8:59:In other news, I’m heading to spin classat five-thirty tomorrowmorningand I need a friend. Pleasepleaseplease? Don’t make me get into wedding shape alone!!!!
Ick, spin class. Nothing like havinga bike seat up your bum first thing in the morning.
Me:Sorry, my phone was in the other room. Obviously I’m famous. But only becausemy sex tape is such a crowd pleaser. And spin class? Isn’t there prenatal yoga?Hot yoga?Any kind of yoga?
Vera:Last time we did early morning yoga you fell asleep in Child’s Pose.
Me:So did you!
Vera:Which is why we’re doing spin class!
Vera and I had joined a gym togethershortly after her engagement. She’d decided to lose fifteen pounds before herwedding and wanted me to go through the pain and suffering too. She was one ofthose girls that carried her weight like a Kardashian. No, she wasn’t theskinniest girl ever. But damn…datass.
I didn’t have an ass. Or thighs. Ormuscles of any kind. I was like the female version of Gumby. If Gumby haddecent-sized boobs and hipster bangs.
Me:Vera don’t make me.
Vera:This is for your own good. I’m torturing you because I love you.
Me.I don’t love you.
Vera:Liarliarpants on fire.
Me:You’re buying me coffee after. And an EggMcMuffin.And also, I demand hash browns.
Vera:What’s the point of working out if I buy you McDonald’s after? Also, HELLO!Chef here! We’re not going to McDonalds.
Me:We’ll see.
Vera:5:30. Don’t be late!
I realized I’d been tricked, butchances were Vera would have always talked me into it. But she better not holdback the McDonald’s. On that point, I was very serious.
My phone buzzed again, but this timeit was an email. Choosing to ignore it for a while, I set to work cleaning mybrushes and tidying up my workspace. After I’d dropped my wine glass off nextto my sink, I double checked the locks on the front door and balcony. I didn’treally think someone would scale six stories just to steal my costume jewelryand hand-me-down furniture, but I just knew that the one night I didn’t checkit would be the one night I had to deal with a serial killer. ASpiderman-impersonating serial killer.
After brushing my teeth, washing myface, and changing from the oversized t-shirt I used for painting to the oversizedt-shirt I used for sleeping, I crawled into bed and wiggled my toes under thesheets. It wasn’t very late, but if I was seriously going to meet Vera at thecrack of dawn in the morning, an early bedtime was in order.
Checking my phone one last timebefore I plugged it in for the night, I saw the email I’d ignored earlier. Myheart jumped in my chest and a large horde of butterflies suddenly took flightin my belly, dipping, diving, and flapping giant wings.
A strange panicstirred the already fidgety nerves inside me. I wondered how he’d gotten myemail address until I belatedly realized I’d been the one to give it to him.For his florist.
Because he had aflorist.
The man had aflorist!
Could we all justtake a minute to roll our eyes in unison? Please and thank you.
My finger hoveredover the email, but I couldn’t make myself open it. What did he want? Why hadhe emailed me? Why did I care so much?
I thought about thehalf-finished painting of him in my office and decided to burn it. All evidencethat I’d contemplated the shape of his eyes and curve of his jaw must bedestroyed ASAP.
Ugh, it was stupid,but the truth was hard to face. I wanted to hate Ezra. Or maybe not hate him,but at the very least be unaffected by him. AndI still couldn’tmake myself not care.
He was too cool,successful, and larger-than-life. I couldn’t help but be mildly fascinated byhim. I wanted to know how late he worked every day, and how early he got up. Iwanted to know how he took his coffee, and which of the four restaurants heowned was his favorite? I wanted to know if the rumors were true that he reallynamed his restaurants after his ex-girlfriends. I wanted to know so many thingsthat I shouldn’t want to know.
Seeing his name inmy email inbox did funny things to my resolve to ignore him. He’d made aterrible first impression on me, but if he wasn’t so wholly intimidating, Imight have given him a second chance. Instead, it wasn’t just that a businessowner had insulted my sense of design… it was thatEzra Baptistehad belittled me.
