But that’s about all I know.
I thought about asking Mika for more information, but since he works late, I knew he wouldn’t have time to answer me, and also, I kind of want this to be a mystery. I’ve known Denise for years, but I’ve yet to meet Scottie. I think Mika said she’d only recently moved to NYC a few months ago.
I finish my coffee cake, throw my garbage in a bin, and then cross the street to the Anthropologie, where I find a woman standing in front of the window display, arms crossed, glancing around as if she’s looking for someone.
From the uneasiness in her stature to her wandering eyes, there’s no doubt that it’s her, so I pause for a moment to take her in.
Standing at what I’m going to assume is five six with heels, she comes off as professional in a black pencil skirt with a tucked-in white blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her legs are bare, and her feet are fit into simple heels. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, curled at the ends, and she doesn’t have one strand out of place. She seems poised, ready to take on theworld, but the knit in her brow and the worry on her lip lend me to believe as an onlooker that something’s troubling her.
I can only imagine what that is…
With my hands in my pockets, I cross the street, and just as I hit the sidewalk, her eyes connect with mine.
She stands a bit taller, adjusts her purse strap on her shoulder. “Wilder?”
“That would be me,” I answer as I watch her eyes not so coyly take in my black worn jeans, forest-green T-shirt with a hole in the collar, and my loose-fitting beanie.
“You’re…you’re not what I expected,” she says, giving me one more once-over.
“Yeah? What were you expecting?”
“Well, I mean, someone with…” She gestures toward me but doesn’t follow it up with a definition.
“Might have to catch me up on what you’re trying to say, because it’s not making much sense.”
She clears her throat. “Sorry, I just thought given your position in life, that you might look more…professional.”
“Ah.” I nod and then glance down at my clothes. “Not much of a clothes guy. Don’t bother spending my money on something that in the grand scheme of things doesn’t matter.”
“Some might argue that appearance matters.”
“Others might argue that you should never judge a book by its cover,” I counter with a smirk.
She studies me for a moment while I nervously tug on my lip ring. I was not expecting such a lukewarm welcome. I thought that I’d show up, she’d express her gratitude for my help, and then we’d go have some fun in marriage counseling. But this cold, standoffish exterior is quite chilling.
Clearing her throat, she says, “Well, I guess this will have to do.”
She guesses I will do?
Well, glad I could accommodate.
She then holds her hand out and says, “Hi, I’m Scottie.”
Knowing I really have nothing better to do today, I take her hand in mine and give it a shake. “I’m Wilder. Nice to meet you.”
She presses her hand to her skirt, fidgeting with the fabric as she avoids eye contact. “Yes, well, I’m sorry that we had to meet for the first time under these circumstances.”
“I’m not,” I say with a smile, causing her eyes to meet mine, confusion evident.
“Excuse me?”
I shrug. “Breaks up the normal routine, and it allows me an opportunity to practice my improv?—”
“Um…improv?”
“Yeah, Mika didn’t tell you? It’s a hobby of mine, so kind of frothing to test myself in real life. Not to mention, really enjoying the whole angle of this. Thinking I should start a business to pretend to be fake husbands all around the city.”
Her mouth parts open in surprise as she adjusts her purse strap again. “I’ll have you know there is nothing exciting or enjoyable about this ‘angle’ for me. I woke up this morning on the verge of losing all contents of my stomach?—”
