FUSE (6 page)

B
eck

Christ. I am an idiot. Not just your typical run-of-the-mill idiot. I am a world class idiot. I just friend zoned Zoe Cameron. I did it by my own free will. It was actually my idea. What the fuck was I thinking? Shit.

"I said that I'm twenty-four," she repeats as she darts her gorgeous face in front of me to catch my attention. "You just asked how old I am and I told you I was twenty-four."

"Twenty-four?" I repeat back as if I've never heard the number before. Nine years. She's only nine years younger than I am.  Zoe is perfect for me. Wait. She was perfect until I fucking friend zoned her.

"You say it like it's a bad thing." She touches my shoulder briefly. "I read online that you're thirty-three."

I nod as I scan her face. I can't remember what I was like when I was twenty-four. I was probably chasing anything that moved. I certainly wasn't planning my life out the way she is. This young woman is nothing like me. "I feel like I'm twenty-four," I say as I lean against the sofa's back.

"I don't know what twenty-four feels like and I'm twenty-four," she jokes. "I need to go soon. I have to be somewhere else in thirty minutes."

I glace at the clock hanging over Albert's desk. He put it there for his benefit. Time isn't part of my world on a day-to-day basis. I've never let it rule me. I keep my eyes on the clock longer than I need to because I'm hit with the sudden realization that she may be leaving because she's meeting someone for a late lunch. "Where do you need to be?"

I can tell that she's weighing her response. I don't want her to lie to me. I need this thing between us to be honest and open. I've never been completely and utterly honest with anyone in my life. She pulls her hands together on her lap as she fidgets slightly.

"Don't worry about it, Zoe." I push myself to my feet. "You don't have to tell me."

She springs to her feet too. "It's not a bad place."

"A bad place?" I can't contain the grin I'm feeling. She's different than anyone I've ever met. It's not just the fact that she is completely comfortable around me; it's the fact that she's so innocent in a way I've never seen before.

She licks her upper lip before she opens her mouth. "I volunteer at a couple of places because it looks good on my law school applications."

Jesus. She's beautiful and she's compassionate and I, in all of my infinite wisdom, have declared her my new best bud.

"Where do you volunteer?"

She shifts back and forth on her feet slightly. "I go down to the office of this non-profit that helps women a few mornings a week. I do clerical stuff there."

I'm reasonably sure I don't need to bring up the fact that it's two in the afternoon but I will if I can learn more about how she spends her time. "Where are you going today?"

She glances towards Albert before her eyes settle back on my face. "Today I'm going to Brooklyn. I visit one of the extended care centers there twice a week."

I've never set foot near a place like that in my life. "How are you going to get there?"

"The subway." Her eyes dart back towards Albert's desk. "Your assistant took my coat when I got here. I need it back if I'm going to get there on time."

"I'll get it." I step around her. "I'll get mine too. I'm going with you."

***

"H
ow many letters do you have in there?" I pull on the edge of her purse. "You've read four different ones since we got here."

She smiles sweetly at me as she pats the hand of the elderly man sitting at a table near the window of the recreation room. "Seven. I brought seven today."

"You wrote every one yourself, didn't you?" I don't honestly know why I'm asking. I've sat quietly by as she's read each one. Each was personalized and spoke of details about the patient's life that she could only have gained by spending hours listening to them talk about their past.

She leans closer to me, dropping her voice to a low whisper. "They're all forgetful. Some have been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Some just can't hold onto their memories the way they wish they could. I write the letters, read them and give them to them so they can remember."

Of course she does. She drinks cocoa and handwrites letters to forgetful older people. How is it that I even met this woman? It's as though we were thrown into space from two opposing planets and we both happened to end up at the pub that night.

"You're an incredible person, Zoe," I say it because it needs to be said. "I've never met anyone quite like you."

The soft smile she gifts me in return is breathtaking. "I need to finish reading my letters. You can wait for me in the reception area out front if you want."

