Love Love (4 page)

When I look up, I see the
other not-so-lovely thing. A
line that’s
almost out the door. The coffee must be really good here. As I
wait, I glance up at the menu on the wall. There are a multitude of
drinks to choose from. The line actually moves quickly and when I
reach the counter, I’m greeted by a guy who looks around my age
standing about six feet tall with blue jeans, white fitted t-shirt,
a lopsided grin and a dimple.

“
Hi, can I help
you?”

I hesitate because I still don’t know
what I want, even though I had a whole ten minutes to decide.
Making a decision isn’t my strong suit; I excel at indecisiveness.
I think I hear sighs and groans coming from behind me. I’m holding
up the line, a big faux pas in a coffee shop. As the line builds
and the whines grow louder, the guy behind the counter speaks
again.

“
Do you know what do you
want?”

“
Ummm…I...”

He leans over the counter. His shaggy
light brown hair falls over his face and covers his eyes. I can’t
make out what color they are. Maybe brown. “What do you
like?”

I’m on my tippy toes a bit distracted
by the glass case of doughnuts. “I don’t know,” I whisper,
embarrassed that I’m holding up the line.

“
Do you like
chocolate?”

Ding, ding, ding. “Yes!”

“
Good, what
else?”

“
Umm…I like
caramel.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Okay,
we’re getting somewhere. Do you like whipped cream?”

“
Love it,” I say
excitedly.

“
Excellent.”

“
Ice cream?” he asks with
hopeful eyes.

“
Ew. Not in my
coffee.”

He laughs, then says, “okay, I think
you’ll like the Salted Caramel Mocha.”

“
Sounds good.” Anything to
rid myself of the annoying whines behind me. I’m tapping my fingers
on the counter as he makes my drink. “Sorry about the holdup. I
usually just go to Starbucks.”

“
Starbucks, huh? So, you
decided it was time to cross over to the dark side?” he remarks
with a raised eyebrow.

Humor laces my lips. “Yes, the force
was very strong.”

He cracks a smile and sets my drink
down. “I’m Brad Dixon, by the way.”

“
Gabby Indecisive Willis,
and thanks for the help.”

“
Don’t mention it,” he
says, airing me another quirky grin.

I go to pay him; my purse is a mess
and it’s like playing hide and seek to find my money. While
digging, I inadvertently knock the entire fancy whatever mocha all
over the counter and watch as the warm liquid seeps under the cash
register. Fabulous. My cheeks heat and I squeeze my eyes shut,
wishing I could click my heels three times and be anywhere but
here.

When my eyes finally open, Brad
appears to be counting to ten, and I can’t blame him. Grabbing
napkins from a nearby table, I try to help with this wonderful mess
that is my creation. By the time I return, Brad has it completely
under control.

“
I’m really sorry,” leaves
my mouth before I can stop it, and I stand there like an idiot
trying to escape the red tint engulfing my face.

His sincere, caring brown eyes peek
out from under his hair and meet mine. “Don’t worry about it. It
happens all the time.” He smirks. “I’m gonna make you another one.
On the house.”

“
Thanks, Brad, but you
don’t have to do that.”

“
I can’t very well let one
of our new customers leave unhappy her very first
visit.”

My hand dives into my purse. “Let me
pay you for it. It’s the least I can do.”

“
Nah. Take it. Just bring
an extra roll of Bounty next time you come in.” I hear a rich,
throaty laugh as he walks away.

Salted Caramel Mocha in hand, I make
my way out to the street and head towards work. It’s a beautiful
day in Manhattan. The sun is shining brilliantly and there’s not a
cloud in the powder blue sky. The skyline looks just like a
postcard today, and the energy, as always, is infectious. The
constant hustle and bustle is one of the reasons I love the city so
much. The intensity of the city manages to take my rather
monotonous routine and breathe life into it. It’s nice knowing that
my daily commute will always have something different to offer,
whether it’s a guy singing acapella in the subway or someone
playing bongo drums. It always manages to elicit a
smile.

