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“Well, go and enjoy yourself.”
“Will do.”
I settled at Pepperfield’s. It’s a pizzeria, bar, and social place with bowling and several pool tables. There’s also a stage where locals come in and perform at. I think if Nadia finds herself out and about, she’s bound to end up here.
But another part of me doesn’t want her to show up. There’s a part of me that wants to protect myself. Something tells me that being far from her is the only way to save myself from heartbreak. But, after I buy myself a draft beer, the several looks I receive from women alert me that there are plenty of options this evening.
There’s an attractive blonde with strawberry highlights who takes peeks at me. I’m hesitant to ask her to slide down the barstools or if I should hop down a few. There’s a part of me that wishes it wasn’t this awkward.
As a forty-two-year-old man, it’s hard trying to meet people. If I’m honest with myself, I am not trying to meet people. I only want to see Nadia again. I’ve analyzed this situation, and I see it like this. Nadia will be pulled to go out tonight. She’s been cooped up with her famous grandmother for over a week. I know how restless she gets when she’s cooped up. I can only imagine Nadia stepping out to see what the town offers. I place her on this road. This road provides many things; boutiques, coffee shops, bars, and this place. This place is the busiest spot on this road. Not only that, but it has sparkly lights, fairy lights, and maybe something of that feminine joyfulness. Knowing Nadia, a spot like this will catch her eye, and at the very least, she will step inside. And here I am, on the stool closest to the door. Which, in all honesty, sets me up to see anyone who walks past the bar or into the bar. Like I see Isabella and Martha shimmy themselves through the front doors. It’s inevitable; I have to speak.
“Hey there, ladies,” I say.
Martha’s eyes enlarge, and a broad smile spreads across her face. She nudges Isabella. Isabella, wearing a tiny fit blue dress, tosses her hair over her shoulder and snuggles up close to me.
I can smell her fruity lotion, and it tickles my nose. I hold back a sneeze out of kindness.
“Hey there, Joaquin.” Isabella’s beams.
“Hey, Bella, what’s going on?” I ask. I hold my beer tight as if she will snatch it from me. I don’t know why I feel possessive. But I feel like she’s after something that belongs to me.
“How’s that lovelyside of the road abodetreating you this past week? Is your business back?”
Isabella is a handful. A lover of drama. As soon as Melody, Adam’s mom fled her responsibility and left me heartbroken at the literal altar, Isabella phoned me later that week. Her persistence eventually paid off for her. Two years ago, when I hit a low and would consider having sex with any available woman, Isabella showed up to my shop to whisper she wasn’t wearing any underwear. I flipped my open sign to close and fucked her in the bathroom. After that, we continued this exciting energy for about a year on and off. Eventually, I closed the door as my desire for her dwindled, and her incapacity to have thriving conversations without a heavy dose of drama became a complete turn-off.
“It’s going. Thank God!” I exclaim.
“Hi, Martha.”
She gives me a shady smile back as if she’s in on a secret, and the reality is with these two women, there probably is one.
A random woman strolls past the door. I lift my head to ensure it isn’t who I wish it was.
No, Nadia.
“I met that foxy woman who crashed at your place the other day,” Martha confesses.
My blood boils as I struggle to maintain a poker face. Isabella searches my expression for any chance to create a story in her head.
“Oh, cool. I hope she’s doing well here.” I distance myself from their assumptions.
Anyone that takes a glance at Nadia can’t deny her beauty. I’m sure they assume I would find her attractive. Our rare situation of being forced to stay in each other’s presence would add natural pressure to possibly develop feelings. Still, I know how to appear grumpy. The pain I’ve suffered in the avenue of relationships has given me a natural pouty face.
“Didn’t know she was Delores Vitale’s granddaughter,” Isabella adds as the bartender approaches us.
She places two beverage napkins in front of them. The blonde at the end of the bar who gave me eyes before these two popped up has relocated to a table with a friend. I probably looked like I was waiting on Bella and Martha.
“Oh, yes. I found that out when I led her to her house.”
“All that time she was in your home, she didn’t mention that?” Of course, Isabella will judge and theorize something as trivial as this.
“Name-dropping isn’t Nadia’s thing. Who knows what other celebrities she may know. She is a reporter in LA. I’m not sure how much something like that matters to her.” I shrug.
“Well, they were outside the high school searching for Ms. Vitale’s signature on the willow tree.” Martha laughs. “There’s no way they could’ve found that.”
I giggle to keep them from thinking I’m defensive of Nadia or her grandma.
“That tree is quite marked up,” I say.
