New Amsterdam: Tess (10 page)

“Hey!” Thessaly teases.

“When we met, you were wearing pants – let me enjoy your long legs.”

“I’m sure it’s obvious I don’t wear dresses much,” she reveals.

Resting his tan arm on the back of the love seat, Levi leans in to whisper, “I don’t either.” He smiles, dropping his hand on her shoulder. “Although, Dani used to dress me up and call me Laverne.”

Confused by his ambiguous admission, Thessaly squints her eyes and purses her lips. “Danny?” she asks.

“Yeah, my older sister.” Levi matches Thessaly’s quizzical expression and then laughs. “Dandelion Jones?”

“Oh, wow, you were serious?”

“Yep,” he replies. “Long or short story?”

“The entertaining one.”

“Our mom was Amish – like rode in a horse and buggy and churned butter under the candlelight. When she was a teenager, she would sneak off with her friends through the Pennsylvania wheat fields to party with modern civilization.”

“Like Leanne in season three of
Orange is the New Black
!”

“Is she the drug-dealing lesbian?”

“No, the meth addict that works in the laundry room,” Thessaly replies flatly. “Sorry for the tangent – finish the story.”

“Fine,” Levi agrees with a sigh. “When she was sixteen, a group of Amish friends accidentally left her behind at a dive bar. That was also the night she met my dad, a drummer for an eighties psychedelic rock band. After crashing with my dad in a trailer for a month, she returned to her parent’s farm, pregnant and scared, and needing their help. A meeting was called with the elders, and without much consideration for the health of my mom, she was shunned. My grandparents gave her a few hundred bucks, a Bible, and then sent on her way.”

“Amazing. I never realized the culture was so hard on teens.”

“Right? Well, my dad was only eighteen at the time and completely broke, so he quit the band and got a crappy job in a small town outside of Lancaster. They rented a one-bedroom cottage on the property of a hundred acre farm.”

“I can see where this is going,” Thessaly says with a smile.

“Are you picturing me in suspenders and a big hat?”

“Tossing the hay around with a pitchfork.”

“You’d enjoy me tossin’ the hay, wouldn’t you?” Levi taps his forehead against Thessaly’s head and continues. “So the old couple on the farm didn’t have any kids, and they just loved my parents. Reba and Chester, I think were their names.”

“Great names.”

“Speaking of names . . . usually the first-born Amish child takes the name of an elder, but Mom still had that streak of rebellion running through her veins. So on a stormy spring night, Dandelion Moon Jones was born.”

“But you got the name of the elder.”

“Yep, Levi is my grandfather.”

“So what made her use an Amish custom with you?”

“A few months before I was born, my parents finally tied the knot. As a wedding gift, Reba and Chester gave the farm to the Jones family on the condition that it never be sold to Hershey.” Levi scratches his chin and stares at the dark clouds in the sky. “I think they moved to Arizona or something because I remember their Christmas cards with Santa and a cactus.” Shrugging his shoulders, Levi continues. “Believing it was a sign in the decency of humanity, Mom and Dad vowed to give that tired farm a new life while helping the people of the community. They even opened their doors to Amish runaways, teaching them how to incorporate the farm life in a modern world.”

“Did you have a lot of runaways over the years?”

“Dozens. Mostly young men with beards and very little personality – except Hannah.” Levi waggles his brows and smiles devilishly.

“Naughty boy. So you lived on a farm just like me, and yet here we sit on a plastic couch on the tip of Manhattan.”

“Not as long as you, though. We moved to Harrisburg when I was in high school. Dad got a job as an agriculture consultant for the state, and Mom finally fulfilled her dream of owning a small bakery. Looking at my parents now, you would never know that they led former lives as a drummer and an Amish girl.”

“And what happened to the farm?”

“Dani and her family live there now. They converted the main estate into a bed and breakfast.”

“Nice,” Thessaly adds dreamily, staring into Levi’s dark blue eyes.

“They did a great job – my old bedroom now has a fireplace where I once plastered Hilary Duff posters. We should go sometime.”

