Iced Romance (11 page)

“Just pick a table and I’ll be right with you,” I say brightly.

The man steps toward me and his features become clear. Those brilliant blue eyes. That small, jagged scar. The sexy, tousled hair. My jaw drops and heat rises to my cheeks.

It’s him! It’s the guy from a few days ago. Oh gosh, the one I curtseyed to. This cannot be happening.

“Hi,” he says warmly, holding out his hand. “My name is David, and if I remember correctly, you’re Kennedy?”

He wants to shake hands? I feel like I’m maybe in a dream, a really weird dream. I automatically hold out my own and he takes it. His hand is soft, but strong; his shake is firm.

“Uh, can I show you to a table?” I sputter. I feel flummoxed. I’ve always wondered, ever since I read one of the great Shakespearean classics in high school, what flummoxed meant. Now I know.

He shakes his head. “No, thank you. The hamburger when I was in here last, while served perfectly thanks to you, was a little heavy on grease for my taste. I think McDonald’s is probably a healthier option than here, if I plan to live past fifty.” His voice is amused and his eyes do not leave my face.

I blush even deeper and my stomach sinks. “So you want your money back or something?” Sure, make me the one who gives the poor guy food poisoning on his first visit.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I actually wanted to come by to see if you were working again. You disappeared before I paid, and I didn’t get the chance to thank you for making the fry sauce. It was delicious, by the way. The best part of my meal.”

My lips lift at the side and I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching me. Max is still counting money and Leila hasn’t come out of the kitchen yet. “You’re welcome,” is all I manage to get out.

“So, you mentioned you’re from Colorado.” David leans against the table nearest him and casually folds his arms over his chest. He remembered? I’m impressed. “Yeah, Denver.”

“Denver,” he repeats. “I’ve been to the airport there probably a hundred times, but never ventured farther in. I’ve heard good things about it though.”

“It’s a nice place,” I agree. Okay, this is definitely weird. First, he doesn’t want to eat here, now he’s making small talk about Denver? What the heck? “But, you know, Kissimmee seems to be a nice place too,” I sputter after an excruciating pause.

David nods and stares over my shoulder toward Max at the cash register. “Yeah, this is a good little town. Nice people.” He looks back at me with the last two words, making me blush. It’s like he’s saying that
I’m
the nice person here.

I shift to my other foot. “So,” I say and then stop. I have nothing to add to that.

“So,” David agrees, smiling.

I smile back and for a moment we’re like two awkward teenagers, beaming at one another. I feel myself getting a little shifty, my eyes looking away from him, staring at our feet and then at his shoulder.

David clears his throat. “Look, Kennedy, I know this is probably bizarre for you, and believe me, I never do this, but I was actually hoping I could ask you out. That’s why I came by today, despite having no intention of sampling the menu a second time.” When I look up, his eyes are locked on me and his voice is steady, but I can sense that he’s a little nervous.

“Ask me out?” I croak, wiping at a speck of nothing on my sleeve. “Like on a date?”

David uncrosses then re-crosses his arms the other way. “Uh, yeah, like a date. I know you probably think I’m a creeper or something, so if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine. I just, I don’t know, I thought you seemed like a really nice girl and, well, girls like you aren’t everywhere in Kissimmee.” Now he seems even more flustered, all his self assurance has disappeared.

I smile again and nod, even while every sensible part of myself screams at me to stop. “Sure, that would be nice.” What am I doing? I don’t know this guy! I met him once! He could be the next Ted Bundy!

But something about him makes me feel I can trust him. Maybe it’s the fact that he looks nothing like Todd. Maybe it’s because of our inane fry sauce conversation. Or maybe it’s just because I’ve lost the love of my life and would give anything to feel special again. But whatever it is, I jot down his phone number on a piece of paper and promise to call him later that night.

With a final smile, he lifts his hand slightly, turns, and walks back out into the sunshine. I watch him go, a ridiculous grin on my face. What just happened?

