“Surely there was something you didn’t like.”
The milk steamer switched on behind the counter, filling the café space with noise. “Well, I suppose there were a few things,” Aria said tentatively. “Like I’m not sure Anita should write Jack ten haikus—that seems a bit much. Just one or two would do, don’t you think? I certainly didn’t write you that many.”
Ezra frowned. “It’s called creative license.”
“True,” Aria said quickly. “And . . . well, I loved Jack, I really did. But why was he so obsessed with building model train vignettes in his bedroom?” She grinned and touched his lips lightly with her finger. “You would never have done something as dorky as that.”
Two sharp lines appeared on the sides of Ezra’s mouth. “The model train scenes he created were symbolic. They were of the life he wanted, the perfect life he couldn’t attain.”
Aria stared fixedly at the stack of papers in her lap. “Oh. Okay. I guess I didn’t understand that.”
“It seems like you didn’t understand a lot.”
His acidic tone made Aria’s heart drop. “You told me you wanted me to be honest,” she squeaked. “I mean, those things are so minor, really.”
“No, they’re not.” Ezra turned away from Aria, staring at an ad on the wall for filterless French cigarettes. “Maybe the book sucks, like all the agents said. Maybe that’s why no one wants to represent me. And here I hoped to be the new Great American Novelist.”
“Ezra!” Aria laid her palms flat on her thighs. “The book is awesome. I promise.” But when she tried to grab his hand, he pulled it away and curled it in his lap.
“Hallo?”
A shadow fell over them, and Aria looked up. Standing over the loveseat was Klaudia. She wore a fitted blouse unbuttoned just enough to show off her cleavage, and her Rosewood Day skirt was rolled up a few times at the waist to accentuate her long legs. A pair of dark-framed eyeglasses perched on her head, making her look like a naughty librarian.
Aria jumped so hard the manuscript fell off her lap and onto the floor. “W-what are you doing here?” She scrambled to pick up the pages and secure them with a rubber band.
Klaudia shaped her long blond hair into a ponytail. “I meet you here for art history project, remember?”
It took Aria a moment to remember their conversation in the library. “I said we should meet here tomorrow, not today.”
“Oops!” Klaudia covered her hand with her mouth. “My bad!” Her eyes flicked from Aria to Ezra. An intrigued smile spread across her face. “Hi there!”
“Hi.” Ezra half rose, extended his hand, and gave Klaudia a much kindlier smile than Aria would have liked. “I’m Ezra Fitz.”
“I Klaudia Huusko. Exchange student from Finland.” Instead of shaking Ezra’s hand, Klaudia leaned down and kissed him on both cheeks, European-style. Then she knitted her brow. “Why I know you? Your name sound familiar.”
“I was a teacher at Rosewood Day last year,” Ezra offered in a friendly voice.
“No, that not it.” Klaudia shook her head, making her ponytail wobble. She squinted. “You not Ezra Fitz who writes the poetry, are you?”
Ezra looked startled. “Well, I’ve only published one poem—in a foreign journal.”
“Was it called ‘B-26’?” Klaudia’s eyes brightened.
“Well, yeah.” Ezra’s smile grew broader and more skeptical. “You’ve . . . read that?”
“Se tytto, se laulu!” Klaudia quoted in melodic Finnish. “Is beautiful! I have it pinned up on bedroom wall in Helsinki!”
Ezra’s mouth hung open. He glanced at Aria in an amazed way as if to say, Can you believe it? I have a fan! Aria wanted to smack him upside the head. Didn’t he see that this was merely part of Klaudia’s sex kitten act? She’d never read his poetry—she’d probably seen his name on the manuscript at the library earlier today and Googled him!
“I’ve read that poem, too,” Aria boasted, suddenly feeling competitive. “It was really beautiful.”
“Oh, but it even prettier translated into Finnish,” Klaudia insisted.
A barista approached and Klaudia moved closer to Ezra to let him pass. “I have always wanted to be a writer, so this is very exciting for me to talk to a real published poet! Have you written other beautiful poetries?”
“I don’t know how beautiful they are,” Ezra said mock-bashfully, clearly enjoying being admired. “I’m working on a novel right now.” He pointed at the manuscript that now sat on the ottoman next to them.
“Oof!” Klaudia pressed her hand to her ample chest. “A whole novel? Is amazing! I hope to read it someday!”
“Well, actually, if you’re really interested . . .” He placed the novel in Klaudia’s hands. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”
“What?” Aria shrieked. “She can’t read it!”