Purely Unconditional: A Romantic Tale of Snow Days and Second Chances (3 page)

“Have to go karaoking, do you?” At my glare, he
laughs. “Fine. I’ll give you back your list.” He lowers his arm. I
reach out but before I can swipe it, it’s up high again. “On one
condition.”

“That I don’t punch you in your stomach?”

“That, and I want to help.”

I step back. “What? No. Why?”

“Because it sounds fun. This list idea is awesome.”
He lowers the list and starts reading: “Number one, wear high heels
to work. And jewelry.” He grins at me. “You do look fantastic
today.”

My stomach dives and dips.

“And,” he continues, “I know this great bar that has
the
best karaoke nights and—”

“No, no way. You are not being witness to me doing
anything on that list—”

“Not even number—”

“—so just give it back.” I hold out my hand and Jack
grudgingly hands over my list. I fold it into a small square and
tuck it into my pocket. As I begin to leave, I tell him to have a
good night.

“I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed,” he says,
his voice light…too light. “I mean, I’ve already seen you
half-naked.”

I trip. I don’t face-plant, but hearing him say the
word
half-naked,
hearing him bring up
that
night,
causes me to lose my equilibrium. I turn back to him. He’s sitting
on the edge of his desk, looking so devilishly boyish I can barely
stand it.

He adds, “Surely me watching you compliment ten
people isn’t so bad? Hey”—he spreads his arms wide—“why don’t you
start with me?”

I take a breath. “First of all, it’s complimenting
ten random strangers. And second”—I want to throw my shoe at his
know-it-all grin—“I don’t have the imagination to come up with a
compliment for you.”

I pull his door open and this time, when it slams
shut, I don’t apologize. Too bad I can still hear him laughing.

Chapter Three

Lunch Time Challenges

I met him five years ago. Twenty-two, tall, lanky and
so beautiful I could’ve cried, Jack and I were, in the ultimate of
coincidences, moving into the same apartment building at the same
exact time. In an even more spectacular display of cosmic forces
and mysterious ways, we started working in the same office on the
same day, a mere twenty feet away from each other. As new kids in a
big machine, we bonded from there. We relied on each other, we
commiserated and took lunch together. About three weeks in, Jack
and I shared a taxi back to our apartment building because the rain
was coming down too hard for us to make the short trek without
drowning. That rain…it should’ve tipped me off…that was the first
clue that the evening wouldn’t be like any other evening—flash
floods, torrential downpours, near-tornado winds. The last time a
storm hit that bad was when Dorothy got swept up to Oz. Well, I got
swept up alright. I’m just still not sure where I landed. I think I
may have broken my tail bone in the fall.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about that
night.

I watch as the numbers above the elevator door light
up. By the time it hits the ground floor, I’m like a sardine
jam-packed in the little car. But it’s lunch time and I’m on the
top floor. What can I expect?

The cacophony of the city pours over me as I leave
the office building and head out to lunch. Cars honk, people
chatter on phones, a swarm of kids in blue and white uniform walks
past, yipping like little puppies at play time. A bus lumbers and
hisses down Strait Avenue. The smell of exhaust and coffee compete
in the air for ultimate supremacy.

Born and raised in the suburbs, I was unprepared for
the sheer volume of city living. I didn’t sleep well for a month;
even the street lights seemed way too bright. But after five years
as a city mouse, I have officially become immune to all of its
belches and yawns and screeches and sighs.

A woman walking four huge St. Bernard dogs is yelling
for them to slow down. Another pack of students stare up and point
at the different buildings, clearly admiring the chrome and steel
architecture. A dozen Red Hats peck and chirp about the way the
bare branches of the trees are draped with lights.

The Plaza is jumping today, busier than usual.
Comprised of a handful of skyscrapers (they can house anything from
government jobs to law firms to tax offices to debt collectors and
anything else you can think of that you wouldn’t want any part of)
with a huge ice rink at its center, it’s one of four places in all
of Silver Lake you can say without preamble and people will
immediately know where and what you’re talking about. I work in
Plaza Building Four, the main hub of all things non-profit. At
fifty-three stories high with four gigantic spires atop it, it’s
like a metallic rook on a chessboard. Smaller buildings—cafes,
fast-food eateries, specialty shops—are dotted throughout, mere
pawns amidst kings and queens and bishops.