Since I’m early today, I
sip my mocha and casually make my way to work. I hear the taxi cabs
honking, feel the smell of rotting food invading my nose, and
notice the chatter of strangers. A guy spits on the ground and I
almost step in it. Why do people spit? It’s the most disgusting
habit, and should probably be illegal. Oh God, not to mention the
woman trying to shove an entire egg sandwich in her mouth. I see an
elderly woman with a cane stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and
several people run over at once to help her, including myself. When
I reach her, I lift her cane off the ground and hand it to her. She
looks up at me with worldly eyes and a fragile voice. “God bless
you, dear.” My returning smile says
you’re
welcome
. As crazy as the city gets, people
here really do care.

My walk takes me past Bloomingdale’s,
and I stop to admire a dress in the window. They must have changed
out the dresses this week because I haven’t noticed it before. It’s
royal blue satin with cap sleeves and a high boat neck. We have a
formal company party next week and this dress looks perfect. Too
bad it’s only 8:45; Bloomies doesn’t open until ten. I make a
mental note to stop by after work to try it on. I’ll definitely
bring Fran with me. She’ll tell me if it’s too conservative, too
slutty, or doesn’t show enough cleavage...because she always thinks
I need to show more.

A couple of relaxing, mocha-sipping
blocks later I’m suddenly frozen to the spot, my coffee almost
spilling on my blouse. I check my pulse. I’m still alive. Good.
Whoa. This guy is hot. Smooth jet black hair, beautiful emerald
green eyes, broad shoulders, and a body built for sin strolls
toward me, one sculptured arm dangling a suit jacket over his
shoulder, his body donned by a finely tailored black suit. I think
I just had an orgasm. He’s freaking beautiful. I close my eyes and
I’m immediately locked on a visual. Yup, I’ve got it. My
fingernails digging into his back while he hovers over me,
screaming my name, sweat dripping from his chest and landing on my
breasts. Okay, close your mouth, Gabby. The drool is pooling at
your feet. Shit. He must have noticed me staring. When I pass by
him, I see the corner of his lips curl into an alluring
smile.

He makes his way past me and I turn
back for one last look. Jesus. I see his head whip around for a
split second and glance in my direction. I can’t believe he’s
actually looking at me. Then I notice that the lovely breeze has
blown my skirt up to declare my ass available for public viewing.
Great. Not only that, but I just tripped over a little brown and
black rat dog and am getting dirty looks from its disgruntled owner
as she pulls his leash and yanks him away from my clumsy left
foot.

I try to regain my weakened composure
and head into work. I literally have to shake myself to erase the
erotic images from my mind. Two thoughts occur to me as I enter the
double doors of Landon & Castell. First, I need to find out who
the hell those green eyes belong to; and second, I need a cold
shower.

I see the red light on my phone
blinking from what seems like a mile away. I plunk down on my
chair, throw my purse in my desk drawer, and take the deep breath
that I need to run through all my messages and the overwhelming
amount of post-it notes Robby always leaves for me. They’re
everywhere. On my computer, my desk, the wall of my cubicle, and he
even stuck one on the picture of Fran and me at Fisherman’s Wharf.
I think he just likes the idea of sticking them to something. I’ve
got thirty messages. Shit. As I scroll through them, I find that
half of them are garbage and just leave my finger on the delete
button.

My electronic schedule says
Robby and I have to visit three clients, and the fifteen “urgent”
messages indicate that there are various issues with furniture
orders to sort out. I’m really not complaining. This is a very cool
job. It gets me closer to my dream of being an interior designer,
which is something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid. Memories
flood my mind of buying stacks and stacks of
Architectural Digest
and
Better Homes
&
Gardens
magazines, wanting to absorb the
color palettes and furniture choices while I played out the fantasy
in my head. I’d sit there for hours, tearing out pictures I liked
and making collages, only to end up annoying my mother by leaving
paper scraps all over the floor. I’d smile though, when I’d look up
at the fairy pink walls covered with my childhood dreams filling up
every open space of my room. It was something my parents couldn’t
touch or crush within me.

