Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (5 page)

Natalie eased a breath. “Go ahead.”

The pair of men eyed Julian with churlish expressions and muttered to themselves. She heard only a few words, but it was clear Julian was an annoyance to be waited out. They weren’t done yet.

“This place is dead,” Garrett told her. “Lock up and come with us.”

“Yeah, we’re
friendly
guys,” said the other. “Let’s have a date.”

Behind Natalie, Julian steamed milk in a small tin pitcher.

Garrett reached out and ran a finger over Natalie’s wrist. “Get rid of him and let’s go, eh?”

Natalie snatched her hand away and stepped back. Julian, smooth as silk, slipped into her spot, holding the milk pitcher used for making lattes and cappuccinos. It was throwing off thick plumes of steam for such a small pot; Natalie could hear the milk still bubbling and boiling inside. Julian leaned against the pastry display; his entire attitude casual and relaxed.

“I think it’s time the two of you leave. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Is that a fact?” asked the windbreaker. “Who do you think you are, asshole?”

“He’s the milkman,” said Garrett. “That supposed to scare us? Get the hell out of here before we break your face. This is none of your business.”

Natalie eyed the telephone on the wall by the back door; too far to grab unless she ran. The tension in the air held her fast. If she ran, she might crack it.

If Julian felt any tension at all, it didn’t show. “Milk fat acts like grease when heated,” he said matter-of-factly.

Garrett blinked stupidly. “What?”

“You can try to
break my face
but not before I scald you. It will burn like hell, you’ll be scarred for life, and if I aim well enough, you just might lose an eye.” He raised an eyebrow. “But go ahead, if you think it’s worth it.”

Garrett apparently
did
think it was worth it; he balled his hands into meaty fists and his lower lip protruded like a wet, fleshy shelf. But his friend held him back.

“Fuck this. Let’s get that beer.”

Garrett let himself be pulled toward the door. “Asshole,” he called. “Come outside without your little bucket and we’ll see who loses an eye. I’ll make hash out of your whole fucking face and you know it, bitch.”

The curses and epithets continued, muffled, after the door closed. Garrett banged his fist on the glass, making it rattle, and then they were gone.

Natalie let out a slow breath and took another to calm her racing heart. Julian returned the milk pot to its place on the cappuccino maker. His beauty, up close, made the ugliness of the two men seem far away.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was quick-thinking.”

“I don’t like this,” Julian said. “You working alone. At night. Every night.” He stared at window where Garrett and his friend had been, his body rigid with anger.

“Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Natalie told him. “Not in three years. I had a couple of run-ins with homeless men before, but they weren’t so bad once they had something warm to drink and a bit of kindness. And I have pepper spray. It’s in my purse. Usually I have it up front, but I forgot tonight. I forgot…”

Julian looked around at her and some of the tension in him eased, though his eyes were still stormy. “Are you all right?” When she nodded he said, “I’m sorry, I…what those men said to you…” He appeared to bite back harsh words. “I’ll wait with you while you close up.”

She nodded and gathered her purse and keys, leaving some duties unfinished for the first time in three years. The milk steamer was crusted over now and needed a cleaning, but could wait. Julian stood at the door.

“Do you take the Muni?” he asked, as she locked up. “I’d like to walk you to the stop and wait with you.”

“I live right here,” she said, and indicated the locked gate over the door next to Niko’s. “Upstairs, remember?”

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten.” His gaze swept the street, his blue eyes hard, looking for signs of the two men. He waited for her as she unlocked the gate that led up to the darkened stairway. “Good night, Natalie,” he said and closed the gate so that they were separated by the rusted white metal.

“Good night, Julian,” she said. “Thank you again.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

The next night, Natalie noticed right away how things were different between her and Julian. He lingered at the counter as he made his order, chatting lightly, and she found the nerve to offer him more coffee later when she saw him pause in his writing. They chatted further before she was pulled away to attend to customers. At quarter past ten the café emptied and then it was just she and Julian. He set down his pen and stretched.

“Is it against the rules for you to have something to eat with me? I’ll pay, of course.” He pulled out a leather billfold. “I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I’d like it if you joined me for a bit. If it’s allowed.”

“It’s allowed,” Natalie said, trying not to shout over the sudden pounding of her heart in her ears. She chose a croissant and after Julian paid for it, he carried her plate to his table and pulled out her chair for her.

His blue cashmere sweater was form-fitting enough to reveal he was a regular gym-goer, and made his blue eyes seem backlit for their brilliance. Not wanting to ogle his beautiful physique or become lost in those incredible eyes, Natalie was at a loss for where to look. She concentrated on her pastry and a silence fell between them.

Julian shifted in his chair. “I hate to open the evening with an unpleasant subject, but I’ve been thinking about last night. Those two men who harassed you.”

“I’m sure they won’t be back.”

“Maybe not but I can’t be here every night that you work and I’m not sure I can say anything more without…I don’t know, offending your feminist sensibilities perhaps. Or coming across like a creep myself. I just worry.”

Natalie blushed and looked away. She was sure Liberty would have spat out some retort about being able to take care of herself thank you very much, but Natalie felt warmed by his concern.

“On that note…” Julian rummaged in his messenger bag and pulled out a small box marked One Touch Security Systems. “This is for you. It’s a keychain fob with GPS. Just push the button and it sends the police wherever you are.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. A morbid gift, I know, but after last night…”

Natalie examined the box, noting the device was state-of-the-art. “Thank you.”

