Iced Romance Page 10

  She sighs and takes a bite of her own rice. Her face, always so happy the few times I’ve seen her around, looks melancholy. I’ve never been the greatest at relationship talk, never had the slumber parties where we giggle about boys, but I need to say something. I reach out and pat her hand. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

  Jesica takes one last bite and then pushes her plate back a few inches. “I loved him so much it hurts to think about his face. But it hurts to not think about his face too. I hate him. I miss him. I wish he was dead. I want him back.” She lifts the side of her mouth in a half smile. “You must think I crazy!”

  Suddenly I realize I am blinking back tears. Jesica’s heartbreak is so similar to my own. I try not to cry and in the end, I emit a low moan mixed with a giggle. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I feel the exact same way about someone right now.”

  And with that, I have a very ready audience. I begin to talk, at first hesitant to mention too many details. Won’t Jesica get awkward with me if she knows I used to date a millionaire? But as my story tumbles out, Jesica just listens.

  “And that’s why I’m here. If there was a big enough hole to crawl into and disappear forever, I’d take it, but since there isn’t, I figured if I moved to a brand new place, laid low for a while until the scandal died down, and started again, I’d be able to keep my sanity.”

  “So Todd not know where you are?” Jesica stands and picks up her plate. I rise as well and carry my dishes into the kitchen and place them beside the sink.

  “No, he emailed me this afternoon, but I didn’t respond. I’m not going to either. He thinks he can cheat and get away with it, but he can’t.” My fists clench as I say those last few words and I shake my head in an attempt to calm down.

  “Men who cheat are pond scum. In Spanish we call them cabrones.” Jesica turns the water on and fills the sink with hot, soapy liquid.

  I repeat the word to myself. I like it.

  “Speaking of emails, do you know who in this building has the open wifi connection? I’ve been connecting to it for free for the past week, but I feel a little guilty for, you know, borrowing it.”

  Jesica laughs. “I think it is man upstairs. He is a security guard at an office in Orlando, and I not know his name. But I use his wifi too. I don’t think he mind, and I can’t afford my own, so don’t worry about it.”

  I nod, still getting used to this new world that I’m living in.

  Forty-five minutes later I am exhausted and ready to head to bed, but at the same time I don’t want to leave this tiny apartment. It feels so nice to vent, chat, and not hide anything about myself.

  Jesica yawns, covering her face with a hand, and I take that as my cue to go. I stand up from the couch. “Thank you so much for dinner,” I tell her for the second time. “I really appreciated it.”

  “This is what friends are for,” Jesica smiles. She walks to the door with me. “You working tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’m off on Friday, though, and, I forgot to tell you, I have a date! He’s taking me to Gatorland!” I’ve wanted to talk about it all night.

  “You have a date already?” Jesica’s voice is shocked. “You just got out of relationship. Who is the new guy?”

  “I met him at work. His name is David, and he’s a policeman.” I feel my face turning a little red at the slightly accusing edge in her words. “Am I moving too fast? Maybe I should give myself a break. I mean, you’re right, I just broke up with Todd and—”

  Jesica cuts me off. “And you have every right to go on a date. Sorry if I seemed surprised. You should do it. Have fun! And don’t look back.”

  I smile. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. We say goodnight, and I walk back into my own apartment, mulling over the evening.

  Before I climb into bed, I open my laptop and check my email. There’s another one from Todd. Wow, the second one today.

  I open it and read the short paragraph quickly.

  Kennedy? Still waiting for you to get back here. What the crap is wrong with you? I know I messed up a little with a few people, but you’re not perfect either, right? When are you coming home? Emily Poole has been calling every few minutes. No one knows where you are. I mean, sure you’re giving me some pretty great publicity, which is AWESOME, but this is getting old. Babe? Come home. Later, T-dawg

  PS Have you seen my Ovechkin jersey?

  I smile spitefully when I read the last line. Todd will see his beloved jersey himself in a day or two, as soon as the mail gets to him.

  I delete the email and when I collapse into bed a few minutes later, I fall instantly asleep. Dark. Dreamless. Happy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Works goes quickly and without incident the next day and when I wake up before my alarm on Friday morning, I’m amazed that I’ve already been in Florida for a week and half. In so many ways it feels like I’ve been here forever. My air conditioner has been blowing non-stop since the night before, and I’m freezing, so I cut my reverie short and climb out of bed. I turn the AC down and throw on some sweats and a t-shirt.

  I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a first date in so long. My most recent first date was with Todd, and it kind of sucked, looking back. It was the day after I met him at that club. We’d arranged to meet up for dinner and a movie. I ended up getting to the restaurant five minutes late. It was fashionable to be late, right? Todd wasn’t there yet. I waited about ten minutes and then decided to grab a table. The waiters had been giving me strange looks. So I sat down, ordered my drink, and had finished it plus three refills before he finally showed up. No excuses, he just said “Hey Kathy.” I corrected him on my name, we had a fun, flirty dinner, he paid the bill, we skipped the movie, and that was that.

  That was five years ago now.

