. Piercing right through me. I shut my eyes against it, but it’s a part of me now.
“Sounds good.” I’m proud my voice is normal. Opening my eyes, I watch him on the glass. “Can we get it to go? Head to your place?”
His head bounces up, but he doesn’t say anything right away, probing my profile with bafflement. “Why?”
I firm my lips that desperately want to tremble. Harden my resolve to be strong as I meet his searching gaze. “I just want to be with you.” One last time.
Those blue eyes dissect me, cut me open to examine. It’s too late, I want to tell him. What’s inside is already dying.
With honed timing, the Shoulder Squeezer comes back. The whole time Carlson relays the order and lets her know we’d be taking it out, she’s got a hand on him.
Maybe they’re fuck buddies.
Like me and Carlson, except we’re not buddies.
“I need to make a call,” I tell him suddenly when she’s gone. “I’ll just step out for a few minutes.”
“Suzette.” He stops me just as I’m reaching for my purse, frowning. “Is something wrong?”
“Just a few minutes,” I say again as though that answers his question.
Digging into my purse for my phone, I don’t have to glimpse back to know his eyes are on me as I weave my way around the bursting tables and push out into the cold. I don’t waste time but immediately dial, stepping away from the waiting patrons. Kaia picks up on the second ring.
“Hiya.”
“You were right.” The confession quivers out of me without preamble. “You were right about me and Carlson. I wore my heart on my sleeve, and he’s too kindhearted to let me down.” Viciously, I swallow back the sob burning a path up my throat. Silly. I’m being silly, I tell myself, but the words tumble out anyway. “People in the office knows and everyone is talking about us. About me. He’s the COO, so they wouldn’t dare treat him differently. He’s nice. Wants to do the right thing. And he’s breaking my… he-art.”
“Suzy.” There’s concern and instant anger on my behalf. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything. It was all in my head. It was me. It was always just me. I wanted an us so bad.” The last part was hardly a whispered admission, but in my head it was a wail. “He pretended I didn’t exist for two years even when I was right in front of him, my heart on my sleeve. I don’t know what made me believe he changed.”
She lets out a frustrated sound. “I’m coming over.”
“I’m not home.” A sniffle escapes without my permission. I thought I could make it past dinner, stay with Carlson for a bit, but I can’t. “Can you pick me up?”
“Where are you?” There’s huffing, like she’s already getting up.
“Some restaurant. Hold on.”
I’m half turning to look up at the sign above the door, but a covering lands on my shoulders. My turn completes only to end up staring into solemn, guarded blue eyes.
“It’s cold. You forgot your coat.”