“The least I could do.”

She smiled, basking a little in the idea that he cared enough to buy this for her. “It’s very thoughtful,” she said softly. “Not quite as clever as threatening menacing brigands with steamed milk, however.”

“No, I suppose not, but infinitely more practical.” He laughed, much more at ease now. “‘Menacing brigands.’ I suspected you had a sense of humor but wondered if I would ever get to see it.”

Natalie turned her plate in little half-circles. “Well, you never spoke to me but to order coffee. There’s not much room for comedy between the order-taking and the change-giving.”

“You’re right,” Julian said. “I never did. Speak to you more, I mean. I should have.”

“It’s all right. I’m quiet. I have exactly two friends and if they saw me sitting here talking to an actual person, they’d wonder if I’d lost a bet.”

“I’m glad you’re sitting here, talking to me,” Julian said, that enigmatic smile whispering over his lips again, and then gone. “It’s my fault, though. I’ve been coming in for over a month. It’s just that…”

She leaned forward. “Yes?”

“It’s very easy to fall into certain patterns, especially if one is prone to such things.”

“Routines of solitude,” she said.

“Yes, exactly.”

Another silence fell and grew long, threatening to undo their progress. Natalie decided to be bold. Her eyes fell to Julian’s closed composition book, two-thirds of its pages now used. She could see where the paper had been written upon and where it was still untouched.

“How is your writing coming along?” Natalie asked and then added as lightly as she could, “Whatever it may be.”             

“I…yes, it’s coming along fine.” He smiled thinly and sipped his coffee.

“That’s...good,” she said. “You know, most writers I see in here tap away on a laptop. Not many still use pen and paper.”

“I’m old-fashioned. Or perhaps it’s another routine begun when I was a child that I haven’t yet been able to break.”

“Doesn’t seem like it needs breaking. Although your hand might have other opinions.”

He laughed. “Yes, my hand complains at times. But after ten years, it’s used to the abuse.”

“Ten
years
?”

“Longer, actually, now that I think about it. I had a teacher in grade school who bought them for me to…uh, to keep me out of trouble. Anyway, I notice you’ve always got a book going when it’s slow here,” he commented. “You’re an avid reader, I take it?”

“Oh, gosh yes,” she replied. “After bills, food, and school, my money goes to books. Sometimes I feel like I read too much, but I figure it’s better than television or poking around online.”

“There’s no such thing as reading too much.”

“My friend Liberty would disagree.”

“Liberty?”

“Liberty Chastain. One of my two friends. Massage therapist by day, cabaret performer by night. She’s always telling me I need to get out more and not spend so many Friday nights curled around a book.” She laughed shortly. “Yikes, that makes me sound like a hermit. Compared to Liberty I guess I am. She’s quite...memorable.”

“So are you.”

Natalie glanced up to find his eyes beholding her intently. She coughed and hoped the light was too dim for him to see her blush. “No, no. I’m just…I like books,” she said lamely, and fought the urge to run away and hide.

Julian’s smile set her at ease. “Yes, your Friday night company. So, who would that be?”

“Oh, I adore John Irving, Annie Proulx…Octavia Butler is lovely. Oh, but none can hold a candle to Rafael Melendez Mendón. If I had to choose a favorite, it would be him by a mile. Have you read him?”

Julian leaned back in his chair slowly. “I have.”

Natalie clapped her hands. “And?”

He sipped his coffee, shrugged.

“Oh, come on! If you’ve read him, surely you have some opinion of his work? He’s too important for indifference.”

“I wouldn’t say I was indifferent…”

“There are few things in this world I love better than the writing of Rafael Melendez Mendón. To the uninitiated or the
unappreciative
, I feel obliged to at least
try
to convert. I’m reading his latest right now for the third time.
Coronation.
It’s just…miraculous.”

Julian smiled thinly. “That’s a quite a hefty compliment, but there’s always room for improvement, don’t you think?”

“Not for him.” She shook her head. “Sorry, but I adore Mendón and get swept up just talking about him. I have all of his books and have read them ten times over, at least. I’ve read
Above
twenty times...” She picked at her croissant, realizing how crazy that must sound. “Liberty is right, isn’t she? I’m hopeless.”

“I’d say you’re pretty far from hopeless. There are worse things one could do with their time than read.”

Natalie looked to the window where the wind wailed mournfully. Dead leaves swirled outside the door.

“Sometimes I don’t feel as though I’m reading Mendón so much as I’m escaping into his stories,” she said. “His books are like a refuge from all that is ugly and mean. From pain. They are slices of absolute truth, you know? Truth expressed in the lives of his characters and shining through his prose.” She turned her eyes to him. “You really don’t have any opinion of him?”

“You’re disappointed?”

“No. Well, maybe a little. I don’t mean to put you on the spot or anything.” Natalie sighed. “Maybe Liberty and Niko—my boss, the eponymous Niko—maybe they’re right. That I spend too much time in stories and not enough in the real world.” She scoffed. “I hate that term. Mendón’s books are set in the real world but tinged with magic. And even when things get dangerous or violent or sad, in the end, you’re left with a sense of hope and faith in the goodness of people. That’s why I jump when someone says they’ve read him. I’m hoping they’ve seen and felt the same things, and that they appreciate him as well as I do.” She looked at Julian, a terrible thought occurring to her. “You don’t
dislike
his work, do you?”