Caught Up in Us (3 page)

“Chelsea is great. Very eclectic.
Perfect for you,” he said.

I stared at him sharply. I
resented the assumption that he thought he still knew me. “How
would you know?”

“Know what?”

“What’s perfect for me. How would
you know?”

“It just seems very you. Chelsea,
that is,” he answered, stumbling on his words as I dug
in.

“But you don’t know me anymore.
You don’t know a thing about me.”

He nodded once, taking my
brusqueness on the chin. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m
sorry.”

“For what? What are you sorry for,
Bryan?”

“For…” he
started, but then the Glinda-clad woman ran past us, a giant bubble
trailing behind her that the children chased.

I took a quick breath, reminding
myself to let go of all these warring emotions. To feel
nothing.

“Chelsea is
great,” I said, like a robot. Then I took the reins of the
conversation, pointing to another charm, this one a silver book
with the pages open. “I almost majored in English when I started
college. I wasn’t sure I was going to study business as an
undergrad. But at the end of my freshman year when a shopowner
started carrying my necklaces, I switched to business. So my
almost-major is another favorite mistake,” I said, and this time he
got the whole tale because everyone did. This was a true story, and
it was also the backstory on the Web site for My Favorite
Mistakes.

He nodded. “I like that. Very
smart decision, and a good way to acknowledge the road not taken.
And this one?” He fingered the movie camera, his hand resting on
the space just above my breasts. My chest rose and fell, and I
tried to steady my breathing.

I called up my recollection of a
risk management class lecture so I could deliver an offhand answer.
“Oh, that one. I just made that to remind myself not to spend too
much time watching movies.”

Because movies had been our thing.
Our first kiss had been in a movie theater.

He was still touching the camera,
but he was looking straight at me. As if he could read the
lie.

I shifted the focus away from me.
“And you? What about your business, Mr. Leighton?” I asked, as if I
were a curious reporter.

He let the charm drop, and the
metal he’d touched felt warm against me. He held out his arm,
showing me the cuffs of his sleeves. “These bad boys. Women seem to
love to give them as gifts.” He nodded to his cufflinks, as if to
say it was okay to touch them. I resisted, banishing all thoughts
of unbuttoning the black onyx, of taking off his shirt, of watching
the fabric fall away from him to reveal his smooth chest, his firm
stomach, his trim arms. Instead, I rewound to the morning, trying
to remember if I’d dropped an umbrella into my purse, because the
sky was about to split open.

“We make them at a factory near
Philly, along with tie clips and money holders. But the cufflinks
especially have taken off like crazy in the last few years.
Especially with those books that have them on the cover.
American-made, and a perfect gift from a girl to a guy. Or a guy to
a guy, in some cases.”

“Right. Perfect gift.” I stood up
and brushed my hand over my skirt, then gestured to the clouds. “I
better go.”

He rose too. “You going back to
Chelsea?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you a ride. I have my
car.”

“I’m fine. I’ll walk or take the
subway.”

“Kat. It’s about to pour any
second.”

I patted my purse. “I have an
umbrella in here.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier not to
fight for a cab, not to get soaked, and not to have to take the
subway?”

Before I could say no again, he
was giving his driver our exact location as the first drops hit my
head. We walked quickly to the curb while the rain picked up speed.
Moments later, Bryan held open the door to his town car for me. A
drop fell in my eye. I blinked it out, then bonked my head on the
top of the door as I got into the car. “Ouch!”

A sharp pain radiated across my
forehead.

“You okay?” Bryan asked, as he slid in next to me. The
windows were tinted, but the partition was down, so I could hear
the faint strains of music from the satellite radio, and I could
just make out the words to Jack White’s cover of
Love is Blindness
. I
almost wanted to ask the driver to change the channel because the
lyrics turned my heart in knots with dark wanting.

I pressed my palm against my head
where it smarted. “I just don’t know how that door got in the way
of my head,” I said, and Bryan laughed.

Then he gently placed a palm on my
forehead. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” I whispered, letting
down my guard for a moment. Brushing my dark brown bangs from my
face, he held my gaze in a way that chipped away at all the walls
I’d rebuilt with him in the last hour. I flashed back to the movie
theater in Mystic, to our first kiss, to how I’d had no need for
barriers then.

“Do you need ice for
it?”

“Do you have
ice?”

“Of course. Fully
stocked.”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

“Then let me just give you a kiss
to make it better,” he said, and moved towards me. I closed my eyes
and breathed out, slipping away into the feel of his tender lips on
me. He stayed there for many more seconds than he needed to. He was
inches from me, and I could feel the warmth from his body, as I let
myself enjoy his kiss on my forehead.

He pulled away. “All better
now?”

I nodded.

“What’s your address?”

I gave it to him, and he told the
driver, then he looked back at me again. His green eyes were
darker, more intense. “It’s really good to see you again,
Kat.”

I grasped
mentally at numbers, at logic, at images of my parent’s store, at
the sound of my mom’s voice. But they were all wisps in my hands,
falling through fingers, as my double-crossing heart longed to
whisper
it’s good to see you
too
. His gaze stayed on me, and his eyes
said so many things, all the things I’d wanted to
hear.

I could feel the
whole back of the car grow smaller and bigger at the same time.
Everything faded away, the din of the music from the radio, the
strangers on the street ducking under awnings and opening umbrellas
as they sought cover. He was all I saw, sitting next to me, looking
in my eyes. I wished I could say I was thinking of business, of my
jewelry line, or even of mundane things like where I’d left the
quarters for the next load of laundry, because that would all prove
I was as impervious as I’d aimed to be. But when your first love
tells you how good it is to see you again, you don’t think at all.
You just feel.

