FUSE (9 page)

I turn and I'm instantly aware of the genuine concern in his face. I know, from what Bridget's shared with me, that he has a kind and compassionate soul. "I'm fine."

"You look tired." He moves around me until he's facing me directly. "We're not that busy tonight. If you want to take off, you can."

I want to do that more than anything, but I know how easily replaceable I am. This job is not my future but it's my present and the tips that I've been collecting are helping me save for school. I don't want to have to keep serving drinks when I start law school. I want a cushion and the money I'm making during my shifts here is enough to give me a sense of security. When I combine the average tips I bring home each night with my scholarship, I have every faith that I'll be able to focus solely on my studies for at least the first year. One year at a time is manageable for me right now. It's as far into the future as I can see.

"I'm tough," I struggle to say the words through a weak grin. "I'll stay."

"I can tell that you're tough." His voice softens. "Any woman who can handle working in a place like this right after she moves to the city has to be tough."

It's a compliment that I'm going to take to heart. "I like working here."

"We like having you here." His hands jumps back to my shoulder but his touch is different this time. There's less concern in his eyes. "I can drive you home after your shift if you want."

I'm going to guess that those words translate into '
I can drive it into you after your shift if you want.
' I'm basing that assumption purely on the fact that Elliott is essentially giving me a seductive shoulder rub right here in the middle of the pub.

I can't sleep with him. It would only complicate my life at this point. He's attractive and he'd be an incredibly fun distraction but I'd regret it the moment he rolled off of me. I know that.

"I'll wait for you after your shift." He pushes his fingers so hard into my tense muscles that I almost moan out loud from the sensation.

I take a heavy step back. I need to stop him before this becomes even more awkward than it already is. "I can't tonight," I lie. "I have plans."

"Another night then," he suggests.

"Like never," I whisper under my breath as I walk away.

***

I
sense that he's close even before I see him standing across the street. He's dressed in the same dark coat he's usually wearing. The only difference tonight is that he has a wool cap pulled over his hair. At first glance, I may not have recognized him but I felt that he was near me. I can't define what that is but it's real and I feel a sense of relief wash over me knowing that he hasn’t given up on our friendship.

"Let's go, Zoe." Bridget pulls on my forearm. "I don't want to miss the train. I hate it when we have to wait for the next one."

"Go on." I gesture down the street. "You go. I have something to take care of. I'll be home later."

"Later?" Her gaze holds mine. "Do you have a date?"

"Yes," I say because it's much easier than trying to explain the complicated parts of my friendship with Beck. I just want her to go so I can cross the street and face him.

"I'll hide in my room." She leans forward to kiss me on my cheek. "You might want to bring him back to our place and I don't want to get in the way."

That won't be happening but I'm touched that she thinks it's a possibility. "You need to hurry, Bridget, or you'll miss the train."

"Right," she calls back to me as she sets out in a half run down the sidewalk.

I look up to where Beck is still standing. I take a determined step towards the street but his hand juts into the air to halt me. He motions for me to stay where I am.

I nod silently in return as I watch him weave between two parked cars until he's standing close to the traffic whizzing past him. He carefully sprints across the street, avoiding the cars that are fast approaching.

"I'm sorry," I spit out the moment his foot touches the sidewalk. "I'm sorry for running off like that."

"Zoe." He exhales sharply as he pulls my body into his chest. "I've been so worried about you. I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

In this moment in time every fear I have is erased and all I can focus on is the sound of his heart beating against my ear and the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around me.

B
eck

"We can go to my apartment if you'd be more comfortable there," I offer as we step through the steel door into my studio. "I can call ahead to get some food delivered if you're hungry."

She walks around me. "I like it here. Can we stay here?"

I can't say no to her even though I want to take her back to my place and take her into my bed. I want to taste her and feel her but more than anything I want to hold her until she feels safe enough that she can tell me about her demons.

"We can do anything you want, Zoe." I pull the wool cap off my head before slipping my coat off.

She smiles at me. "I want to be here with you right now."

I rake my hand through my hair. I know it's messy. I know she doesn’t give two shits about what I look like. I don't even know if she finds me attractive. "Do you want some water? I think Albert keeps water and juice in the fridge by his desk."

She nods as she pushes her coat off to reveal the dark t-shirt emblazoned with the logo from the pub. She's breathtaking. Her hair is tied into a tight ponytail. Her delicate features are on full display.

I open the small door of the fridge that's sitting on a table behind Albert's desk. I pull two chilled bottles of water from it. I hand her one silently before I open the other and take a heavy swallow. I'm parched. I waited on the street across from the pub not sure if I'd talk to her tonight or not. The moment her eyes caught mine, I knew I wouldn't be able to walk away without touching her and reassuring her that I still wanted to be her friend. I've been so focused on what I can gain from our friendship that I haven't bothered thinking about how I can help her. I know that I can. All the proof I needed of that was given to me the other day when she stood on the street and unraveled right in front of my eyes.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" I ask it even though I'd promised myself I wouldn’t. I'd weighed Clive's advice against my own burning curiosity. Obviously, I can't contain the unyielding urge I feel within me to know what caused her to react the way she did.

She unfastens the plastic cap and takes a small sip of water. "I thought I saw someone I knew. It was someone I don't want to see again."

It's a start. It's a vague start but I'm not going to waste it. "Is it someone you met when you moved here?"

She shakes her head slightly from side-to-side. "No. It's someone from back home."

"Where's home?"

Her eyes briefly scan my face and I feel an almost immediate sense of dread. If she's uncomfortable telling me about where she grew up, I doubt that we'll ever get to a place where she'll feel open enough to divulge who she thought she saw and why it caused the reaction it did.

"I'm from Philadelphia," she says softly. "I lived there my entire life."

