Page 3 of The Fix-Up

My phone vibrated, interrupting my thoughts. Curt kept on talking and sobbing as though he hadn’t noticed. As discreetly as I could, I glanced at the screen to see it was the attorney I’d met with this morning. Maybe he’d forgotten to tell me something? I’d deal with it later. With a shrug, I sent the call to voicemail and flipped it over so I couldn’t see the screen.

Pasting on what I hoped was a sympathetic expression, I took a sip of water, nodded, made encouraging noises, and tried very hard to focus on Curtis, but my mind kept replaying the moment the attorney had said, “It’s all yours.”

I hadn’t expected it. It had been six months since Ollie’s passing. With the attorney working out everything on the legal side, I’d been allowed to stay in the house and keep the café going. So, I had, the whole time wondering and worrying where Oliver and I would be in a few months’ time.

Resisting the urge to fidget in my seat, I studied the room. Since I was an early riser (hello, 4a.m.) and had a six-year-old to get into bed at a decent hour, I always asked to meet up at thevery sexy and date-like hour of 5p.m. On a Friday, this always made for an interesting mix of people out for dinner.

Four tables over, a man wrangled three kids into their seats. One of the kids, maybe two years old, was standing on his chair and waving a butter knife around like a sword. Divorced dad weekend, I’d bet.

At one of the booths, an older couple chatted quietly. They’d looked as though they’d been together so long, they were starting to resemble each other. Behind them sat a man and woman who looked barely legal making mooneyes over a plate of fajitas. He had that slightly dirty, messy-haired, tattooed look going on, a look that would have had me salivating ten years ago.

But it was the man sitting at the table closest to us I wondered about the most. He was alone, half of a burrito on a plate he’d pushed aside. Although he was facing me, his head of dark hair was bowed as he typed something on his phone. With his blue button-down and red tie, he looked like he’d just gotten off work. Maybe he was meeting someone. A girlfriend. A wife. An old college roommate. A mafia boss. The possibilities were endless.

Frowning, he leaned back and slid the phone across the table. I caught a glimpse of dark-rimmed glasses as he tilted his face up to the ceiling in anAny time now, Godsort of way. A zing of awareness, a recognition of a kindred spirit traveled down my spine. I understood that feeling. A kind of hopelessness that settles in your bones when you aren’t sure what to do next. I’d been there before.

I wondered what color his eyes were. Look over here. Pretty please.

And suddenly, he did. Our gazes caught and both of us froze for a beat, then two. He didn’t smile or soften his face, but he tipped his head in acknowledgement. Maybe he could feel it too.

“…and then she said she was taking that job in Colorado and…” Curtis’s sob brought me back to reality. A reality I would rather not have, if I was being honest.

I had no idea what he was going on about now. Something about the ex and a job in Colorado and how his world had ended. Maybe I should have cancelled. My heart wasn’t in it and my brain was making plans and sticky notes at Ollie’s house—er,my house—right now. Focus, Ellie.

I made an encouraging sound at the back of my throat and patted Curtis’s arm.

Liliana came toward our table, probably to take our order. I met her eyes and shook my head. There was no way I was going to make it through an appetizer, let alone a whole meal, with this man. She nodded in such a way that communicatedI told you sowithout saying a word. I hoped talent like that came with age.

With a wave of her fingers, she turned and headed to the table with the dad and kids. He’d managed to get two kids in their seat, but the “sword wielder” was now under the table eating a tortilla chip he’d found on the floor.

“Then she waved goodbye, and I watched her drive away.” Curtis paused and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt like a six-year-old.

Actually no. That was disrespectful to six-year-olds everywhere. Oliver was six. He wouldnever…Although Oliver was really a forty-six-year-old accountant on the inside. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t do that other kids his age would. I loved that kid and his ability to use a tissue. Loved that so much for both of us.

“Here.” A handful of tissues was waved in Curt’s general direction.

“Thank you.” Curtis took the tissues without looking up and blew his nose. Loudly.

“Yes, thank you,” I said. “That was so kind of you…”

But my voice trailed off when I looked up at the bearer of such good and practical gifts. It was him. The man from the next table. He met my eyes steadily. He had a serious sort of face, like it wasn’t quite used to smiling. But it was a nice face, an interesting face. A strong jawline with the faintest dusting of dark hair, a dimple in his chin which seemed almost fanciful, the smallest touch of gray at his temples even though he didn’t look much older than me.

And his eyes behind those glasses? They were dark and intense and yet, there was a kindness there.

I smiled slowly; he nodded once in acknowledgement. “No problem.”

When he walked away, a wave of sadness hit me. I wanted to know his name and now I never would.

“Do you think that’s a good plan?” My attention jerked back to Curtis. His eyes were still glassy with tears but there was excitement in his voice.

“Plan?”

“Yes. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

I had no clue what he was talking about, but he was looking at me with such big puppy dog eyes full of expectation and hope. “Um…sure?”

“It is, isn’t it? I’m going to do it.” Curtis stood, mindless of the balled-up tissues that cascaded to the ground. He whipped out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table. “Dinner is still on me but if I leave now, I can catch the next flight to Denver.”

“Denver?”

---