Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (6 page)

“I like it fine.”

“Okay, I can keep talking to you then,” Natalie said with a grin. “I get a little carried away, I know. But you should see the spectacle I make of myself when I catch a customer
reading
him. I just…fly out of myself…out my
routines of solitude
to talk about the book. Or about Mendón. He’s reclusive, but god, I hate the term ‘recluse’ too. It makes it sound like he’s a weirdo. As if there’s anything wrong with wanting a little
silence
now and then. He has his own routines of solitude, you know?”

Julian was watching her with an inscrutable expression on his face. She felt her neck grow hot. “Oh jeez,
I’m
the weirdo. Right now. Just going on and on...”

“No.” Julian said quietly, almost sadly, “I think your enthusiasm for Mendón illuminates this room better than any light, and I have a new appreciation for him for that reason alone.”

A thick silence fell between them. It seemed he wished to say something more but he didn’t, and now she wished she had said less. Her father used to tease her that she was like an old engine that needed cranking, but once it got going…

“You have customers and I should go,” Julian said, rising.

“I do…?”

Behind Natalie, the bell above the door jangled and a gaggle of elderly women in felt hats and gloves came in. They cooed and gabbled over the pastry display and pondered the difference between a mocha and hot chocolate.

Julian drew on his coat and gathered his belongings. “Good night, Natalie.”

She watched him go, rubbing her arms that had broken out in gooseflesh. He’d taken the warmth of the room with him, leaving her cold and with the bizarre sense that he was
disappointed
in her, though she couldn’t fathom why.

“Does anyone
work
here?” one woman squawked.

Natalie plastered on a lightless smile. She attended the customers mechanically, her thoughts on the conversation with Julian. By the end of the night, after turning it over and over in her mind a thousand times, she came to one conclusion: she had said too much and made him uncomfortable.
You babbled like a maniac. No wonder he left. He wanted some small talk, not a discourse on Mendón.
She half-wished Niko or Liberty were there so she could say, “See? This is why I don’t talk to people. I just mess it up.”

After closing, Natalie retreated to her apartment, to her couch, and took up her copy of
Coronation.
She dove deep, not coming up to the surface until she was tired enough to fall immediately and safely into sleep.

#

The sedan pulled into the circular drive of towering condo complex and Julian Kovač climbed out before the driver could open the door for him.

“Good night, sir,” the driver said, his face professionally impassive.

Julian slammed the door shut, and muttered a good night. He strode up to building, taking the concrete stairs two at a time. Columns of lights—the skyscrapers of the Financial District—rose around him, buffeting the howling wind and breaking it up into manageable gusts.

Bernie, the night doorman, greeted him with a warm, “Good evening, Mr. Kovač,” and held open the spotless glass door. Julian muttered another greeting, and yet a third to Hank, the security guard at the front desk. Once inside the confines of the elevator, he spat a curse in Spanish, and jabbed the button marked ‘15PH’.

The elegant tone of the elevator announced the floor and opened on a small anteroom of rich, maroon carpet. Lights glowed in art deco sconces of pewter and gold. There were no other doors but for his. He keyed in a security code on the wall panel, and it swung soundlessly open.

The penthouse was dark, illuminated by the city that glittered through the immense windows that composed one wall. Julian wended between elegant chairs and tables and sofas until he was standing before them.

He looked out over the sparkling constellations of the city and the pool of darkness that was the bay. The Golden Gate Bridge to his far left and the Bay Bridge to his right hung like starry garlands over the blackness, their luminescence converging and blending with Sausalito and Oakland.

“Thousands of writers in the world,” Julian murmured. “Astronomical odds. A coincidence of outrageous proportions.” He leaned his forehead against the cool glass; his skin still burned when he thought of her, of how her rich dark eyes had shown when she spoke of her favorite author. “So much love…” He sighed. “I couldn’t have written anything worse.”

“I met someone,” Natalie said when there was a lull—finally—in the good-natured bickering between Liberty and Marshall. They lowered their cocktails with comic sameness, and swiveled their heads toward her.

“What?” Liberty’s mouth was agape. “You’re joking.”

“Ssh!” Marshall hissed, as if silence were possible in his favorite noisy bar on Market Street. “Did you hear that cracking sound? That was hell freezing over.”

Natalie gave him a dirty look. “Your support is duly noted. And no, I’m not joking.”

“Well?” Liberty rolled her hand. “Who is he? Spill it.”

Natalie shrugged. “Not sure I want to, now.”

“Don’t get in a snit,” Marshall said. “Look at it from our perspective: Halley’s comet only comes every seventy years…”

Liberty jabbed him with her elbow. “Marshall, zip it.” She patted Natalie’s hand. “Don’t mind him; he’s premenstrual. Tell us everything. We’ll behave, I promise.”

Natalie felt the weight of her friends’ attention and wished mightily she had kept her mouth shut. “It’s nothing. He’s just someone…a customer at the café.”

“And? A regular? What’s his name? What’s he look like? What’s he do?”

“Yes, he’s a regular. His name is Julian—”

“Julian, Julian…” Marshall mused. “Professional chess player? Debate team captain?”

Natalie ignored him. “Julian Kovač. He’s very smart, extraordinarily good-looking—”

“
Extraordinarily
good-looking.” Liberty nodded knowingly at Marshall. “Not just
ordinary
good-looking.”

“
Yes
,” Natalie countered. “To be perfectly honest, he’s gorgeous. And I’m not sure what he does. Writes, I guess. We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“And how far
have
you gotten?”