As the thunder booms and a mist leaves the outdoor living room covered in condensation, several couples and groups of friends begin to leave the Seaport. But not Thessaly and Levi, they inch closer to one another, engrossed in their conversation.

“I’d love to go.” Thessaly places her head on Levi’s shoulder and asks, “So how did you end up in Brooklyn?”

Levi grins, his teeth blindingly white but his lips slightly tinted orange from the shaved ice. “You first. How did a tomboy from Asheville end up in New York – Downtown even?”

Thessaly lifts her head from his shoulder, extends her arms and clasps her hands. Cracking her knuckles, she laughs nervously. This is
that
moment – the one where the truth becomes a part of the story arc. Turning into him, Thessaly admits, “I followed a boy.”

Levi moves his mouth inches from Thessaly’s lips and whispers, “You don’t like to follow.”

Caught up in the sexual tension, Thessaly grazes his lips and hushes, “And you?”

“I nudge.”

Interrupting their moment, Levi’s phone buzzes with a text message. Frowning, he reads aloud, “Game night canceled due to impending thunderstorm.” Levi looks up from his phone and scans the emptied outdoor space. “Shit, Tess, we should probably go soon.”

Standing from the plastic couch, Levi offers his hand to Thessaly. One foot at a time, Thessaly squeezes back into her pumps, wincing in pain as she puts weight on her feet.

“Um, take those off.”

“What? No, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“Take them off, right now.”

Thessaly’s eyes expand in horror as she screeches, “I’m not walking barefoot, Levi!”

Another rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning approach the pier. And then the rain starts – buckets of warm water pouring from the heavens like a dunking booth gone awry. Thessaly quietly snickers as she watches the rain drip from Levi’s nose to his chin. His damp black T-shirt clings to his body, revealing a defined, muscular stomach. Thessaly snickers, realizing that her wet makeup must resemble a face of melting wax.

Looking around the closed Seaport, and then surveying Thessaly’s drenched body, Levi shouts, “C’mon.” In a desperate yet sexy move, Levi swoops Thessaly in his arm and then throws her over his shoulder. She squeals and squirms, but Levi slaps her ass and begins to jog.

“Where’s your apartment?” he asks.

“Pearl and Beekman! Like five blocks!” Thessaly shouts against his back.

After a few blocks, Levi stops under the large canopy of the Fulton Market. He sets Thessaly down and smirks. “You’re really wet, Tess.”

Thessaly wobbles in her slippery heels and falls into Levi’s chest. He swipes away the wet curl sticking to her cheek, and then runs his thumb over her mouth. Thessaly parts her mouth to speak, but Levi pries her mouth apart so that he can kiss her.

Bringing both hands to Thessaly’s face to cup her cheeks, Levi backs Thessaly up against the door of the closed market. Pressing their wet bodies against each other, they soak up every drop of rain lingering on their lips. Consumption and hunger, followed by lust and passion – it’s a kiss made for the movies.

It’s a kiss in the rain.

Taking a breath and staring into Thessaly’s mascara-smudged eyes, Levi moans, “Ready?” Without an answer, Levi peels her away from the door and lifts her over his shoulder. She doesn’t fight him this time, and she doesn’t even bother with the placement of her dress.

Glancing at their reflection in the window of the market, Levi smirks as his eyes follow the outline of Thessaly’s lacy thong. He moves his hand to her ass to cover the exposed undergarments, and then takes a deep breath.

Darting back into the rain, Thessaly’s head smacks against the muscles in Levi’s back. Without thinking, she blurts, “How did you get this body?”

Levi replies, “Peace Corps.”

“Impressive. I’m the building on the left – with the glass door.”

Approaching Thessaly’s apartment building, Levi sets her down gently and takes her hand. “Well, that was fun.”

“I guess I’ll have to beat you at shuffleboard some other time.”

“Right,” Levi patronizes.

“Would you like to come up? I could make some honey vodka lemonade.”

Sighing, he replies, “Tempting, but I have a busy morning tomorrow. I should get home.”

“Oh, yeah. Me too. Big, crazy day!”

Levi leans in to kiss Thessaly, but feeling rejected and embarrassed, she turns her head so that he makes contact with her cheek.

