“Uh oh, you’ve
found my weakness,” I admitted.
“Good.”
Feeling like a
dizzy, 15 year old girl, I looked away and wondered what the heck was wrong
with me. Guys just did not affect me this way. All of a sudden, a couple kids
on skateboards zipped past, and I fell against Jason.
“I…I…I’ve got
ya,” he stuttered and caught me. For a brief instant, time stopped as he held
me half suspended in the air.
My first
reaction was to laugh at the irony of the whole situation, but then I felt it.
Again. That incredible warmth radiating between his hands and my arms. I felt
like I’d just reached the summit of Mt. Rainier and was experiencing a euphoric
high. With Jessica’s
Essence
theory running rampant through my mind, I
realized I’d progressed from imagining the energy flowing to actually feeling
it. I was crazier than she was. Once I met his eyes, I could see something was
wrong. He looked like he’d been overtaken by altitude sickness. With his jaw
set tight, he winced and shoved me back to my feet.
“Are you okay?”
I asked as he shook his hands madly in front of him.
“I’m fine,” he
answered gruffly. “Crazy kids. They should be more careful.”
I shot him a
look of disapproval but tried to lighten the mood by saying, “No harm done.”
“I suppose,” he
said gruffly.
Feeling rather
offended, I said, “You’re obviously upset, and I get the feeling I’ve made you
uncomfortable. Maybe we should just skip lunch…”
At that
suggestion his head snapped up, and he took a step closer. “Alex, I’m fine.
We’re doing fish & chips today.” My jaw dropped, and he said in a more
controlled voice, “Sorry.” He sighed and took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry how
I reacted. I just don’t do well when my personal space is invaded. It has
nothing to do with you, so don’t take it the wrong way.”
Yeah right, I
thought. “Sure, whatever,” I said, taking a step back. I was surprised when he
flinched. He seemed agitated no matter what I did. He was tough to read, and I
certainly didn’t need more turmoil. “I’ll just take a rain check–”
“No!” he said
firmly, and my eyes widened. Softening his expression, he said, “I mean, please
don’t abandon me. I’d really like to buy you lunch.”
Leery of his
Jekyll and Hyde personality but inexplicably drawn to him, I finally agreed. As
we walked along, he talked about his favorite places in Fairhaven. The guy in
front of us kept yelling into his cell phone and stopping abruptly, so we
maneuvered around him. Jason swore by the African Peanut Soup at the Colophon
Café. He teased that the next time I saved him he’d take me there for lunch.
Playing along, I vowed I’d hold him to that promise.
When we arrived
at the red, double-decker bus, which had apparently been converted into a small
kitchen with deep fryers, Jason said, “You find a spot, and I’ll go order.”
“Okay. A regular
fish and chips works for me,” I called after him.
He whipped
around. “What? Do you have something against halibut?” He looked almost hurt.
“Well, no,” I
said hesitantly, “but that’s gotta be a lot more expensive.”
He shook his
head disgustedly. “So, two halibut and chips. What to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
“What? Are you
trying to save me money again,” he accused.
“No,” I laughed.
“Really, I always drink water.”
“Okay, but you
better like ketchup and tartar. I’d hate to find out you douse your fish in
vinegar or something.”
I rolled my eyes
and shook my head. “Tons and tons of tartar and ketchup. And no vinegar. Are
you happy now?”
“Very,” he said
as he strode away. I sat down at the only empty picnic table. Enclosed behind a
wrought iron fence, the courtyard allowed unobstructed views of the sidewalks,
streets, and businesses. People window shopped at leisurely paces, while others
scurried along, seemingly intent upon a destination.
Jason returned
after a couple minutes and handed me a cup with ice water.
“Thank you.”
“You’re
welcome.”
“Hey,” I accused
with a chuckle and tapped his cup of ice water, “were you trying to save
yourself
some money?”
“I know I gave
you a bad time, but I’m not big on soda. Too much sugar and horrible for your
teeth.” He grinned, showing off a perfect set of straight white teeth, and I
couldn’t help but thinking how much my dad would like him. “So what’s your
vice?” he asked curiously. “Wait. Let me guess. Coffee?”
“Nope, can’t
stand the bitter taste.” I made a face and stuck out my tongue.
