Kneeling in front of me, he carefully cleaned every bit of grape from the bottoms and tops of my feet and between my toes. When he hit a ticklish spot, I jerked. “Ah, Kate Corbin, the always serious investigative reporter, first on all the breaking news, is ticklish!” He grinned impishly.
“No, no, no!” I shouted as he began a brutal assault on my feet, pulling me toward him off the bucket. I fell to the floor and began rolling around, tossing and turning like a freakin’ animal. “Stop, please!” I began mock-crying. At this point I was lying on the concrete warehouse floor, flat on my back. He stopped immediately and leaned over me, a knee on either side of my hips, his hands planted on each side of my head. He was on top of me, essentially, and he was searching my eyes. There were tears in my eyes, but not sad tears.
“Are you seriously crying?”
“More like laugh-crying. I hate being tickled.” He jumped up to his feet and held his hands out for me.
“You scared me, Katy. I thought I had hurt you.”
“No, it’s just a little embarrassing to be tickled by an almost-stranger.”
“We’re friends, remember? We decided last night.”
“Oh right, friends,” I said hesitantly.
His eyes were trained on my mouth. “Friends,” he said again.
I nodded quickly and then looked away in embarrassment. I could feel red splotches appearing all over my face. My thoughts had gone way beyond friendship with Jamie, and I had only just met him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at his watch. He was wearing a plain black Luminox, the kind Navy SEALs wear.
“Are you a diver?”
He looked at his wrist again. “No, I got to hang out with the SEALs once and they were all wearing these watches. I thought it was cool, so I got myself one.” He smiled a really boyish and innocent grin.
“Why were you hanging out with the SEALs?”
“It was one of those school field trip things a long time ago,” he said quickly. “It’s eleven thirty, I need to go get cleaned up before we meet Chef Mark. I’ll meet you in the restaurant at noon?” I nodded. “Can you get back okay?”
“Yes, I’ll see you over there.”
Walking through the vineyard, I fantasized about what might’ve happened in those next few moments on that warehouse floor with Jamie as he hovered over my body. I would reach up and take his hat off, watching his hair fall to the sides of his cheeks. I would run my fingers through it, and then he would lean down to kiss me.
Just when his lips were about to touch mine, I was jolted from my daydream by the buzzing of my phone. It was a text.
Stephen: I had the super open ur apartment so I could return some of ur stuff.
What the hell? I thought.
Kate: STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE
The cursor rested just after the word “alone” before I hit SEND. Staring at it, I thought about my life in Chicago, and it made my stomach ache. I thought about Stephen with another woman. I thought about Rose and my mother and Just Bob, all alone, all their lives. I wondered what hurt more: the kind of loneliness you feel when no one is around, or the kind of loneliness you feel when the person who is supposed to love you doesn’t care at all, not even enough to fight with you, let alone fight for you. Have you ever felt lonely in a crowded room? Have you ever felt alone when you are not? It hurts far more, and I didn’t ask for that pain. I realized in that moment that Jamie made me feel that I could be, at the very least, at the bare minimum, worth coming home to.
I hit SEND Almost immediately, he responded.
Stephen: AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE A WRITER? IS THE F-BOMB THE BEST YOU CAN DO?
Kate: GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU PIECE OF SHIT.
Would Stephen fight for me?
Stephen: HAVE A NICE LIFE.
Guess not.
Page 7
* * *
Poetry While visiting my room and cleaning up, I decided to go back to a blazer and flats instead of heels. Heels somehow seemed out of place here. I headed toward the restaurant and caught Jamie standing in the doorway of his truck. Hearing me come toward him? he turned. “I have to meter really quick before we eat.” He was wearing a clean white T-shirt and black jeans with Converse. His hair was damp and slicked back. The growth on his face was thicker than the day before, and I wondered what it would feel like to brush my cheek against his.
I stood next to him and watched as he popped open a small container with test strips and then inserted one into the meter. He took a smaller device, a lancet, I assumed, and pricked his finger then smoothed the drop of blood over the strip extending from the meter.
“One hundred exactly. I’m good to go.”
“What do you do when it’s too high or too low?”
“Well, my ever-curious little kitten, I’ll tell you all about that tonight when we go sailing. You’ll need to know.” He winked.
That little tidbit made me nervous. “Why will I need to know?”