“Can’t wait, buddy.”
I threw my sweaty clothes on and then she donned a robe and walked me to the front door, careful to stay out of view from anyone that might be walking by on the sidewalk.
When I awkwardly turned to say goodbye, her hands were covering her face.
“Don’t make it weird,” she said, her voice muffled through her fingers and I laughed but felt relieved. We really were on the same page.
“Have a good night, Lior.”
Her hands slid from her face and I felt my heart give a tug. Dammit.
“You too, Graham. Give B a hug from me.”
I hurried down the front steps and turned to wave. She waved back and then shut the door. With a long sigh I walked back home to my white-on-white home and my sweet old dog, wondering what the hell we’d just gotten ourselves into. Because despite what we’d both said, there had been some pretty clear fireworks between us, and I knew, at least for me, it was going to take a lot to forget them.
We met the next day, as agreed. And, after some initial awkwardness, returned to our usual banter as we took a slow, ambling walk followed by a quick coffee at Joe’s, before Lior had to hurry off to get to a job. But not before crouching down on the pavement beside Brontë and having a private conversation with her. I watched my old girl’s tail give the sidewalk two resolute thwacks, and then Lior gave her a last kiss on the head, waved goodbye to me and Joe, and walked away.
“I like that one,” Joe said and I eyed him with surprise. He’d never said that about Nadia. Not even in the beginning when she’d been on her best behavior, tolerating my love for the cozy little coffee shop before slowly removing herself from our mornings here in favor of a slicker cafe a couple blocks over.
“Yeah,” I said, not offering up anything more. But I could feel the old man’s eyes watching me.
“A woman who gets down on your dog’s level is a woman you want to keep around.”
“Don’t think I don’t know it, Joe.”
“What’s the hesitation then?”
“I think I need therapy.”
“Don’t we all.”
“I have a habit of picking a certain kind of woman. I’m worried Lior?—”
“She isn’t that type.”
I laughed. “You just think she’s cute.”
“Cute,” he said, waving his hand. “Cute is not a word one uses for women like her.”
I sighed and nodded.
“I know, Joe,” I said. “I know that all too well.”
A group of five entered the cafe and Joe pushed up from his seat.
“Best get back inside. See you tomorrow?”
“That you will.”
Alone again with Brontë, my mind returned to Lior. To her body pressed to mine. To the sound of her breath when we’d grown still, our voices and bodies quieted. There was something about her that made me want to take a sledge hammer to my concerns – both my penchant for manipulative women and her lifestyle in the limelight. I knew she had demons to contend with too though. And so friends we would be, as long as we didn’t keep veering.
“Timing,” I said to Brontë. “It’s a bitch.”
Chapter 28
Lior
I checked the time on my phone. Eight a.m. I looked down the street, a little smile on my face in anticipation of seeing them come into view.