Taking a step back, Levi mutters, “Tess, I want you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “But I’m confused.”

Levi bites the inside of his cheek while staring at the empty space above her head. After scratching his chin, he locks eyes with Thessaly and smiles. “You know that awesome feeling back on the farm when you’d snatch a peach from a low branch?” Stepping closer and gliding his finger along her damp cheek, Levi lowers his voice to hush. “The skin is like velvet, and the scent is sweetly intoxicating.”

Thessaly’s mouth puckers like a fish as she follows the movement of Levi’s lips. She wants to be kissed – she wants to be the peach. “Saf-pea,” she mumbles.

“Yes, Tess, a soft peach,” Levi teases. “Now, an impatient man would rip into the tender flesh and swallow up the golden fruit like a novice – missing all the sweet juice that trails down his hand as he selfishly reaches for another.” Levi kisses Thessaly’s forehead and whispers, “But I will wait,” moving his mouth to her ear, he adds, “until you’re ripe.”

“I’ve dug my hands into the earth more times than I can count, and each time, I think I’m saving the world. But there will always be a hunger – humans crave more.”

Chapter Seven

Levi: You’re so sexy when you’re wet.

Smiling, Levi rereads his text and powers on the treadmill. Removing his T-shirt, he jogs on a slight incline while gazing out the window of his Brooklyn loft. At nearly twelve-hundred square feet, and with ceilings twenty-feet high, Levi’s loft is considered an industrial mansion in the middle of Vinegar Hill.

Early morning ships and the occasional yacht sail along the East River – it’s normally entertaining, but Levi can’t seem to focus on anything other than Thessaly standing in the rain. He quickly glances at his phone, waiting for her reply – because if he’s right about Thessaly Sinclair, she’ll have a snarky comeback . . .

Tess: I’m so embarrassed! I never get that wet on a first date.

Nailed it.

Slowing the treadmill as he pecks at the screen, Levi thinks of something clever.

Levi: Then I did something right.

Tess: Maybe it was my position? Over the shoulder, ass in the air.

Levi grins, remembering the shape of Thessaly’s cute butt bouncing in the rain.

Levi: We could do this all day.

Tess: We could, but I’m running late for a photo shoot @ The Hive.

Levi: Please tell me you’ll be naked.

Tess: Topless and covered in honey. The family will be so proud.

His erection growing, Levi misses a step on the treadmill.

Levi: Can I stop by?

Tess: NO! You’ll make me laugh.

Levi: I’ll bring cupcakes . . .

Nearly tripping over his shoelace as he types the ellipses, Levi stops the treadmill and sits on the couch. He waits patiently, imagining her smiling at his offer.

Tess: Deal. I like strawberry with cream cheese frosting.

Levi: Delicious.

Tess: And sprinkles. Or like those curls of white chocolate.

Levi: I’ll see you this afternoon.

Tess: I may regret this.

Tossing his phone on the couch, Levi drops to the floor and completes two sets of twenty pushups. Flipping to his back, he folds his arms over his chest and brings his knees to his waist for a set of fifty crunches. He never played organized sports, and he rarely goes to a gym, but the three years he spent in the Peace Corps afforded him with a physical appreciation of general health, and a body with lean muscles that makes all the girls swoon.

After graduating from Georgetown University with a Bachelor of Science in Business Development with an emphasis in agribusiness, Levi landed a prestigious job with an environmental law firm in Washington D.C. He worked fifteen-hour days as a consultant to lobbyists, pouring his agriculture knowledge into projects he didn’t believe in. So one night, after beers with a few of his buddies from college, they made a drunken pact to volunteer for the Peace Corps. Whether or not the other guys actually applied, Levi will never know, but he did – and within a year, he packed his bags and shipped off to Belize.

Broken Spanish, weekly immunizations, and a bout with dehydration were mild setbacks to the rewarding experience of watching a community harvest a small crop. Along with three other American Peace Corps volunteers, Levi led a team of ten farmers in the agribusiness community project. His main objectives were to teach families financial literacy, like bookkeeping and report analyses, and to facilitate product development through marketing.