“Uh, what was that?” Leila has appeared at my side and is looking curiously at the door where David left.

I shake my head. “You remember that guy a few nights ago that you had me help so you could take a smoke break? Well, he just came back in to ask me on a date!” My voice goes up at the end, almost into a little squeal.

Leila raises her eyebrows. “Really? A date? That’s cool. Good on you! When’s it going to be?”

I shake my head again. “I don’t know. I told him I’d call him tonight after I get off and we’d decide from there.”

“Wow. That’s awesome. You know what that means, right?”

Um, it means that I’m a total skank, but I’m not going to go there. I shrug and step to one side so a customer can get by. “What?”

“It means that on our next day off, I’m taking you shopping! A date equals new clothes! You’re new around here. You probably haven’t been to the Target here in town, right?”

I shake my head no. “I don’t think I’ve even stepped into a Target in my entire life, to be honest.”

Leila smacks my arm and then picks up her notebook and pen from a nearby table. “Who
are
you? It’s like you really are Paris Hilton. Anyway, no worries. You come with me; we’ll get you a fun outfit and it’ll be amazing.”

I find myself agreeing and even while I do, I realize I’m excited. A date, a shopping buddy. Maybe I really can get over Todd. Maybe he really can become nothing to me.

A man and woman walk in the door just then and I wave at them, turning away from Leila to welcome them.

What a great day this is turning out to be.

And I just can’t stop smiling.

Gary grunts and pulls some French fries out of the deep fryer. I take that as a goodbye. I exit the restaurant through the alley.

It’s still light out and downtown Kissimmee is alive with people. There are some dressed to impress, climbing out of fancy Mercedes and heading toward the King’s Club, a restaurant that, according to Leila, only the rich and fabulous can afford. There are also clumps of teenagers hanging out across from the convenience store on the corner, two women walking small poodle-looking dogs and gossiping to each other. Everyone looks tanned, happy, and fit.

Florida is such a bizarre place.

I take my shoes off and walk the ten minutes to my apartment in bare feet. I know, that’s disgusting, but there is no way I could walk home with these shoes on. Besides, if I haven’t gotten an incurable disease from working at Maxie’s yet, I doubt I’ll get it from the sidewalk.

I arrive home and barely shut the door when I feel an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. I’ve never worked as hard as I have this past week. I throw my shoes into the corner and collapse onto the couch. I need a minute before I can muster the energy to pick up my phone. After a minute, I spot the Kissimmee Tribune lying on the floor where I had tossed it after finding it on my front step this morning. I haven’t read a newspaper in a while, so I flip it open.

The headlines are all the same; boring and uninteresting. “CEO of Media Empire Charged with Fraud!” screams one, while another claims that “New Study Proves That Chocolate Prevents Cancer!” I turn to the entertainment and sports sections, hoping something there will be more appealing. I wonder if the drama with Todd has finally died away. It’s been over two weeks since everything blew up. Maybe with nothing to stoke the fire, things are going to just calm right down.

I lick my finger, turn the page, and my mouth falls open in dismay. “Marusiak Named MVP and Athlete of the Year.” What? He’s becoming an MVP and Athlete of the Year? Seriously? What is wrong with America? Can’t they see what a dirty scumbag of rotting filth he is?

I scan the article.

Todd Marusiak of the Colorado Avalanche has just been named Athlete of the Year in a shocking move. Just two weeks ago multiple women came forward to admit to having had affairs with the multi-billionaire hockey player, despite him being engaged. While the world mourned alongside the “jilted fiancée,” Marusiak was silent and did not issue a statement regarding his infidelities. However, now with the titles of MVP and Athlete of the Year, Marusiak’s manager finally is speaking out on his behalf. “Todd, while deeply regretting the hurt he has caused Kennedy [his fiancée], is pleased to see that America can overlook his personal life and award him with the honors in his professional life that he clearly deserves.”

