Page 10 of The Art of Loving Ellie
Our place was a wreck, bills were barely getting paid, and I vividly remember him walking around like a wraith, haunting the place. I shudder at the not so distant memory. Most of his family had long ago deserted him for being so careless—except for Aunt Jane, and with her traveling at the time, I needed to figure out what I was going to do for a living, and quick. But what could I do with a hidden love for painting and barely any money to get by?
I stop by a little hidden boutique on the way home from the salon to find an outfit that is comfortable enough for debauchery, but still pretty and flattering. The sidewalks are busy, and people are surrounding me, but I’ve found it incredibly easy to fall in love with New York. No one is poking around in my business like back home in Texas—wanting to know how I’m doing, or what my aunt is up to these days. Everyone just minds their own damn business, and that’s the way I like it.
Looking in my full-length mirror after spending an hour or so primping myself, I let my eyes travel over the simple, sleek, and functional outfit I’ve settled on. Black leather tights are carefully tucked into black laced up boots that cover just a couple inches above my ankle. I’ve paired this with a slouchy gray sweater with a slight ‘V’ to show just a bit of cleavage, but not too much. The red lipstick I found on sale accentuates my full lips, and my hair is pulled up into a high ponytail with my bangs playfully laying just over my brows.
My dark ensemble gives me an edgy vibe that I'm loving, and I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. I’m embracing this side of Ellie that I’m constantly running from. Tonight, I choose not to live in fear of the unknown. I’m going on a date with a handsome man, and I’m going to relax and have fun, even if it kills me.
Chapter Four
My phone begins buzzing in my hand, and a sheen of nervous sweat covers my forehead when I tell Tyler to come through the gate and around back where the exit from the apartment lobby to the parking garage is.
He’s idling in his car waiting for me, and when our eyes meet, I trip over my boot-clad feet. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door for me with one curious brow raised, thoroughly entertained. “Is being clumsy your forte?”
I fidget with my ear anxiously and give him a shy smile as I turn to sit down, but he reaches out to grab my elbow gently before I can take a seat. His eyes slowly roam over my face, hair, and exposed neck. My chest grows warm when he returns his gaze to me, and softly he says, “You look incredible.” He’s so close, I can feel the warmth of his chest on my right arm where he keeps ahold of me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was about to kiss me.
He’s wearing a thick, tan leather jacket with a blue Henley, paired with mouthwatering, worn-in blue jeans, and the same boots from our coffee meeting.
“Thank you.” I can’t believe how breathless I sound. Being so near to him makes my head swim.
He answers me with a smile and as I sit, he reaches for my seatbelt, stretching his upper body across me to buckle me in. His face is next to mine when he speaks, and the smell of mint on his breath is enticing.
“Okay, princess, sit back and relax. I’m going to take us to one of my favorite spots.” I smile at the pet name he’s given me. I’ve been given nicknames before, but none of them have ever given me butterflies like this one.
As he walks around to his side of the car to get in, I can’t help but notice his vehicle’s lack of flair. It’s somewhere between beat up junker and fancy dad-car. It looks like it’s probably been handed down to him, and I find it interesting. I imagined a guy like Tyler driving something just as spontaneous as he appears to be.
As if he’s reading my mind he tells me, “This is Helga, our family car. I borrow her from time to time.” He pats Helga’s steering wheel lovingly. “She may look a little rough on the outside, but her insides are in perfect working order.” He’s grinning like he’s proud, and it warms my heart a little; humble looks good on him.
“We Built This City” plays on the radio, and I watch the brightly lit buildings glide by us through my passenger window. “Where are we going?”
He drops his voice to a deeper octave and jokes, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
My heartbeat picks up at his insinuation, but he reaches over and takes my hand in his. Laughing lightly, he brings it to his lips, giving me a gentle kiss. Tingles spread through my body, and I smile back at him as I ponder the amount of trouble we are going to get into tonight.
The sun is setting as we continue moving along through neighborhoods and back streets to avoid most of the traffic. When we arrive in Upper East Side Manhattan, I’m struck with the realization that I haven’t explored this area much. If I’m not at Charlie’s, the corner store, or work, I’m usually at home.
Tyler pulls up in front of a beautiful restaurant named Límongrass. He gets out, giving the valet his keys, and I’m wide-eyed, admiring the place. Soft lighting pours out of the big glass windows that face the street. The walls inside are painted the prettiest pale yellow, and the décor reminds me of something I would possibly see in France.
Dainty glass vases adorn every table with tea light candles and sprigs of greenery, and it’s nice to find a little piece of comfort nestled into the busy city.
I’m startled when my door is opened suddenly, and I realize Tyler has caught me gawking. Stepping out of the car, I spin around to look at the rest of the block. “This place is gorgeous!” The smell of foods from other restaurants mingle with the ones escaping Límongrass, and my mouth begins to water uncontrollably.
He rubs his hands rapidly together in front of him, blowing a couple of breaths over them for warmth. “You like it?”
I eye him curiously. This is the first time since I’ve met him that he appears to be vulnerable. “Yes! It’s stunning. I hope they don’t mind a Texas girl with a big appetite. Where I come from, the annual pie-eating contest gets more media coverage than the Super Bowl.” I can hear the ‘yee-haw’ ringing in my words, and I can’t help but laugh at myself a little.
He joins my laughter and his eyes light up, with his dimples on full display. I place my arm in his as we enter the restaurant, and after giving the hostess his name, we’re quickly escorted to our table.
A young gentleman comes to take our drink order, and I ask for a glass of water. I made a promise to myself long ago that I would never take a sip of the intoxicating liquid that made my mother such a hateful woman—but with my nerves buzzing like an angry hornets' nest, I’m tempted.
“I’ll have a whiskey neat, thank you,” Tyler tells the waiter.
A few moments later, I watch as the waiter gently places our drinks in front of us. “Whiskey neat, huh? Is there a story to go along with your drink of choice?”
He smiles, “You know, not really. I didn’t start drinking alcohol until I was about twenty-two and by then, I had only tried a couple of beers, and maybe a vodka soda,” he laughs a little to himself like he’s embarrassed by his inexperience. “I decided to put a little hair on my chest and found that whiskey was my sweet spot. Sometimes I’ll put a splash of Sprite in it. Makes it taste a little like ice cream to me.” He runs a finger slowly over the rim of his doff glass as he speaks, and leans back in his chair, completely at ease.
I’ll admit it, he looks sexy. I shake my head smiling, “Ice cream?” He doesn’t elaborate, but the way he's looking at me is giving me chills. He hangs on to every word I say like he’s afraid I’m going to get up and bolt. Sitting back and rolling up my sleeves, I feel my body relax a little. I can’t help but notice that when I’m around him, I don’t feel the urge to be so uptight and perfect. It’s refreshing.
“I'm not much of a drinker. My mother pretty much ruined that for me. She was an alcoholic, and after seeing her barely functioning on a daily basis, it kind of took the fun out of drinking for me. Her constant belittling of me wasn’t super great either. She wasn’t exactly parent of the year.” I clear my throat uncomfortably, not quite sure why I divulged such a personal tidbit about myself, and I laugh attempting to lighten the subject. As if it’s no big deal that the woman who birthed me was a terrible person.