I begin the short journey to the bistro down the
street but, to my surprise, I hear footsteps right behind me. I
turn.

Jack.

“Oh my God,” I say. “I can’t believe you’re following
me.”

“I’m just out to get some lunch.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it
was rude to lie during Christmas?”

He has grace enough to smile. He easily steps up
beside me. His black coat hangs elegantly on his spare frame, the
collar turned up. His green scarf makes his blue eyes look like an
ocean.

“Alright,” he concedes, “maybe I did decide to take
my lunch the minute you did. But I’m not following you. That has
such a negative connotation.”

“So what would you call it then?”

“I’d call it a happy coincidence that I sort of
forced. Okay, look.” He stops walking and I stop too. The wind
shifts his hair in all sorts of becoming ways. “You want the
truth?”

“It’s always preferable.”

Another smile. The first time I saw that smile, I
nearly dropped my lamp.

“The truth is,” he begins, “the truth is…” His mouth
is slightly parted, as if he’s weighing whether to speak. I can
practically see the wheels in his head spinning. But then his eyes
alight on something in the distance. I’m about to ask what’s wrong
when he stops a woman as she’s walking with a very polite, a much
too polite, excuse me miss.

“Hi. My friend here”—he gestures to me—“loves your
hat. Isn’t that right, Glory?”

I smile. “Yes. It’s very nice. Blue is my favorite
color. It’s very flattering on your skin tone. It warms it, you
know?”

The woman gives me an unsure smile but says thanks
before she starts walking. As soon as she’s out of ear shot, I hit
Jack in his arm.

“You idiot.”.

“Hmmm, it was a bit clinical. I mean, you
complimented her skin tone. A little too Silence of the Lambs for
me. Take it down a notch.”

I hit him again.

“Okay, say something to him,” he says, nodding to a
guy a few feet from us. He’s looking at the display window of
Ellsworth’s Toy Shoppe. He’s holding a brown leather briefcase and
is wearing a wool fedora. A scarf is wrapped around his neck so
high that I can’t see anything except his eyes and a bit of his
nose. Geez, he’s so covered up I’m not even sure what to
compliment. You look like a really warm bank robber?

I purse my lips. “And what exactly—”

Jack shoves me forward. The man notices my sudden
movement and looks over. No choice now.

“Hello,” I say. “Do you have children?”

His eyes widen. Even with the scarf, I can tell he’s
started.
I
feel startled. Where the hell did that question
come from?

I clear my throat. “It’s just, Ellsworth’s was one of
my favorite stores growing up. My pap-pap would take me here all
the time. Does yours? I mean, do you? I mean, are you a
grandfather? Or even a father?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Jack wipe a hand
down his face. He shakes his head.

“Uh,” I say, scrambling for a compliment, “it’s just,
I was noticing you and thought you looked very…um…very…uh…” Oh. My.
God. It’s like my brain has gone on meltdown. I have lost all
vocabulary except the words
bank
and
robber
, which is
so inappropriate right now. I chuckle as I think of something to
say. And just as a word springs to mind, the man shakes his head
and walks away.

Jack comes over.

I sigh. “I was going to say distinguished.”

“Why?”

“It was better than the other word I was thinking
of.”

Jack claps a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think I
want to know.”

“I don’t think you do, either.” I groan. “I sound
like a crazy person. See? This is why I keep to myself.”

“No, don’t think that way. You’re just rusty, not
crazy. You just have to get used to talking with people.” He points
me in the direction of a college-aged girl walking toward us, her
books cradles in her arms. “Do not mention skin tone or children.”
He shoves me forward and, after a final glare in his direction, I
try again.

It only takes forty-five minutes, but I finally
manage to give my ten random people their compliments. The key, I
learned quickly, was to only approach people I could actually
compliment. When Jack tried to just point me in anyone’s direction,
I could never think of what to say. But when I saw someone who
genuinely had beautiful jewelry on or if I loved their hairstyle or
if I thought the coat they were wearing was gorgeous and my mother
would love it for Christmas,
then
I could not only
compliment them, I could actually chat for a minute or two about
it, too. Not only that, but after about the fourth person I spoke
to, the tightness in my chest started to subside.