I felt my traitorous heart
jumping, my belly flipping.

Stupid body trying to trick
me.

Somewhere, I caught the dangling
end of the anger still in me, and held on tight so I wouldn’t fall
into his arms. “This is a nice car,” I said crisply, by way of
changing the subject.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.
Thanks. So, I was thinking it would be a good start to this mentor
thing if I show you the factory. Can you go with me on
Friday?”

“Let me just check my schedule and
get back to you.”

Then I turned away, and stared out
the window, as if the rain-soaked New York streets were endlessly
fascinating, high-fiving myself for playing it cool.

Chapter Four

I first met
Bryan in my driveway one summer day when I was seventeen. I’d
heard
of
him; my
older brother Nate had roomed with him through most of college at
NYU and into business school there too. But I’d never met Bryan
myself. He grew up near Buffalo and went home for school breaks.
Then, the summer after I’d graduated from high school, Bryan stayed
with us for a few weeks to help run Mystic
Landing.

My parents rarely vacationed and
hardly ever took time off. My mother had spent most of my high
school years recuperating from a devastating car accident that had
required multiple surgeries and countless physical therapy
sessions. She was finally herself again and to celebrate, my mom’s
sister had convinced my parents to spend a few weeks at her lake
house in Maine. Nate and I would watch the store while they relaxed
by cool blue waters and underneath crystal skies.

They packed up, hopped in the car
and drove north, and hours later, I met the man who’d become my
first love. From the moment he arrived, I was a done deal. I swung
open the front door, ran to the car, and gave Nate a huge hug. Then
Bryan got out of the passenger side, wearing a white tee-shirt and
worn jeans, which is near about the sexiest thing a man can wear.
When he slung his duffel bag on his shoulder his shirt rose up,
revealing a sliver of his firm and flat stomach. I tried to look
elsewhere because otherwise I’d only think about the way his blue
jeans hung just so on his hips, and where the cut lines of his
abdomen led to.

So I checked out his arms instead.
I’ve always thought one of the reasons some men work so hard on
their arms is because of what women think when they encounter
nicely sculpted ones. You picture the man above you. You imagine
running your hands up and down those arms as he moves in
you.

But he wasn’t just a beautiful
body. He was the whole package. He had a trace of stubble on his
boyish face, and the softest-looking dark brown hair I’d ever seen.
His eyes drew me in, those forest green eyes with flecks of gold.
Eyes you could gaze into, eyes that invited long simmering looks as
they saw inside you.

Nate introduced us, and Bryan put
his bag down and gave me a sturdy hug, rather than a handshake. I
was wearing one of my own necklace designs, a silver chain strung
with a lone heart pendant in midnight blue. His chest pressed into
the pendant, and I could easily have let my thoughts run away right
there.

Then he spoke to me. “I feel like
I know you already. Nate says you’re a huge movie fan. That when
you’re not making necklaces you’re at the local theater. I’ve
always said there’s nothing better than skipping class for a
matinee.” Then the grin came, the lopsided smile I’d fall hard
for.

“Matinee and
popcorn. Doesn’t get any better than that,” I said, and I was sure
the words came out all bumpy and clunky, out of sync with what I
was saying silently — How did my brother have such a ridiculously
good-looking best friend?

The three of us hung out that
night, ordered pizza, and lounged on old plastic chairs on the
deck, under the stars. I listened as they talked about school, and
what was next for them both on the work front. Nate planned to look
for a job in the technology industry at the end of the summer, and
Bryan had scored a gig in Manhattan that started in a month. They
weren’t college boys anymore since they both had MBAs, but they
weren’t working men yet either. They were in this sort of
in-between time.

I was in an in-between time too.
Only I was five years younger, so I figured I should get out of the
way of their guy talk.

“I better go to sleep. Since I’ve
got the Mystic Landing morning shift and all,” I said, and then
went to my room and pulled on a pair of loose shorts and a gray
tank top with a pink Hello Kitty across the chest. I brushed my
teeth, washed my face, and walked back down the hall to my bedroom
when I bumped into Bryan.

“Sorry,” he said, then glanced at
my tank top, and lingered with his eyes a little longer than he
should. I didn’t mind, but when he realized what he was doing, he
looked up. “You like Hello Kitty?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, thrown off by
his remark.

“That’s really cute.” His lips
quirked up.

“Really?” I couldn’t tell if he
was putting me on.

He nodded. “Yeah. Definitely.
Hello Kitty is totally adorable.”

“Wow. Nate never told me his best
friend was such a huge fan of cartoon cats.”

“I’m personally
a bigger fan of Bucky from the comic
Get
Fuzzy
.”

“I love that crazy
Siamese.”

“I defy anyone who doesn’t find
cats amusing to read that comic.”

“That is an awesome challenge.
Let’s make posters and start a campaign.”

“I’m so on it.”

“I’ll even break
out my
Get Fuzzy
tee-shirt when we start planning a march to the
capital.”

“Generally speaking, I’m good with
all cartoon cats, especially when cute girls wear them.”

Then he walked
off. That was all he said, and I was left alone in the hall, my
mind buzzing, my skin tingling. I didn’t fall asleep right away. I
replayed our conversation. We’d hit it off, right? I wasn’t
imagining it. There was something in that kind of instant repartee,
wasn’t there? Especially when I thought of that last moment
—
cute girls, cute girls, cute
girls
.