“No coffee and
no soda. Juice?”
I made a sour
face.
He chuckled.
“Must be tea.”
“Love the smell
but I don’t really like hot drinks.”
He squinted.
“That leaves nothing but an ice cold beer.”
“Sorry, try
again.”
“Okay, I’m
running out of ideas.” He shrugged. “Wait,” he held a finger in the air, “I’ve
got it. You’re a chocoholic and if you’re not drinking water you’re downing
chocolate milkshakes.”
“Unbelievable.”
I snorted. “For your information Mr. Nosy, I’m allergic to chocolate.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” I
tapped my fingers against the picnic table.
“Wild. Allergic
to chocolate. And is it that you don’t like beer or that you just don’t drink?”
“I don’t drink.
Period.”
“You say that
like there’s a story to tell,” he said, looking at me expectantly.
I swallowed
hard. “A long story. Maybe I’ll tell ya about it sometime.” He looked at me
funny, so I added, “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. I wasn’t in a drunk
driving accident or anything like that.”
“That’s not what
I was thinking.” He rested his arms on the table and continued with another
inquisition. “So, how old are you?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“I’m 18. How
about you?”
“Can’t reveal
that information,” he said with a devilish grin. “But I’m older than you.”
I gave him a
dirty look. “Do you enjoy being infuriating?”
“All part of my
charm,” he said with a wink. He changed the subject and talked about music and
his favorite local bands. Deep and rich, his voice was soothing and held me
captivated. His oval-shaped face was perfectly balanced, and his classic square
jaw and strong chin made him even more appealing. My heart rate quickened, and
I scolded myself for being susceptible to his physical attributes.
“So, the Up
& Up is popular with the college crowd, and The Fairhaven hosts great live
music, but you’re gonna have to wait a few years…” he was saying.
“Jason, your
order’s up. Jason,” a lady called from behind the bus counter. I noticed she
smiled broadly when she caught his eye.
As I started to
rise, he shook his head and gestured for me to sit back down. He returned
carrying two fish baskets and an obscene amount of tartar and ketchup. My eyes
widened, and I said, “Are you nuts?”
He chuckled.
“You said you liked your condiments. I’m just trying to please the lady.”
I smiled
broadly. Another touchdown; he was good. An image of him performing a crazy
celebration dance in the end zone formed in my head, and I started laughing.
Looking totally
bewildered, he asked, “What’s so funny? Did I miss something?”
“Sorry.” I bit
my lip. “Inside joke.”
“Let me in on
it,” he said. I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “Oh, come on.”
I exhaled loudly
and said, “Fine. You asked for it. Can you dance?”
He looked
confused. “I guess. Why?”
“Well, you
scored a touchdown for being such a gentleman. And of course, bringing all the
tartar sauce gave you extra points, too. I was cracking up at the thought of
you performing a crazy, touchdown dance.”
He looked at me
doubtfully. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” I shook
my head popped a French fry in my mouth. “I never kid when it comes to football.
So,” I pointed at him, “are you gonna get up and dance for me or what?” He
raised a brow, but shocked me when he jumped up and actually danced next to our
table.
I almost choked
on my food; he certainly wasn’t lacking in charisma. “Nicely done.” I clapped
my hands as he took a bow. “You appear to have another fan,” I said and nodded
towards a little girl who was jumping up and down, pointing at him.
He spun around,
but she dodged behind her mother’s skirt. “You a big Seahawk fan?” he asked
breathlessly as he sat back down.
I made a
horrible face and shook my head. “Absolutely not. I’m a Denver Bronco fan all
the way; although, if the Seahawks are playing I’ll root for them by default,
unless of course, they’re playing the Broncos. Do you like football?”
“Yeah, I enjoy
football. And yes, I’m a Seahawks fan. I’m probably a bigger soccer fan,
though. I like the Seattle Sounders and have been to a few games.”
“They’ve had
some close and exciting matches,” I agreed, swirling two fries in ketchup. “Kasey
Keller is an awesome goalkeeper. My older brother played goalie in high school,
and I always enjoyed his games. Looks like we agree on the Sounders. Now I’ll
have to convert you into a Bronco fan.”