Natalie smirked. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Sure did.”

“We’ve just been…talking.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Marshall smirked into his martini. “Honey, you aren’t a very good story-teller.”

Natalie was prepared to let the matter drop. Without juicy details, her friends lost interest. But she eyed the pair, snickering between themselves and sharing confident, knowing looks. Natalie crossed her arms over her chest.

“And he practically saved my life.”

This had the desired effect. Again, cocktails were set down with a clatter, and the pair rounded on her again. She told them about the two men who had made advances toward her and how Julian had threatened them until they left.

“Jesus,” Liberty breathed. “Nat, those guys could have been bad news. I mean, like the worst.”

“I know.” Natalie shuddered. “But Julian was so smart about it.”

“My hero!” Marshall exclaimed. “You should have banged his brains out in gratitude.”

Natalie’s face turned scarlet. As a quick diversion, she told them of his nightly writing routine. “And if he hadn’t been there that night, I don’t want to think what might have happened.”

Liberty twirled a swizzle stick around her glass thoughtfully. “So, let me get this straight: he comes in every night for, like months, writes in some little book, and you guys have chatted and whatnot…and that’s it. Have you gone out with him? Outside the café, I mean?”

“No,” Natalie said. “We…”

“He’s weird,” Liberty declared and sat back in her chair with finality.

“He’s not weird…”

“Maybe he’s gay!” Marshall exclaimed. “Can I have him?”

The smug surety in Liberty’s face withered a bit. “You always think everyone is gay until proven otherwise.”

“I’m just using the opposite paradigm you straight people set a million years ago.”

“Which is?”

“Assuming
no one
is gay until proven otherwise.”

“How regressive of you.”

Natalie retreated into silence as her friends continued their bickering, her static love affair defeated by their own. They didn’t bring up Julian again and neither did she. After an awkward cab ride home, Natalie stepped out and said her goodnights. Marshall walked her to the white iron gate in front of her place.

“Never let it never be said that I am not as gallant as Sir Julian.”

Natalie kissed him on the cheek. “Never.”

“And I’m happy for you,” he said in a rare, quiet tone. “If you’re happy then I’m happy.”

“I am,” Natalie said.

“Good,” Marshall said. “But when you
do
bang his brains out, I had better be the first to know.” He cocked his head. “Wait. That came out wrong.”

Natalie laughed and gave him a playful shove.

Liberty stuck her head out the taxi window. “The meter is running, not that you care. I’m not spending a dime over ten bucks, Mr. Moneybags.”

“She’s a delicate little flower, isn’t she?” Marshall winked. “Mustn’t keep her waiting.”

Natalie watched him hop back into the cab and wave good-bye to her from inside its darkened confines. “Too late.”

#

Julian was absent from Niko’s for three excruciatingly long days, finally returning on Monday night. Natalie watched him approach with apprehension. Their last encounter had ended strangely and he’d left so abruptly. She vowed not to talk about Mendón with such fanaticism again; it was clearly off-putting.
If Julian’s an author too, maybe he’s got one of those fragile writer egos.
The notion didn’t seem to fit, but then Natalie realized she didn’t know him well enough to say for sure.

A few minutes after ten, when the café was empty, Julian set down his pen, stretched his fingers, and went up to the counter. “I would like it if you joined me again.” He wore that inexplicably shy smile. “Unless you have to work or…”
              “No, no.” Natalie endeavored to keep her voice in a normal octave range. “I mean, no, I don’t have work to do now. I could…uh, join you.”

Once again she picked out a pastry and once again he paid for it, carried it to the table for her, and pulled out her chair, not sitting until she had. A silence fell at once. She didn’t want to press him on a subject he didn’t want to talk about but was at a loss for anything else.

“How is...how’s your hand?” she asked lightly. “Working hard, from what I can see.”

“Hard enough.” He smiled dryly—he seemed to know how vague that sounded—and ran his fingers through the loose black curls of his hair. “I’m sure you’ve already decided I’m a rude bastard for not talking about my work. I never talk about it. With anyone. Not until it’s finished. A writerly affectation, I guess.”

“I had wondered.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Julian said quickly. “I feel like if I talk about it while in the process, it disturbs it. Disrupts the flow. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous, but it’s true.”

“Not ridiculous,” Natalie said, “but is that what you do for a living?”

Julian gave a half-nod. “And you go to State? What are studying?”

“Accounting,” Natalie replied. It hadn’t escaped her that he changed the subject with amazing alacrity.
He doesn’t want to talk about it. Let it go.
“Niko, my boss, got me started.”

“How so?”

“You sure you want to hear this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, um…okay. Three years ago, Niko fired his accountant. The guy hadn’t been doing much of anything but coming in for a few hours once a month, fiddling with papers, and helping himself to lots of free coffee. The café’s books were a mess and I offered to help.”

“And it was then your knack for numbers manifested.”

She smiled. “Something like that. Niko appreciated my offer though neither of us had great hopes I could do much. But I was able to get the registers in order, and I was glad to tell Niko his accountant hadn’t been a thief. And Niko, being the overly generous man that he is, gave me a bonus in my next paycheck. That I promptly spent on books.” Natalie picked at her blueberry muffin. “I wasn’t doing much else but reading, so when Niko suggested I go to school for accounting, it just made sense. Anyway. Turns out I really like it.”

“That’s a gift,” Julian said.

“A gift?”

“Knowing your life’s passion and pursuing it.”

“I don’t know that it’s a passion, but it’s definitely what I want to do after college. It seems safe…”