Can't Always Get What You Want (6 page)

“Thank you,” I say, and step inside. The warmth of the room feels good on my chilled skin, the aroma of fresh coffee tickling my nose.

“Ugh,” I say, taking in my wet scrubs and sopping shoes, “I feel like a drowned rat.”

I look over at him and wish I could take my words back. If my clothes are wet, then his are drenched. He looks as though someone has pushed him into a pool.

“You should’ve kept your coat on. At least one of us would be dry.”

He laughs my comment off. “I don’t think it would’ve helped much. How about you grab us a table?”

I’ve just found a quiet table in the corner when I hear him call out.

“Hey Soph?”

“Yeah?”

I love that he calls me Soph already. Is that weird?

“What can I get you?”

Oh, right. I haven’t ordered anything. Hmm, what to order? I haven’t actually been in a Tim Hortons for years. Laugh at me all you want, but this Canadian girl loves her Starbucks.

“Just get me whatever,” I say.

From my table in the corner, I have a full view of Brett ordering at the front counter. He’s wearing the same hot pair of jeans he wore on Saturday and a thin, dark gray T-shirt layered over an undershirt. The bulging biceps and toned pectorals that his white shirt hinted at the other day are now on full display. I finally appreciate why guys like wet T-shirt contests.

Brett approaches the table with three cups. I’d struggle to hold three hot beverages at once, but his large hands seem to handle it well.

“Three?”

“I figured you haven’t set foot in a Tim Hortons for years. They’ve expanded their menu quite a bit, and I couldn’t decide whether you’d like a chai tea latte or a café mocha. So, I ordered both.”

He gives me a shy smile, and shrugs.

“Thanks, they both sound great,” I say.

I have no idea what a café mocha is.

He flashes me a satisfied look, and takes a sip from his drink. Black coffee, by the looks of it. If he were anyone else, I’d be tempted to tease him about the “boring” beverage choice. But on him, it just seems classy and masculine.

I dig through my wallet to pay him back, but he just shakes his head. He seems old-fashioned. The sort of guy who reaches for the bill first, who opens doors for people, who shovels snow for his grandma.

“Well, it’s no Starbucks, but I’m pleasantly surprised,” I say after taking a sip from both drinks. “Next time we go out, I’ll have to take you there. You know, just to keep it even. We can bring along our laptops and write novels like the rest of the in crowd.”

“Next time?” he asks, giving me a seductive smile.

Oh boy…my body has warmed right up. Rain? What rain?

He laughs. “We can do that. But Timmies is my favorite. Starbucks is just too…I don’t know, girlie. I feel like I need a manicure and degree in Italian just to order a coffee.”

“Real men don’t let little things like trendy interiors and Italian words scare them off,” I tease.

“You don’t think I’m manly enough?”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” I say. “You’ll just have to prove it sometime. Only a real man can do things like confidently order a venti caramel macchiato…or sing ABBA songs.”

“ABBA?” he says, laughing. “And what the hell is a macchiato?”

—

To my surprise and utter disappoint
ment, our clothes dry quickly.

Damn. I was rather enjoying the show.

The question occupying every second thought is, “Why doesn’t this guy have a girlfriend?” He’s young, handsome, successful, funny, smart, courteous, etc. Why hasn’t some lucky girl snapped him up yet?

Maybe I can be that lucky girl?

I’m suddenly aware that the block of ice beating in my chest has started to melt.

I’d better be careful.

I’m not even sure I want this.

And yet here I am, on my second date in three days with a gorgeous man whom I can picture going on romantic picnics with…and afterward, ravishing him on the picnic blanket for good measure.

I’m so glad he can’t see my thoughts.

Is he mentally ravishing me somewhere as well? Maybe at one of his work sites, wearing Carhartt overalls, a hard hat, and a tight white T-shirt. Ooh, and now he’s got me pushed up against a wall…

“Sophie?”

Whoops, got a little carried away there.

“You just broke off mid-sentence. You were saying?”

Ah yes. What was I just talking about?

I’m totally embarrassed at the naughty turn my thoughts have taken, so I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Oh dear Lord
, I cannot believe I just asked that. Talk about pressure. He looks taken aback by my outburst, but recovers quickly.

“I guess I haven’t met the right one yet,” he says with a shrug.

“Besides,” he continues, “I could ask the same about you. Why isn’t the lovely Sophie seeing anyone?”

He thinks I’m lovely? Oh, Sophie, stop grinning like an idiot.

Okay, think. What do I say to that?

That I never met the right one? Because that would be a total, outright lie. I did meet the right one, and now he’s gone forever.

“I’m still looking. My last boyfriend was a total disaster.”

“A disaster?”

I fill Brett in on Barbie Joel.

“That’s just…well, fucked up,” he says.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” I laugh. “What about you? What’s your dating life been like?”

Brett fidgets a bit in his chair, and pulls his mouth to the side.

“I haven’t dated anyone in about two years.”

Whoa! I did not see that one coming. How could someone this gorgeous and lovable manage to stay single for two whole years?

“I used to date. A lot, actually. It was fun for a while, but I don’t know, I just found it so…” He looks around the room, grasping for the right word.

“Unfulfilling. Like a giant waste of time, going from one pointless relationship to the next, often with women I wasn’t really interested in. So, one day I decided that enough was enough.”

He looks at me intensely, gauging my reaction.

I feel my stomach plummet to the floor. Does he think that I’m a big waste of time?

Brett must see the confused look on my face. Leaning forward, he gently grabs both my hands. I feel my heart leap in my chest.

“Soph, I didn’t mean that I thought
this
was pointless. Not at all.” His tone is urgent. “I’m sorry, I thought I was making myself clear.”