In the midst of helping the world become a better place, Levi met a beautiful girl from California. Taylor Johnson was a former Miss California, a graduate from Berkeley in Women’s Studies, and the daughter of a Congressman. Levi and Taylor would have been the perfect couple – future leaders changing the global perspective of farming and business. But once they left the adventurous bubble of Belize and settled into the normalcy of Brooklyn, the relationship once fueled by wanderlust, soon became an awkward friendship.

Taylor eventually moved back to California to work as a liaison to the Mexican government, and Levi started Brooklyn Soil with a silent business partner. Within twenty months of opening the doors, Levi has elevated the rooftop project into an actual business with satellite farms all over New York City. But it’s his humanitarian projects that bring him the most joy – well, that and the six-figure income for doing something he loves.

Cooling down with three minutes of jogging, Levi powers off the treadmill and heads to the industrial bathroom. He removes his sneakers and his running shorts, and then steps into the lukewarm shower – another side effect of living modestly in Belize for twenty-seven months. Quickly washing his hair and scrubbing his body with an organic blue agave blend, he stands under the large ceiling-mounted shower head, closes his eyes, and strokes his hard shaft.

Sex in the rain
, he thinks.
With Tess. Dripping wet. The smell of summer. Warm. Hot. Hot sex. Breasts. Take her from behind. Take her. Mmm. Pummeling her sweet ass. Oh, Tess.

Levi stops and opens his eyes – another trick he learned in Belize from using an outdoor shower with horrible plumbing. No PCV wanted to be the one held responsible for clogging a drain. He quickly adjusts the water to a freezing temperature and rinses off his soapy body. Finishing his shower, he steps onto the slate floor and grabs a towel. Wrapping it loosely around his waist, Levi applies deodorant and a spritz of woodsy cologne. Moving through the loft, Levi grabs a coconut water from the refrigerator, and then shuffles to his closet.

Selecting a white dress shirt and a pair of steely-blue dress pants, Levi dresses the part of a young businessman. He forgoes a tie, opting to keep his appearance less intimidating than the group of lawyers from the Afghani Alliance.

He clasps his watch on his right wrist, weaves a brown belt through the loops of his slacks, and then sits on his bed to pull up his socks adorned with skateboarding chickens. Stepping into his brown leather wingtips, Levi guzzles the coconut water and recycles the cardboard container.

Back in the bathroom, he brushes his teeth, applies a small amount of product to his thick, candied-pecan hair, and pops open the top button of his dress shirt. Making his way toward the galvanized steel door, he grabs his phone from the couch, and an apple from a handmade, South American bowl in the kitchen.

The industrial loft sits on the fourth floor of a converted mechanical warehouse. When he bought the space last year, he wasn’t trying to be hip or in front of the trends, he simply wanted to be close to the farm. The building is geographically located in a neighborhood referred to as Vinegar Hill, a tiny section of DUMBO, situated under the Manhattan Bridge with views of Downtown and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. At one point, there were only two residents living in his entire building – now the complex is maxed at thirty occupied lofts, and a new building permit to install a rooftop pool.

Stopping by the only deli in the neighborhood, Levi buys a newspaper, two egg whites on a whole wheat bagel, and a small bottle of Tropicana orange juice. “Hey, Mr. Bertucci. Any plans this weekend?” He places ten dollars on the counter and smiles at the man behind the register.

“Nah, family is in Sicily,” Mr. Bertucci replies, returning his change.

“That must be nice – TV all to yourself I bet.”

Mr. Bertucci bags Levi’s breakfast, throwing in a pack of Trident, and says, “I’d be a bad guy if I said I didn’t miss them, but catching up on House of Cards while drinking regular beer is nice.”

“I hear ya. Enjoy your weekend!” Levi grabs the bag and newspaper and heads out the door.

Arriving at the main office with the only access to the rooftop, Levi shoves the last few bites of egg sandwich in his mouth. He pockets the gum, gulps the orange juice, wipes his mouth, and then tosses his trash.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones. You have a group of middle school campers arriving for a tour in thirty minutes.”

Patting the receptionist desk forged from an anchor, he says, “Thanks, Gayle. Page me when they get here?”