  And today I’m having another first date.

  I should do some yoga. I sit down on the floor and pull my knees in to my chest. I took a yoga class with Emily Poole back in Colorado. She said that all the celebrities were doing yoga and so we, obviously, had to do it too. Twice a week, at a studio a few blocks from my condo. I try to recall any of the positions we did.

  I remember Warrior. But that one always hurt, and besides, I don’t have a strong enough core to get my leg out straight behind me. The yoga instructor was always correcting me, telling me in a slightly condescending tone that I needed to find my inner eye or something like that. I never found it.

  What else was there? Oh, how about the snake one. Serpent? Python? I don’t remember what it was called. But my back usually ached after it.

  On second thought, maybe I’ll just practice the breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

  There, that works. I cross my legs and place my hands on my knees, channeling the meditating monks I saw on Discovery Channel a while back.

  In. I’m going on a date! Oh my gosh.

  Out. What am I going to wear?

  In. I am so excited to see David again. He really is good looking.

  Out. But what if he asks awkward questions about my past? He’s so grounded, so normal. What if he thinks I’m an idiot to have skipped out on my degree and just spent my life following a guy from state to state?

  In. Gatorland is going to be awesome!

  Out. Should I wear heels? My feet are so callused and tough now from standing all day long, I bet I could handle heels.

  I keep an eye on my alarm clock and as soon as I hit the five minute mark I stand up. No point in doing meditation overkill. Time to get ready.

  Two hours later I am standing in the middle of my bedroom. Clothes litter the carpet and my unmade bed and dresser drawers are pulled out haphazardly, but I am ready.

  I’m wearing the new leggings I bought at Target when I went with Leila after work yesterday. They are bright orange and I feel optimistic as I look at myself. Bright. Vibrant. The new
Kennedy. I’ve combined them with a long, black t-shirt that says “Party All Night” in sparkles across the back, and I’ve completed my ensemble with a pink Gucci designer belt, fastened Kim Kardashian style around my waist.

  I don’t look at all like Colorado Kennedy. But I like what I see.

  I look fun.

  I peek out the window. David should be here soon.

  A knock on the door startles me, even though I’ve been waiting. I swing the door open wide and greet him. David is wearing a plaid shirt and jeans with a baseball cap on his head.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Definitely.” I lock the door and we head out to his waiting truck.

  As we walk down the front steps, I sniff the air appreciatively. “Orange jasmine,” I exclaim. Todd gave me a perfume last year for Christmas that was called Orange Jasmine Garden and it smells exactly like the air.

  “Orange blossoms.” David points to a nearby tree with white flowers and buds all over. “Not sure about jasmine, but you’ll smell the orange blossoms for the next few weeks at least. They’re Florida’s state flower, you know.”

  “Orange blossoms? So that will have oranges on it, real, edible oranges?” I gaze in interest at the tree.

  David opens the passenger side door and I climb in. “Real oranges. Look at Florida license plates. There’s a reason—we have oranges all over.”

  I haven’t noticed the license plates at all, to be honest. I’ve been so busy trying to avoid thoughts of Todd, keep my head above water at work, and somehow regain a semblance of normal life that I haven’t been overly observant.

  As we pull away from the curb, I look at the cars parked along the street. David was right. Oranges.

  “Do you think I could plant my own orange tree?” I have visions of myself picking oranges out the window, eating them for breakfast. Like in the movie Clueless. Who knew that part was real?

  David turns onto South Orange Blossom Trail (again! All these oranges!) and glances at me. “Sure. But seeing how you live in an apartment, I’m not sure where you’d plant it.”

  True. My living room would be a bit crowded if I had a potted orange tree in there.

  I change the subject. “So, tell me about yourself.” I’ve been curious about him ever since our first conversation. “I know you like fry sauce. What else should I know?”

  “I hate vague questions. What should you know about me? I don’t know. What would you like to know?”

  I shrug. “Just stuff. Where are you from? What are your interests? All kinds of stuff.”

  “You want me to tell you ‘stuff’?” David’s voice is pleased. “All right. I’m from here, born and raised in Fort Lauderdale, but when I turned eighteen I moved around for a few years. Went to Utah and Arizona for a three-month backpacking trip with some friends, which, incidentally, is where I began my love affair with fry sauce. Then I lived in California, worked in a surf shop and spent all my money on plane tickets, exploring the world. By the time I was twenty one, I was tired of travelling and I came home. Moved to Kissimmee, entered the police academy, and have been here ever since.”

  “Where did you travel?”

  “Oh, all over. I went up to Alaska and into Northern Canada for a few months and after that, I—”

  “I lived in Edmonton for a little while,” I interject with excitement. Connection! “I was planning on going up farther north to see the buffalo and reindeer and all that stuff, but I never got around to it.” Actually, Todd thought that would be boring, so we spent our vacations flying to St. Barts instead.

  “You lived in Canada?” David seems impressed. He pulls to a stop at a red light and gazes at me across the seat. “What were you doing there?”