“It’s sincerity,” Jack says as we walk back toward
the office. “No matter what you’re saying or how golden the
flattery, if you’re not sincere, they can tell.” He shrugs. “What
they choose to do with that sincerity is up to them.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Jack gives me a look that makes me want to run and
duck, or maybe just look in his eyes and hold him forever—I’m not
sure which. But something passes behind the blues that is both old
and fresh, like a wound that refuses to heal.

“Jack?”

He shuts his eyes and laughs, a low, short sound.
When he opens them again, all that turbulence is gone. “You know,
there are some really great places on Blaker. You could sign up for
a culinary class or something. There’s an art studio. You could
sign up for something there.” He nudges me in the shoulder. “I hear
they have a nude painting class. A model, that is, not the class.
You know what else you might want to do?”

Together, we walk toward Blaker.

****

When all is said and done, I have not only signed up
for a pottery class (I’ve always wanted to learn how to make a pot
a la Demi Moore in Ghost—and if I could get a Patrick Swayze to sit
behind me and help, I’d take that, too), but I also enrolled in six
sessions of krav maga.

Jack seems surprised, but pleased. “Aggressive. I
like it.”

“Maybe it’ll be good for me. If I’m having a bad day,
I can just punch something.”

“I don’t think that’s the krav maga motto. I think
it’s something about learning to protect yourself, to defend
yourself…”

“Tomato-tomahto. Either way, you better watch out.
I’ll be able to throw you over my shoulder with enough
training.”

“They’re worse things in life.”

I laugh. In the span of less than an hour, I feel
like I’ve climbed Everest. Or, at the very least, have gotten to
base camp one. And for a gal who hasn’t been off the couch in a
while, what a feeling. I pull out my paper and pluck a pen from my
purse.

“Aw, look at that,” I say, handing the list to Jack.
“Three things crossed off already.”

Glory’s Twelve Challenges of Christmas

1. Wear high heels to work. And jewelry. Express
yourself! You’re twenty-nine and have legs for days. Show ‘em off,
honey!

2. Sign up for a class. Expand your horizons.

3 Compliment ten random strangers. Be sincere!

He nods. “And you’re even doing them in order. Very
efficient. And hey, if you wanted to knock off another one, my
sister was telling me about this big sale she just went to at
Fortino’s. It’s about three blocks away and—”

“We have about two minutes left to haul ass and get
back to the office. I can’t do a shopping spree in two
minutes.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you at seven.”

He nods, pleased with himself, then turns and starts
to walk away.

“Seven?” I quickly grab his arm. “For what?”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “For you to
shop. Oh, and we can double-up and do that tofu thing too. It’ll be
great.”

“But—”

He grins. “See you tonight.”

Chapter Four

Snow Globe and Saxophone

Ten minutes left. Ten minutes until he knocks on the
door and for the first time in years, I invite him in. My heart is
racing. Denny Crane watches me with supreme boredom.

“You don’t get it,” I say to him. “Jack is coming
over. Do you remember him?”

Denny Crane blinks. Then he sits up, lifts his back
leg high and starts grooming himself.

I scoff. “No I didn’t do
that
to him. In fact,
I didn’t do much of anything.”

The rain had threatened to shatter the windows. Jack
and I refused to use the elevator; the lights kept flickering on
and off and we weren’t about to tempt fate. Instead, we used the
emergency stairwell, turning the five flight trek into a stunningly
ill-conceived race. I was neck and neck with him for all of three
seconds before his long legs propelled him to the second floor
before I even made it up the first flight.

“Come on,” he shouted down. “I’ll be old and feeble
by the time you make it up.”

I gave him the finger and he grinned. With the light
shining down, his rain-soaked hair looked like it was shimmering, a
piece of anime artwork come to life. His eyes were bright in his
flushed face, his tawny skin looked vibrant and warm. My pace
slowed even more as I took in the way his shirt clung to his body,
accentuating a toned definition that his loose button-downs never
even hinted at. He was leaning against the railing, watching me as
I climbed up, and I couldn’t help but think I was approaching a
lion in his lair.