Gayle smiles and replies, “No problem. And your meeting with the Alliance has been rescheduled for eleven-thirty. I’ll have Robert set up the south boardroom.”

“Very good,” Levi replies, walking toward the elevator.

Stepping out onto the roof, he stops by his adjacent office and tosses the newspaper on his desk.

“Dude, you missed the best fucking lamb chops.” Travis, the chubby hipster from Williamsburg, pops his head in Levi’s office and chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sorting his mail, Levi adds, “You doing anything around nine?”

“Nothing on the schedule, although, Carlos is showing me how to ferment Chilean moonshine.”

“White bucket in the kitchen?”

“For sure, dude!”

“Label it.” Levi hands Travis a lanyard with a keycard and adds, “And do the nine o’clock tour.”

“But I hate kids,” Travis whines.

“Be nice. These kids belong to an inner-city science club – give them a little rooftop joy. Cool?”

“Fine, boss.”

“And close the door,” Levi adds.

Sitting at his desk, Levi pulls out his phone to send a text to Thessaly.

Levi: What are you wearing for the photo shoot?

Tess: A bee costume.

Tess: What are you wearing?

Levi: A smile.

#thehive #photoswarm

“Anything else you want, on Twitter?” asks Meg.

Thessaly follows the photographer’s assistant to the register and looks back over her shoulder to address Meg. “I like that. Simple. And upload that photo with Seth and the Jar Jenga to Instagram.”

The art director for NY Foodie, Kate Morris, approaches Thessaly with an iPad and confirms, “So Sinclair Honey is your family brand, correct?”

Trying to answer the question as the assistant applies red lipstick, Thessaly mumbles, “Honey’s from the family farm. Infused here with local fruits.”

“And what about this new brand you mentioned over the phone? Wild Honey?”

“It’s launching next week. I have a few samples ready if you want to take photos.”

“Maybe, let me brainstorm,” Kate mutters as she shuffles to the kitchen, shouting at Seth to bring out the new honey.

“Mia, hand me the Nikon DX – and you,” the photographer points to Meg, “lower the lights.” The photographer, a middle-aged man with white hair and chartreuse eyeglasses, stands on a small stool to the right of Thessaly. “Look out that large window – think about all the things that make you happy.”

Placating, Thessaly nods. She stares out the window, watching as a trendy mom pushes a toddler in a stroller, and wondering where they’re going. If she was a mother, she’d take her children for ice cream on the pier. And then maybe a stroll through the market, feeding them strawberries and blueberries while shopping for fresh ingredients for dinner with daddy.

Mason?
she ponders.

Levi
, she imagines.

And Levi appears.

Thessaly giggles under her breath as the photographer shouts, “Less happy and more determined.”

“Okay,” Thessaly apologizes.

Clicking a few more shots as she lifts jams and honey out of a wire shopping basket, the photographer finally announces, “Done. Let’s shoot your new brand at the island.” He passes his camera to his assistant and then joins the art director in the kitchen.
Poor Seth
, thinks Thessaly.

“Ice cream hottie is here,” Meg shouts under her breath.

“I know,” Thessaly replies, walking to the front to greet Levi.

Handing her a bouquet of wildflowers and a bakery box of cupcakes, Levi says, “You’re not naked. And you’re not wearing a bee costume.” He kisses Thessaly’s cheek and then whispers, “Why’s it so quiet in here?”

Laughing, she replies, “It’s a food magazine, not very exciting.”

“We should change that.”

Smelling the flowers, Thessaly leads Levi to the center island. “The flowers are beautiful – thank you.”

“Hey, there.” Meg looks up from her laptop with a mischievous grin.

“Meg, this is Levi – Levi, Meg.”

“Hi, Meg.” Sitting on a stool across from Meg, Levi places his hand on Thessaly’s hip and says, “Navy pants and a white shirt?”

Placing her hand on top of Levi’s, she replies, “This outfit photographs well. And you’re wearing the same thing!”

Interrupting the flirtatious banter, Meg asks, “Do you want me to stage a breakfast for Wild Honey?”