Clear as mud, I think to myself.

“I like you.
A lot
.”

Oh? Maybe I wasn’t as off base as I thought.

“I really like you too,” I say.

The smile he gives me is blinding. And he’s still holding both of my hands. They look so small and pale in his calloused, tanned ones.

“I said I didn’t want to see anyone I wasn’t interested in. And, well, you’re interesting.”

That’s the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me.

“I know we’ve just met, so why don’t we take it slow, try the friends thing for a while, and see where it goes?”

“I’d really like that,” I say.

Okay. So we’ve established that we like each other.

I feel his hands still holding mine. Friends don’t hold hands, do they?

I pull my hands away and reach for my coffee.

Now what?

“Hey, I just remembered the text you sent me earlier today. What sort of new contract did you bid on?”

He leans forward, as if he’s telling me some great secret.

“Until now,” he continues, “Narayan and I have only had small residential contracts, usually only a handful of houses. Our focus has been to work with eco-friendly or reclaimed materials, and recycle things rather than send them to a landfill.”

He pauses, I think to see if I’m bored.

I’m riveted. His joy is bubbling over, and I can’t wait to hear about the big deal he’s landed. For someone who doesn’t open up to people easily (at least, according to Samira), he seems to have no problem talking to me.

“We’ve slowly built a client base over the years. It’s been tough going, because green, eco materials and building methods can be expensive. But, now that everyone is going green, we’re getting more attention than ever, and costs are going down.”

I listen carefully while sipping my café mocha.

Damn, this is good. (Sorry, Starbucks. Please forgive me.)

“The contract is for a large eco-community. It’s so cool, Soph. The houses will be powered with solar and wind energy, and…”

He tells me a lot more detail about the project, and I smile and nod along. He may as well be speaking Chinese. Note to self: look up bioswales when I get home.

He leans on his forearms, inadvertently emphasizing his muscular upper body.

“We found out today that we won the contract. We start breaking ground next month.”

“That’s incredible!” I say.

I reach over and give him a swift “friend” hug.

Translation: only our shoulders touch. Pushing one’s boobs into a guy’s chest is most definitel
y
out
of the friend zone. Though, from the way he’s been looking at me all day, I don’t think he’d mind.

“Well, now we have two things to celebrate this week,” I say.

His eyebrows quirk up.

“Narayan and Samira’s engagement, and your new contract,” I explain, listing them on my fingers.

“Yeah, it’s been an eventful week for Nar,” Brett says.

“We should do something to celebrate. Why don’t you all come over to my house for a barbecue tomorrow night?”

“Can I grill the steaks?”

Oh, he’s such a guy! At times, he reminds me of those perfect ads from the 1960s. Fit, blond, handsome…I can picture him in a striped apron, grilling steaks on a charcoal grill. Move over, Don Draper!

“Only if you promise not to burn them,” I say smugly.

“I’ll have you know that I am a grill master,” he retorts, imitating my smug tone.

“So am I.”

“Shall we have a little friendly competition then?” he asks.

I smile while biting my lower lip.

“You’re on.”

—

By this time it’s stopped raining, and I look at my watch. Turns out that we’ve been sitting here for three hours. How could the time have passed so quickly?

I’ve texted Samira, and we’ve made plans to have a barbecue at my house tomorrow night.

I’m more than a little excited.

Apart from my weekly hang-outs with Samira and occasionally visiting my parents, my social life has been nonexistent. I work, sleep, clean the house, and work some more. I’m one feline friend away from being the lonely neighborhood cat lady.

Brett slings his damp coat over his shoulder. “I need to run to Wal-Mart before I go home. Want to join me?”

“Umm, I guess I could.”

“I think it’s fair for both of us to see what we’re up against tomorrow. I’ll buy my ingredients, you buy yours, and we’ll compare,” he explains, a grin twitching the corners of his mouth.

This could be interesting.

“Sure, why not.”

We get up to leave, and just like before, he opens the door for me.

“You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, and follows me out to the parking lot.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It just seems like you have very good manners.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m a gentleman or not, but I’ll tell my dad you said so. He’ll be thrilled.”

I ask a bit about his family, and he tells me that he’s the baby. One brother and two sisters. They’re scattered all over the place due to work, but his parents still live in Edmonton. I can hear affection in his voice when he talks about his family.

Seriously, is this guy for real? He just seems too perfect.

There has to be a major flaw hiding somewhere. What other explanation could there be for him being single? Maybe he’s a commitment-phobe? A workaholic? Kicks puppies? Runs illegal gambling rings in his basement?

I have no idea.

And right now, I’m having too much fun to care.

We amble over to Wal-Mart, and I start mentally ticking off the ingredients I’ll need.

“Brett, do you want to play a game?”

“A game?”

“Ever hear of ‘Three Items from Wal-Mart’?”

He shakes his head. “How does it work?”

“You can only buy three items, and the goal is to freak out the cashier. The creepiest combination wins.”

“What do we do about groceries?”

“Well, since I don’t feel like shopping again tomorrow, let’s buy the groceries too, but save our three items for last.”

Brett tilts his head to the side and gazes at me for a moment. His lips twitch into an amused smile.

“I’m gonna creep the shit out of that cashier.”

—

We agree to meet at the front of the store in twenty minutes. Which items will he pick? A lot of people would be really unoriginal and buy condoms, lube, and some phallic object. I hope he’s more creative than that.

I grab some steaks, corn on the cob, and salad greens. Now for the fun part: What three items should I choose?

A creepy combo comes to mind, and I feel a burst of excitement. Will he think I’m weird, or just laugh? It occurs to me that this is a very good way to see if we have a similar sense of humor.