The day drags at a snail’s pace. I’m
getting ready to leave when my cell phone vibrates. I let it go
because, admittedly, I like the sensation. When the buzzing
continues, I finally check and see that it’s Fran. I pick up the
phone with excitement for the first time all day. “Hey!”

“
Hey,” she replies. Her
voice lacks her usual burst of enthusiasm.

“
What’s wrong?” Did you
have a bad day?” It’s unusual for Fran to let things get to her, so
I know it can’t be good.

She groans. “Yeah. It was shitty. I
had a client want me to redesign a brochure six times before they
were happy, my boss got on my ass about being late because I missed
an important client meeting, and my heel broke while I was out
getting lunch. All in all it was a banner day. Yours?”

“
It was long, and very
busy.” Knowing my day is coming to an end puts a smile on my face
for the first time, and I relax. “So, I’m assuming you want to go
out? How about a movie with a giant tub of buttered popcorn and a
jumbo pack of Twizzlers? We can get lost for a little
while.”

“
Yes, I want to go out, but
not to a movie. I need a drink, or a few drinks. There’s a new bar
that opened up on Amsterdam Avenue and I want to check it
out.”

“
Oh.” I hesitate before
answering her. My first thought is she’s going to try and set me up
like she usually does, and I’m not in the mood.

“
So, are you in?” she asks,
her voice raising an octave.

“
On one condition,” I add
reluctantly. I have to be honest, right?

She chuckles. “And that would
be…”

“
It’s just been a long day,
Fran. I don’t want you trying to work your love magic on me
tonight. Also, before I forget, I need to stop by Bloomingdale’s
first.”

“
Alright, deal,” she
asserts a little too quickly. “Why do we need to stop at
Bloomies?”

“
There’s a dress I want to
try on for our company party. I want to see what you
think
.”

“
Great. Oh, and by the way,
someone is coming by the apartment tomorrow to exterminate. I found
a lovely little cockroach behind the fridge this
morning.”

“
Ew!” I can’t stand those
pesky little things. Fran and I have lived for almost three years
in an extremely small two bedroom apartment in Washington Heights.
It’s actually a pre-war walk up, tastefully decorated with very
special discount and consignment store items and a couple sale
items from IKEA. The only thing not-so-charming about it is the
little roach problem, which has taken some getting used to. “Gee,
thanks for that.”

“
Anytime. See you
soon.”

Fifteen minutes later, Fran is waiting
for me outside of Landon & Castell, looking stunning, as
always. With wavy, shoulder length ebony hair, bright green eyes, a
fair complexion with a hint of pink, and curves that make men
swoon, Fran oozes sex appeal. Her tight white tank accentuates her
breasts, while her short black skirt shows off her long, shapely
legs. Her feet are covered by Jimmy Choo heels in the same color.
“You look hot, Fran!” I look down at my gray pencil skirt and white
blouse and suddenly feel very undressed.

She lets out a sexy laugh. “I’m on
fire every night. Now if I could only find someone to put out that
fire, my world would be complete. By the way, notice the new pumps?
Breaking a heel is a great excuse to buy a new pair of shoes…not
that I ever need an excuse to shop!”

My mind drifts from Fran to
the hotness on the street this morning. It’s hard to shake
that
visual.

Fran waves her hand in front of my
face. “Hello? Earth to Gabby, where’d you go?”

“
I’m here,” I murmur as I
float back down to earth. “Now, let’s go see about that
dress.”

We’re making our way over to
Bloomingdale’s, and I can’t help but notice people staring at me.
It’s really starting to piss me off. “Fran, do I have something on
my face?”

She looks at me with a confused smile.
“What the hell are you talking about?”

“
Well, it’s just that I
feel like everyone’s looking at me, and it’s getting
annoying.”