I smile at the confession. "I like Philadelphia."

"You do?" Her face brightens. "You've been there?"

I had a large gallery showing there five years ago. It was in conjunction with a charity event and it was covered by all the major press outlets. She would have been nineteen-years-old then, probably immersed in the things college kids do. "I've been a few times."

"I miss it." Her bottom lips trembles slightly before she takes another swallow of water. "My folks live there."

Listening to her talk about her parents and seeing the emotion that she's trying to hold in reminds me of how young she still is. I've assumed since I met her that her move to Manhattan was a big one for her. Now, watching her shiver, I have no doubt that she misses her parents and whoever else she left behind.

"You're cold, Zoe." I scan the room quickly. "I can turn up the heat in here."

"No." She pats the couch next to her. "Can you sit here?"

I acquiesce. I've wanted to take that spot since we arrived but crowding her either physically or emotionally isn't going to help her. "I bet I can find a place to bring us some cocoa."

She raises her head slightly so her eyes meet mine. "No one delivers cocoa in the middle of the night."

"This is Manhattan." I lean back to pull my smartphone out of the front pocket of my jeans. "You can get anything delivered any time day or night."

She cocks a brow. "Anything?"

"Anything." I scroll my finger across the phone's screen. "You tell me what you want and I'll get it for you."

***

I
couldn't have been more than twelve-years-old the last time I had chicken soup and dumplings. My mother made it for me and Jax. He was sick. He might have been faking it to get her attention, but regardless it resulted in the two of us eating warm, homemade, chicken soup.

It's over twenty years later and I'm sitting on the floor in my studio, in front of the expensive wooden coffee table I had imported from Italy, eating chicken soup with Zoe. I'm almost certain that her request to have it was just to test my theory that you can have anything delivered in this city at any time.

"Do you like it?" I nod towards her half-finished bowl.

"It's good." She skims the spoon over the top. "I can't believe you found a place to bring it here."

"I knew I'd be able to." I push my empty bowl to the middle of the table. "I order in a lot. I know all the good places. I can make you a list."

She mimics my movements and pushes her bowl too. "I like to cook. I cooked a lot at home."

"Do you have a roommate?"

"A roommate?" She tilts her head slightly.

I adjust my legs under the table. I doubt I'll be able to move tomorrow. Sitting on the floor isn't doing my back any favors. "Do you live with anyone?"

"Bridget." She sighs. "She's one of the other servers at the pub."

"Do you cook dinner for Bridget?"

She leans back slightly to study my face. I know she's trying to figure out where the conversation is headed. "I don't. She eats out most of the time."

"You can cook for me." I turn to face her directly. "I'd love if you came to my apartment to cook for me."

Z
oe

When I agreed to come to his studio with him I had everything planned out in my mind. I was going to sit down on the couch with him and explain what happened the other day when I bolted into the taxi and ran off. I was going to be mature about it and tell him that I thought I saw the father of the man I once loved. I had rehearsed in my mind how the conversation would go and I knew, before we stepped foot into his studio, that I'd likely need to tell him about Tim and what happened that day back in Philadelphia.

Everything fell off course when he asked if I wanted anything. I'd suggested chicken soup with dumplings because I thought it would give me time to find my courage. I'd lost it when he sat next to me on the couch and smiled into my eyes. I'm scared that when he understands the true reason why I left Philadelphia that he'll look at me differently. I don’t want that. I like that to him I'm just Zoe, the server from the pub who he likes hanging out with.

He hasn't asked me any questions about what happened the other day since our food arrived. He's been talking about a museum in London and how they want some of his paintings. I still want to ask him whether he can donate one to the non-profit I volunteer at that helps women re-entering the work force. It's the reason I was creeping out in front of his building that morning when Albert saw me and brought me up here. It was the same day I'd taken off under the weight of my fear of seeing Tim

"Who did you think you saw the other day, Zoe?"

I'm not looking at him. My eyes are focused on the clock that hangs over Albert's desk. I have two choices. I can tell him that it's late since it's nearing three in the morning now and that I need to go home or I can tell him the truth. I've never told a stranger what happened.

I turn my head slowly to look at him. He's shifted his body slightly so he's now facing me directly. His elbow is resting against the edge of the coffee table, his hand supporting his head.

"I thought that I saw a man named Tim," I hesitate as I hear myself saying his name. "I knew him when I lived back in Philadelphia."

"Tim," he repeats it back to me. "Is he a relative?"

He would have been. I'd be his daughter-in-law right now if things hadn't changed so much. "We're not related," I offer back quickly. "He's the father of someone I knew there."

"Of a friend?" he presses.

I dart my eyes back to the clock and the comfort it provides. It's my out if I can't do this. I've seen how understanding Beck is. I know he wouldn’t hesitate if I told him I had to go but that's the path that a coward would take. I'm tired of being a coward. I don't want to be one anymore.

"I was engaged to Tim's son." My voice only cracks slightly with the admission. I glance down at where the small diamond ring used to sit on my left hand. It took me months to remove it and even now, more than a year later, I still rub my thumb against my ring finger, searching for it in vain.

"You were engaged?" His voice shifts. The surprise is unmistakable. "I didn't know you were engaged."

It's the words that a person says when they find out a deep dark secret about someone they share a bond with. Beck and I just met. Our friendship is still finding its foundation. You don’t talk about things like this when you barely know someone. In my case, I don't talk about things like this with the people I've known forever.

"I don't talk about it much," I concede. I don't need to go into detail about how I shut down emotionally. My parents may have tried to help me, but the pain they were in over the loss of my future was just as tangible as what I was feeling. They always said they wanted the best for me and to them, marrying their best friend Tim's son was it.

"What was his name?"