She's giving me an out. She's likely noticed that I've been nervously tapping my foot against the faded tiled floor since we arrived. I didn't know what I was diving into when I offered to come with her. I told her I'd call for a driver, but she refused the idea. When I tried to hail us a cab, she was already trudging up the street towards the subway. She does things her own way and if I want a place in her life as a friend, I'm going to need to adjust to that. I see it. I like it. I admire and respect it.

"I'll sit over there in the corner until you're done." I motion towards a row of plastic chairs pushed against a wall covered in yellowed paper with drawings all over it.

"You're sure?" She bats her long eyelashes at me. "You can go if you want. I know the way back to Manhattan."

"I'm not going anywhere." I push her hair behind her ear. "Take your time."

Z
oe

He told me he'd wait for me but when I glanced up after reading the last of my letters to an elderly woman who had nodded off in one of the oversized chairs in the recreation room, I'd turned around to find him gone. I'm disappointed. I wanted him to stay. I was looking forward to walking back to the subway with him and riding the train back into Manhattan. On the way here, he'd sat close to me, his thigh touching mine. It was an innocent act that was born out of the space confines of the crowded, late afternoon rush of the many commuters hurrying home from work, but it was comforting to me. I liked when he touched me even if was coming from a place of friendship.

I move across the room to pull on my coat. A quick glance at the windows tells me that it's past dusk now. I'll have to get home, change clothes and head into work at the pub almost immediately.

I round the corner towards the reception desk when I see him again. He's standing with a dark haired woman. She's the director of the facility. She's excited as she speaks to him.

"Zoe," she calls to me with a wave of her hand. "You brought Brighton Beck to us."

In that instant he turns towards me and I catch a glimpse of the smile that radiates from his eyes and onto his entire face. He's happy. I can sense it even if I don't know what true joy means to him. He looks lighter and more relaxed than he did this afternoon when we were edging around the details of his past relationships.

"You two have met," I say because it's the only thing I can think of. I was convinced he'd gotten bored and had ditched me, along with our promised friendship. Now, I see him engaged in a lively conversation with Ramona, the woman who arranged my volunteer work.

"You never once mentioned that you were friends with this man." She taps him playfully on the chest. "I've been a fan of his for years now."

Ramona doesn't strike me as the type who fawns over men who paint watercolors, but you never really know a person. "Beck and I met not long ago."

"Beck?" she repeats it back with a gleeful lilt in her voice. "May I call you Beck too or is that just for your friends?"

He turns briefly to look at me. "Everyone calls me Beck. My close friends call me the Yankee."

I smile at the awkward reminder of my first impression of him. "We need to go. I have to get to the pub for my shift."

"Right." He reaches to push my hair back from my shoulder. "You should button up your coat. It's getting colder out now."

"He takes care of you." Ramona runs her hand over my elbow. "You're the luckiest girl in the world, Zoe."

I smile at the statement. I do feel luckier today than I have in a long time. "He's becoming a good friend. I'll be back at the end of the week, Ramona."

"Will you bring the paintings then, Beck?" She turns her attention back to him. "I still can't believe you're doing that for us."

"Doing what?" I blurt out before I realize what I'm saying.

"Your friend," she begins before she corrects herself. "Our friend, Beck, is donating a few paintings to our silent auction. They're going to bring in more than we need to fund the renovations in the patients' common space."

I donated a signed copy of a book I've had since I was a child to the auction. Beck just put that to shame by donating paintings worth more than this building is probably worth. I'm impressed. I'm also stunned. Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye.

***

"W
here were you today?" Bridget catches me off guard as she sneaks up behind me just as I'm trying to balance a tray filled with shot glasses.

"Bridget," I shriek at her as I work to steady the edge of the tray with my hand. "Don't ever scare me like that again. I almost lost all of this."

"That would have totally come out of your tips, Zoe." She states the obvious. "You need to be careful."