He dunked his
fish in tartar sauce and took a bite. “We’ll see about that.” After swallowing,
he asked, “So, why are you a Bronco fan? Did you grow up in Denver or
something?”
“I wish, but
no,” I laughed. “I was watching a football game between the Broncos and the
Raiders with my dad when I was like eight years old. He was trying to explain
the rules when a Bronco player ran up to a Raider receiver and snatched the
ball out of his hands. Seconds later, he was in the end zone, celebrating a
Denver touchdown with a crazy little dance. I remember being so shocked. I
thought it was going to a penalty or something, but my dad assured me it was
good. I’ve been a devoted Bronco fan ever since.”
“Good story.” He
wiped his face with a napkin.
“And you know
what?” He simply shook his head and raised his shoulders, because he’d just
shoved several fries in his mouth. “The Broncos won the Super Bowl that year.”
He swallowed.
“No wonder you’re such a die-hard. Have you ever been to Denver?”
“No,” I said
wistfully, “but I always wanted to watch a game from Mile High. It was on my
list of things to do.” I paused and took a bite. Glancing up, I caught him
studying me. “What?” I asked.
“You said it
was
on your list of things to do.”
“I mean
is
,”
I said and busied myself with my fish basket.
He scratched his
head. “Tell me about your pinky ring, the ankh.” He pointed at my hand.
I finished
chewing and looked at him in surprise. “Not many people even know what this
is,” I said, holding my hand up.
“Oh, I’m an
expert in Egyptian hieroglyphics,” he said earnestly, his eyes twinkling.
“Right,” I said
with a smirk. Fiddling with my gold ring, I explained, “My dad made it for me a
few years ago. It’s the only ring I ever wear. Well, that’s because it’s the
only ring I own. Probably,” I took a deep breath and smiled guiltily, “because
I spend all my money on books and jeans.”
“So you have a
fetish for jeans and your dad’s a jeweler?”
Coughing, I
tapped my chest. “Yes, I have a weakness for jeans, and
no
,” I corrected
him, “my dad is not a jeweler; he’s a dentist. Well, actually he’s a dental
implantologist.”
“A what?” He
lifted a brow.
“People who need
a tooth replaced or even a full set of upper or lower teeth can choose to have
implants instead of dentures. The implants are small metal rods that are placed
through the gums and into the jaw bone. Then strong porcelain-like teeth are
placed on the rods. They’re permanent.”
“Interesting.
Metal rods with permanent teeth and a dentist who makes jewelry. So why did he
make you an ankh?”
“Oh, I don’t
know,” I said thoughtfully. “I guess because it always symbolized that whole
‘zest’ for life thing. You know that whole idea that every moment should be
lived to the fullest, and you should take no regrets with you.” I could feel my
cheeks flushing. It sounded funny saying such a thing when it had been so long
since I felt that way.
He’d stopped
chewing and was looking at me incisively. “You say that like you don’t believe
it anymore.”
I licked my
lips. “I don’t know how I feel…”
“Well, you
should. You’re right you know. Life is meant to be lived, because every day is
a miracle. You shouldn’t let a single day go by wasted. Actually,” he paused,
“that brings one of my favorite quotes to mind.”
“Yeah?” I said,
slightly shaken. It seemed like every few minutes he surprised me and even had
me re-examining my attitude towards…well, towards living.
Looking straight
at me, he said, “Live your life each day as you would climb a mountain. An
occasional glance towards the summit keeps the goal in mind, but many beautiful
scenes are to be observed from each new vantage point.” Absently, he tapped his
water cup. “It’s so true, too. I love hiking the trails and mountains around
Bellingham.” He stopped. “What? Why are
you
looking at
me
like
that?”
“I’m impressed,”
I said.
“Good, you like
to hike then.” He said it more as a statement than a question.
I nodded, happy
to be off on a new tangent. “Growing up we did some hiking and camping around
Mt. Rainier, but not entirely enough. For vacations my parents sought R+R on
the beaches of Maui.”
“Sandy beaches
are nice, but I’d rather hike Mt. Baker any day. After hiking all day, I like
to find a nice spot next to a river and make my own campsite. Nothing beats a
day in the mountains.” He talked about different places he’d hiked, and I
shared a few of my own experiences.
“So, what’s your
favorite ––—?” he asked, opening more ketchup packets.