The article goes on, outlining Todd’s many philanthropic charities and causes. I haven’t heard of any of them, and I’m fairly sure that they are all new, probably begun this past week as soon as his manager caught wind of him getting those new honors.

Talk about damage control. It’s like Angelina Jolie. Sure, America hated her when she stole Jennifer Aniston’s husband, but then she started adopting babies and doing the humanitarian charity thing and now she can do no wrong.

I want to scream. Todd can’t become the next Angelina. He just can’t!

I may actually vomit. The newspaper shakes violently in my hands and I stare at it, my eyes seeing the black and white on paper but unable to process any more of it. Each word is a little black dagger in my heart.

My mind is spinning out of control. I wanted to ruin him. To run away and make him depressed and bitter and finally get him to see how much he hurt me by his affairs. But this? Really? Todd cheats and yet all he gets is praise and love?

I walk into my bedroom and take off my waitress uniform. Then I reach into my suitcase and try to find something fluffy and comforting to put on. My fingers come across a handful of . . . something a little stiffer. I pull my hand out and stare at the pieces I am clasping with white knuckles. It’s the jersey again.

The jersey. The one way I can get back at him. The one way I can make him feel a semblance of my pain.

I grab a second handful of the pieces and rummage through them until I find a nice, big piece with part of Ovechkin’s autograph. I throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top and race out the door, clutching the jersey piece and my wallet in my hands. I make my way to the post office down the street from the consignment thrift store and dash in.

“Please don’t be closed,” I huff, throwing out my hands and clinging to the counter. The postal worker raises an eyebrow and checks the digital watch on her wrist. “No, we’re open for another hour.”

“Thank God. Okay, I need an envelope and some stamps. Preferably a self-sealing envelope.”

I know if Todd wanted to find me he could. I’m not stupid. I used my debit card to buy the plane ticket, and I saw a documentary once about how you can trace people’s location with their emails and stuff. But regardless, I still feel like I shouldn’t leave my DNA all over the envelope when sending him this explosive little package. Call me crazy, but still . . .

Within a few minutes I have placed the shredded fabric inside the envelope, asked the mail woman to neatly address the envelope and send it on its way.

Walking back to my apartment, I feel as though a burden has just lifted off of me. I can’t wait to see Todd’s expression in a few days when he opens that and sees his most treasured possession in shreds.

When I am finally back home, I toss the newspaper in the trash and collapse on the couch. Done. Empty.

I feel so empty.

I miss Todd.

Unbidden tears rise in my eyes and I wipe at them, feeling my nails scratch my cheeks. I don’t want to miss Todd. I want to hurt him. I want to be done with him. I want to move on.

Move on.

David.

Suddenly I remember that I’m supposed to call him. The date! That will make me feel better, right? That will get me to forget about Todd. I leap to my feet, feeling a sudden increase of energy, and race into my bedroom. I kneel on the floor beside my discarded uniform and rummage through the slightly sticky pockets until I find the scrap of paper with David’s number on it. I grab my cell phone, and punch in the number.

It rings once. Come on, David, pick up.

Rings again.

Just before the third ring I hear him. “Hello?”

I sit down on the couch, pulling my feet up and leaning into the cushions. “Hi, David? This is Kennedy.” I should probably clarify that I’m the girl from the restaurant, but before I can do so, David has already begun speaking.

“Kennedy, hi! I’m so glad you called. I was just sitting here thinking what an idiot I was today and hoping you’d at least call to give me a chance to apologize for how out of the blue I was.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. I find I’m smiling again and feel idiotic doing so. “So, I got myself a phone today.”

“I can see that. Congratulations on joining the twenty-first century.”

I laugh and examine my fingernails. I really need to get a refresher manicure. “I had to trade in my horse and buggy, but I figure it was worth it.”

“Well done.” David’s voice sounds pleased. It’s warm and kind and after the stress of dealing with more Todd news just now, David is like a refuge. “So, since you called me, I’m guessing you’re still okay with going on a date with me?”