I know she's teasing me. The huge smile on her face is evidence of that. "I have to go drop these off. How's your shift going tonight?"

"You're not getting off that easily." She looks past me to her station. "I have a minute right now. Tell me where you've been all day."

I want to keep my blossoming friendship with Beck a secret because I know that she's going to make assumptions about what it really means. Anyone would. He's gorgeous, he's single and he sees me as a potential pal. It's not that I'm completely embarrassed by that. I should actually be honored that he wants to develop a close bond with me but I can't ignore the fact that I feel rejected in a sense. He may have been trying to pick me up the first night he was here in the pub, but he was trying to pick up Bridget and almost every other server too. I don't fit into what he desires in a woman and that stings, regardless of how much a friendship with him might come to mean to me.

"Zoe." She taps me softly on the shoulder. "Where did you go today?"

I inch slightly forward on my feet, wanting her to clear a path for me so I can get to the table of businessmen who are waiting for these shots. "I was volunteering today. I was in Brooklyn."

I see the skepticism in her expression but she doesn't push at all. "You better drop those off before you drop them on the floor."

I nod as I scurry across the crowded bar, the entire time my mind focused on Beck.

B
eck

She looked like an angel when she said goodbye to me at the subway station. The tip of her nose and her cheeks were a soft pink from the cold as we stood on the street to say goodbye. I wanted to insist on walking her home, not because I don't trust the safety of that part of the city. I do. I just wanted to soak up every moment I could with her. She'd told me stories about her grandfather who has Alzheimer's as we rode the train back into Manhattan. The seats were crowded, so she'd leaned against my side as we held tightly to one of the poles. The edge of her small, delicate hand was touching mine the entire time. I feel like I'm sixteen again and she's the girl I have a crush on.

When she leaned forward to hug me before she turned to walk down the street, I'd clung to her. She smelled perfect and her body molded into mine as though it was made for me. Her lips grazed my cheek before she whispered in my ear that she was grateful that I'd gone with her and that my donation to the center's silent auction would change lives.

The woman is a saint. The woman thinks I'm a saint. I'm falling hopelessly for her and I can't.

I'm in a bar in mid-town. I'd ached to go to Easton Pub so I could stare at her for hours again but I couldn't bring myself to do it. She didn't flinch when I told her I just wanted us to be friends. I thought I saw disappointment in her expression but if it had been there it was fleeting and short lived.

On the subway I caught her staring at me.  She was studying my profile and I wanted, more than anything, when I turned to look at her, for her to reach up so she could cup my cheeks in her hands to kiss me. I want to kiss her. I crave the taste of her lips but if I do it, she becomes another woman in a long string I've used to get over the pain of lost love. My heart is fragile still. It shouldn't be after all this time, but it is.

I can't risk getting involved with a woman who loves someone else. I did it with Liz. She loved and will always love Mark regardless if he's walking this earth or not. I didn't realize how much I cared for Alexa until she was involved with Noah and now, thinking back, I wonder if that's what made her so completely irresistible to me when I got back to New York.

I've been more honest with myself in the last week than I have been for years. I didn't try to contact Alexa for more than a year before her wedding even though we were both here in New York for most of that time. I know where she lives. I have her number. Hell, I even know where she works, yet instead of trying to win her back, I fucked other women. I didn't think about her when I was doing that. I didn't feel anything for her until her wedding day. It's messed up.

"Do you want another drink, handsome?"

I turn towards the perky blonde server who has been attentive to my needs since I sat down almost two hours ago. "I think I'm going to call it a night."

"I get off in a couple of hours." She nods towards her plunging neckline. "I bet we could have a lot of fun together."

She'd win that bet in spades. I'd devour that tight body all night if I'd walked into this bar a few weeks ago. "I'm sure we would but not tonight."

"Do you want my number?" she asks before she starts writing something down on a square napkin. "You can call me any night this week or next."