"And your room?"
"That after."
"You gonna tell me?"
"If you agree to help."
I shake my head.
"Then let's go." She pushes herself to her feet. Offers her hand to shake. "Thirty minutes. We'll meet downstairs. See who gets the best stuff."
Fuck, the brightness in her eyes.
There's no way I can deny that.
This is a good idea.
Something fun.
To fill both our heads.
I nod. "You're on."
We shake. Set our timers. Go for it.
I give her a head start.
All right, I watch the way her dress falls over her ass as she walks away.
Same difference.
Thirty minutes later, I'm downstairs with a cart full of cheap decorations. White Christmas lights. Simple black frames. Rectangular black pillows. Planters full of cacti.
Eighteen-year-old Brendon would fucking kill me.
I'm yuppie scum.
And there's Kaylee with a full cart. Pink string lights. Heart pillows. Same planters full of cacti. One of those mass-produced paintings of the ocean.
She holds it up. "I just wanted to see your face."
"And?"
"Perfection." She sets it aside. "The corporations have us, huh?"
"Pretty sure I'm doomed."
"If you buy stuff at Ikea to decorate your small business, is that corporate or not?"
"Don't look at me. I didn't go to college."
"Me either. Not yet."
I never thought about those kinds of technicalities. I was an angry kid without responsibilities. One who'd never ever wanted for anything. Who'd never worried about anything.
Easy to decry three-dollar meatballs and cheap decorations when you have the time and money to make your own dinner, sew together your own jeans.
You get older. Start making compromises. Realize some of your ideals were naïve.
But owning my own business—even one adorned in Ikea decorations—that warms me like nothing else does.
She smiles. "You're going to do it."
"I was always going to do it."
"No... you weren't. I know you. I know every single one of your facial expressions."
"I have expressions?"
"Barely. But you do."
"You have a room to furnish."
"You saying you can't handle it?"
"You baiting me?"
She shakes her head.
But she is.
She has no idea how much she's baiting me.
We pick out a bed, a bookshelf, a chair, a handful of decorations. It's not a lot. Just enough for the room to scream Kaylee. Just enough for the room to feel like home.
Her eyes go to the sign next to the elevator. The ones that label the cafe on the third floor. "I guess I can give the three-dollar meatballs a chance."
"Generous."
"I think so too."
The elevator dings as its doors slide open. I motion after you.
She steps inside and presses her back against the metal wall.
I pull out my phone. Check my texts from Ryan. Manning has been an absent owner for years. Ryan and I more or less manage the place.
We try to check with each other about any changes—schedules, pricing, difficult clients, even what brand of coffee we keep on hand—but it's a formality.
Neither of us listens.
Brendon: I want to do it. Me and you. Or the four of us.
Ryan: You know I'm off relationships.
Brendon: And I?
Ryan: Only have eyes for Kaylee. You sure about this?
Brendon: Yeah.
Ryan: You call Anna?
Brendon: You call anyone?
Ryan: Fair enough. I'll let Dean and Walker know. Can you meet with a lawyer Friday?
Brendon: I'm booked all day. But I'll make it work.
"Ryan?" Kaylee asks.
"Yeah." I slip my phone into my pocket. Try to wipe my smile off my face.
She notices. Bites her lip. "You told him."
I nod.
"It's really happening?"
"There's a lot of legal shit first, but—"
She throws her arms around me and buries her head in my chest. "Congrats."
"Thanks." I press my palm between her shoulder blades, over her cardigan.
It's not like with other women.
I feel Kaylee in my bones.
She doesn't hide her sigh when she pulls back.
There's something up with her. Something she isn't saying.
Her eyes find mine. "How is he?"
"Same as always."
"Pining and moody?"
I chuckle. "Don't let him hear you say that."
"He knows."
He does. Again, I motion after you.
Kaylee nods a thank you and steps into the lobby. The cafe is around the corner. It's set up cafeteria style, with food in fridges, steam trays, baskets of fruit everywhere.
She grabs a teal tray and places it on the metal railing in front of a sneeze guard. Her gaze flits to the picture menu board. "Veggie meatballs too. This is gourmet."
I grab a tray and place it next to hers. My body begs me to move closer. To wrap my arms around her. To throw her on that table, roll her skirt up her thighs, and rub her over those cotton panties.
I'm imagining her panties.
That blue pair with Paradise written on the crotch in black.
Fuck, has there ever been an article of clothing that accurate?
I force myself to stay in place. So there's room between us.
She orders the veggie meatballs.
I get the regular meatballs. And two fountain drinks. Kay fills them. I pay.
We find a table by the window.
Yeah, it looks out on a parking lot then on the 405, but it's still a nice view. The sky is a beautiful blue. And the light from the sun is casting highlights and shadows all over the room.
Kaylee slides into the seat across from mine and hands over my iced tea. She wraps her lips around her straw and takes a long sip. "Not bad."
I motion to our plates. "All for under ten dollars."
"And..."
"Food tastes better when it's cheap."
"I get half off everything at The Pizza Kitchen. I never want to eat cheap restaurant food again." She picks up her fork, stabs a veggie meatball, holds it up and examines it. "No offense."
"If you don't like it, I'll make you something when we get home."
Her lips purse. "Or I could have an almond butter and jelly sandwich." She offers me her fork. "You want one?"
"Sure." I let my fingers brush hers as I take her fork, bring it to my lips, suck the snack off the metal silverware.
It's better than what I'd expect for three dollars, but it's not exactly fine dining.
I hand back the fork. "Not bad."
She stabs a veggie ball and stares at it like it might just kill her. "Okay. I'll give it a shot." She bites half of it, chews, swallows. "Not horrible." She stabs a piece of broccoli—her plate comes with steamed vegetables—and holds it up. "No one could mess this up, right?"
"I have faith in you."
She flips me off. Chews. Swallows.
"If you're not going to tell me, I'm going to guess."