Page 3 of Wish I Were Here
I zip up Mrs. Goodwin’s pants, which thankfully fit perfectly, and hand over my coffee-stained trousers. When we’re both fully dressed, I swing open the closet door, but before I can step out, Mrs. Goodwin puts a hand on my arm.
“I was just teasing you about the thong, honey. Just trying to help you lighten up a little. Don’t take everything so seriously.” And with that, she gives me a wink and brushes past me out into the lobby.
I hesitate in the doorway, turning that familiar phrase over in my head.Don’t take everything so seriously.I’ve been hearing that for pretty much my entire life.It will be fine. Don’t worry about it. Rules are meant to be broken.
Thankfully, I’m pulled from that train of thought by a commotion across the room. Luca is behind the front desk, his fingers tapping on the counter along to the beat of the classic R & B song that he’s cranked up on his phone speaker. He belts out the chorus, uncaring that he sounds awful or that Mrs. Goodwin and I have walked right into his less-than-successful attempt at the harmony. In fact, he sings even louder when he spots us, rounding the counter to grab Mrs. Goodwin’s hand, pull her into his chest, and then swing her back out into a spin. I have to admit, for someone so tall, he’s surprisingly graceful. Except when he’s crashinginto me and spilling my coffee, of course. And then, like his tattoos, I have to wonder why I’m noticing Luca’s height at all. It’s hard not to, though, when his long limbs bop in my direction, his palm outstretched. I shake my head and back up slowly.
I don’t dance. At least not when anyone is watching anymore. I can’t even imagine having the lack of inhibition it would take to gyrate around the lobby, to move with such ease and abandon.
To lighten up a little and not take everything so seriously.
Nor do I have any desire to, I remind myself. Maybe I should be able to laugh off the stain on my pants and show up for my meeting looking like I got into a wrestling match with a Keurig. But what kind of impression would that leave my new boss? Sure, he’d probably be gracious enough to pretend he didn’t notice, but every time he was choosing faculty members for a committee, every time I was up for a promotion, he’d remember. People don’t forget when you mess up, or when you let them down.
Luca stops in front of me, his eyes drifting down to my feet and then back to my face. For some inexplicable reason, I feel a flush of heat take the same path as Luca’s leisurely gaze.
“You look very nice in Mrs. Goodwin’s pants.” His lips tug into a smile, his dark eyes crinkling in amusement. “Very—uh—clean lines.”
So, he overheard my closet conversation with Mrs. Goodwin. Now I have to walk past the front desk every single day wondering if my doorman is thinking about my underwear. Well, it’s not like he spends much time at the front deskanyway. He’s usually nowhere to be found when I need to pick up my packages or report a maintenance problem.
Or when the dry cleaning is being delivered, I remember, brushing a crease from my borrowed pants.
As if he’s intentionally trying to make my point, Luca gestures toward the sidewalk outside. “Come on, my car is out in front. I’ll drive you.”
I blink up at his face. “No, that’s really not necessary. I’ll take the bus.”
“The 54 just drove past.”
Darn it.“Rideshare, then.”
“Come on, Catherine. It’s my fault you’re in this situation. You said your meeting is at nine? I can drive you there in plenty of time.” He opens his arms wide, palms splayed, as if to show he’s harmless.
I remember his hand on my wrist and the strange desire to trace a finger along his etched butterfly wings.Harmlessis not a word I’d ever use to describe Luca, and not just because of some spilled coffee.
I pull out my phone and check the rideshare app. The closest driver is twelve minutes away. My heartbeat matches the background song’s peppy baseline. If I have to wait, I am definitely going to show up for the meeting with my blouse sweaty and my hair flying.
“This is the least I can do,” he insists.
“But—what about your post at the door? You really shouldn’t leave. It probably says so in the—”
“Building’s manual of rules and regulations.” He waves me off, and the flock of birds on his forearm takes flight. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Well. It probably does.”
“I do get a break, you know.” He gives me a wide grin. “And I’m choosing to take it right now so I can drive you to your meeting.”
Still, I hesitate.
“Come on,” Luca says, drawing out the last syllable as if he can tell I’m wavering.
I don’t know why I’m arguing with Luca except exasperation is safer than being drawn into that charming smile. I’ve spent a lifetime with charming smiles andcome on, it will be fines. I’m well acquainted with men who think the rules never apply to them… and the messes they leave in their wake.
Behind me, the music swells, reminding me that the clock is ticking and I’m wasting valuable time. This job was supposed to finally set me free. The first step is making it there. “I’ll take that ride.” I grab my laptop bag and head for the door with Luca and Mrs. Goodwin trailing after me.
Out on the sidewalk, I head toward a silver Toyota sedan parked in front of the building, but Luca shakes his head and steers me toward a ’90s-era Lincoln Town Car.
I come to a stop. “Really?”
His lips curve into a smile, and he gives the black vinyl roof an affectionate pat. “It was my grandpa’s.” I can’t miss the fondness in his voice, and I find myself hoping his grandpa is still around. Maybe he just bought a newer vehicle.
