He scooped more butter onto the end he hadn’t bitten. Lou smiled. She hadn’t been wrong about Al’s tastes. He knew how to enjoy good food. He handed her a cup of cider and she sipped. This was her favorite cider, too. The bubbles popped with appley bursts, not too sweet, not too dry. She broke off a chunk of cheddar and let it sit on her tongue, mingling with the aftertaste. As she bit, she felt the small cheese crystals crunching as the cider mellowed its bite, a surprisingly good pairing. She might be able to use that at the restaurant. Her musings were interrupted by Al.
“Tuppence for your thoughts?”
Lou sipped her cider to ready them.
“Work.”
“Ahhh. Imagining your next diorama of taxidermied rodents?”
Lou chuckled into her red plastic cup.
“So, what about your family? Do you see them much now that you’re here?” Lou finally asked.
“Not really. My parents still live in Windsor. Dad teaches at the school there.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“One brother. Ridiculously successful and charming. I hate him.”
“I can tell that’s not true.”
“No, it isn’t. But I’ll always be the little brother in his shadow.” Al sipped his cider as Lou fit a family into what she knew about him. “What about your family?” he asked.
Lou sucked in her breath and studied Al to decide whether she was ready to share.
“It’s just me. My parents died in a huge car crash several years ago. No siblings.”
“I’m so sorry.” He set down his cup and touched her arm. Lou wanted to close her eyes and lean into him, but not on a pity touch.
“Thank you. It’s been a few years, and I have amazing friends who help fill the gap. I even know an elderly couple who’ve almost adopted me.”
Al squeezed her elbow and they returned to snacking in silence. They both watched the clouds skitter across the lake.
“I really know how to ruin the mood, don’t I?” Al said as he laughed at himself. Lou laughed with him and grabbed his hand. She thought his eyes widened, but the moment was gone in a blink. Was he seeing someone?
“You did no such thing.” Lou studied her hands. “So, you know about my tragic love life. Any bungled romances in your past?”
“Bungled—good word.” Al paused. “There was just one. I thought she was my soul mate until she tried to shag my brother. Her name was Portia—that should have been a clue.”
“Harsh.” Lou scrunched her face as if she’d just sucked a lemon. “Someone really named—”
“When can I see you again?” Al interrupted, then turned his eyes toward the lake and pulled his hand back to grab an apple slice. “I mean, this is fun. It’s nice having you show me what I’m missing, talking to someone about bungled love lives.”
Lou watched him, realizing she had wasted so much time on Devlin when she could have found someone who wanted to spend time with her, enjoyed what she wanted to do. Al had it wrong—he was showing her.
• CHAPTER NINE •
The flashing green light was like a screaming toddler who lost his ice cream cone to a gutter; Lou wanted it to disappear but couldn’t ignore it. The caller ID already revealed who left the message. She chewed the inside of her lip as she tapped the countertop with her short nails. In a quick motion, much like jumping into a cold lake headfirst or tearing off a Band-Aid, Lou poked the Play button.
“Elizabeth, it’s Devlin. I hope you’re enjoying the mixer.”
“The neighbors are,” Lou responded as his message played.
“I’m going to come over at two today. I’ll see you then.”
“Good luck with that.”
Lou pushed the Delete button, picked up her purse and small bag of blue and gold clothes, and left, locking the newly rekeyed door behind her.
• • • • •
Almost three weeks had passed since Al stood in the Infinity Chamber with Lou. His body warmed as he remembered her vanilla scent. He glanced out the window to see if a banged-up black Civic had arrived. But no Civic yet, so he turned away from the window toward his apartment, already envisioning Lou in each room.
He had moved into the two-story condo months ago, but it hadn’t changed much since the first day. Al quite liked the open, airy quality of the space. Light yellow Cream City brick comprised the walls. He had liked their color and minimalist style, and found out later the bricks were classic Milwaukee construction. The open, bare brick walls were softened by lightly stained wood beams and pillars. Rosewood covered the floors, ranging from golden yellow to rich, dark reds, and his windows overlooked the busy street below, which made watching for Lou’s car easy. The main floor contained an open living room, a kitchen area, a study, and a bathroom for the guests he never had. The loft upstairs was his bedroom and master bath that overlooked the lower level.
Other than one stool next to the kitchen counter and his work desk in front of the two-story windows overlooking the street, Al didn’t have much furniture on the first floor. He used the study for storage. Right now it contained his bike and a few boxes of cookbooks.
Up the open stairs to the loft, Al’s bedroom had a large king-size bed covered in a soft, gray down comforter and fluffy white pillows. He liked sinking into his bed and letting the comfort surround him. It was his one major purchase in Milwaukee. In the walk-in closet, Al’s dress pants and button-down shirts, plus the two suits he rarely wore, hung on hangers, but his socks, T-shirts, and pajamas still sat in the open suitcases, as if he were ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
Most nights he worked at his desk, an old farm table he’d found at a rummage sale. It was sturdy enough to safely hold his computer and books but cheap enough for him to leave behind when he moved. He preferred to type his columns at night after he finished a restaurant visit, while it was fresh in his mind. In the quiet after midnight, the window turned into a mirror, reflecting the sparse, bright apartment behind him and blocking out the busy traffic and lights below. Only the sound of running engines and closing doors reminded him of the life on the other side. It was peaceful—his own ivory tower of Cream City brick.
Al walked into his kitchen. He pictured Lou perched on the black granite counters as he whipped up a meal just for her. The counters formed a U shape and small appliances dotted the surface: an electric tea kettle, a KitchenAid stand mixer, and even a yogurt maker. He’d been trying to make a decent Greek yogurt for weeks. The left wall opened into the dining and living area. He usually ate his breakfast on the stool looking into the kitchen, the only room in the condo representing his interests. Hanging on every open wall space shone his beloved collection of French copper cookware—both beautiful and useful. Along one counter he had dozens of cookbooks, some open to a recipe, others battered from frequent use. Al used this space to explore and try to re-create dishes from the restaurants he visited.
Next to a wrapped present, the most colorful object in the kitchen lay on the hard black counter: a magnet of Chihuly’s glass sculpture. Al had bought the small kitschy item as a memento of the lovely day he shared with Lou at the museum. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t stick to any of his stainless steel appliances, so it lay on the counter where he could see it, never failing to bring a smile to his face when he glanced at it.
Al picked it up and pushed it against a copper pot, hoping it would stick. It plopped to the floor, landing with the black magnetic side up. Picking it up, he opened a nearby cupboard and reached into the dark corner, shifting objects with his other hand. After a few loud clunks, he pulled from the depths a large, heavy, rust-splotched cast-iron skillet that had once belonged to his maternal grandmother. He recalled her frying delicious handmade sausages, bacon, and eggs from the chickens on her farm. Her food was simple but mouthwatering. He knew with certainty that Lou would have loved her.