  Crap. “I, uh,” I have no idea what to tell him. I don’t want to mention Todd, because I don’t want him interfering in this date, even just in my head, but what else can I say? I sigh inwardly, then admit, “I was with a guy and it didn’t work out.” That sounds incredibly lame. I wince without meaning to.

  “You dated a Canadian?” David chuckles. “I knew you were an interesting girl when I met you. I’ve never known anyone who chose Edmonton as the place to be.” His eyes scan my face and I feel a quiver of nervousness. David’s a cop. He’s probably used to detecting liars. He’s probably thinking right now that I’m pathetic and creepy and . . .

  “What did you think of it?”

  “Of Edmonton? It was nice. I liked West Ed. The water park was super fun. They had this one slide that you step into a circle tube and then randomly the floor drops out from under you and you basically free fall down into the pool. Terrifying!” Todd had teased me when I was too scared to try that slide and eventually I had given in to save face. I almost peed myself, but I leave that detail out.

  “I think Canadians are some of the nicest people in the world.” The light turns green and David accelerates.

  “I agree. So where else have you been?” It’s time to change the topic back to David. No more about me or my past.

  “After Canada? Well, I went to Europe, toured Spain and Italy, tried running with the bulls. Visited London and did the whole royal family thing. Buckingham Palace and whatnot. I ended up with a two month stint in the Philippines, and that’s where I decided that my life had to have a bigger meaning than just exploring. I saw all the people, hundreds of thousands of them, and for some reason, it hit me that I shouldn’t just be living life for fun, but I should be helping people.”

  David shoulder checks and then turns into a parking lot. “Which is why I came back. Figured policemen could help make a difference, and slowly I’ve gotten into more of the social work aspect of things. I’ve been working with custody cases and family courts for a couple years now, and it feels really . . .” David shrugs his shoulders and looks out the window. His voice is the same as before, but I can detect a hint of . . . something. Maybe I won’t ask anything else about his job right now. It seems a little personal.

  I try to think of something else, but, after talking about Canada, Todd is haunting my thoughts. This isn’t turning out the way I imagined. Plus, David is clearly preoccupied and doesn’t want to get into personal stuff with me right now. I force a smile on my face.

  “Wow, good for you.” My comment falls flat and I search for something else to talk about. A sign out the truck window captures my attention. Gatorland! it screams. Below the sign, the doors leading to the entrance go through a giant, gaping alligator head. Kids are scrambling around, parents are snapping pictures.

  “This is—” I hesitate, not sure how to finish. It looks like fun. It’s touristy, it’s probably overpriced and packed with grandmas in Bermuda shorts, but I can’t wait. “This is brilliant!”

  David has snapped out of whatever nostalgia he was reveling in and grins at me. “Just wait until you’re inside.”

  He opens the door and then jerks his head around to look at me. “Hold it!”

  My hand is on the door handle and I jump a little. Did I do something wrong?

  “It’s a first date. My mother would beat me if I didn’t open the door for you. Wait right here.”

  I know it’s archaic, but the action makes me smile. I lean against the seat as David half-jogs his way around the vehicle and opens my door. I feel like . . . Cinderella, maybe? Maybe this date has potential after all. Now if I can only stop thinking about Todd, things will be perfect.

  After helping me out of the truck, David holds out his arm and I slip my arm through his. We enter through the massive gator mouth and David pays for the both of us. We hold out our wrists for the admission armbands and then the ticket girl hands us two little baggies with four raw hotdogs in each one. I wrinkle my nose and look at David.

  “Um, what’s with the wieners?” The smell of uncooked hot dogs makes me gag.

  “They’re for fee
ding the gators,” the girl contributes. “Much more humane than giving them live animals.”

  That’s right. I remember from the pamphlet the bit about letting people feed the alligators.

  “As long as I don’t have to eat them, I guess.”

  “What, you don’t like hot dogs?” David lifts an eyebrow.

  “No, actually. I’m a vegetarian.” As always, I feel a rush of pride when I say those words. Vegetarians are in their own class of people. It’s like a club or something.

  “Really?” David takes my hand and we wander past a gift shop toward the main park. “Then I guess you won’t be up for trying some good old alligator meat with me, will you?” His tone takes on a cajoling sound.

  “Alligator meat? Yuck, won’t it be all rubbery?”

  “Nope, not at all. Gators taste like chicken.” We pass a small vendor’s cart and the most appetizing aroma rises from the grill. My dilemma at Mama’s restaurant when I first arrived in Kissimmee returns in full force.

  “That smells delicious,” I admit, licking my lips. “And you claim that’s alligator?”

  “I swear it.” David hands some cash to the vending man and takes two little shish kebabs from him. I sniff longingly.

  Maybe I could be a red meat vegetarian. Or red meat and seafood or something. In fact, I could swear off all meat except for reptile meat. Right?

  Because that looks amazing.

  David takes a bite and chews. “Just like I remember from when I was a kid.”

  “You came here when you were little?” I try to imagine a tiny, blue-eyed, black-haired little boy, but can’t picture it. David is so . . . big.