Window Shopping

What is Aiden doing tonight?

A successful man in his early thirties should be on a date.

How often does he go out—and more importantly, with who? Who gets to sit across from that man and have absolutely no reason not to pursue him? What must that be like?

In the hopes of loosening the knot in my throat, I start to toss back the rest of my drink, but my glass pauses when someone else steps out onto the outdoor section. A guy I don’t recognize. Older than me by a few years. Two eyebrow piercings, a tattoo climbing up the side of his neck, skinny jeans and a bomber jacket. Attractive in a sharp way. He smiles at me in kind of a conspiratorial manner, like it’s a relief that we’ve found each other. Two misfits in the sea of well-dressed and upwardly mobile young professionals. It says we don’t belong here, do we? It’s a sentiment that reminds me of Nicole and my scalp prickles uncomfortably in response.

He leans an elbow on the wrought iron and nods at my glass. “What’s that fancy shit you’re drinking? Get you another one?”

Once upon a time, this guy would have dazzled me. I would have mentally simpered about his boldness and his air of rebellion. But right now? Tonight? I can only hear that deep voice textured with Tennessee in my ear. I can only sniff the air for the cheerful scent of zesty peppermint and wonder what he’s doing. The necklace he gave me last night is between my breasts, pleasantly heavy, the window box key attached to the end. I’ve enjoyed having it beneath my clothes all day, a constant, secret touch. What did he do with the binoculars?

“Uh…hello?” prompts the real-life man in front of me.

“Sorry, I’m going to—” Pass. That’s what I’m going to say. But I never get the chance, because Aiden steps out onto the roof looking like a bear who has just stepped in a steel trap.

8

Aiden

Oh. Oh shoot.

What in God’s green earth is this scorched feeling tearing through my esophagus? Feels like I just drank a pint of gasoline and swallowed a match. Maybe I did. Me breathing fire right now doesn’t seem all that far-fetched. Who is this tragic-looking fellow in the tight jeans standing so close to Stella? His wolfish expression reminds me of Uncle Hank at the church bake sale—and I don’t like it. He can’t have her.

That’s obviously not my decision, but logic doesn’t seem to matter when there is a hole burning straight through my chest. I just want him gone. Now. Is this her type? They could easily be a couple. Young, cool. Outsiders. I’ve never felt like more of a bumbling dumbass in my life, coming out here and interrupting their conversation. I’m the boss walking into the break room during lunch, gossip screeching to a halt around me, everyone going from comfortable to formal.

With Stella, it isn’t like that. The fact that I sign her paycheck doesn’t color the way she acts around me. Maybe because of the way we met. Or maybe just because she’s Stella. But Jesus, maybe I read too much into that? That feeling of being…different. To her. The way she’s different to me. Not like anyone else. I don’t have a lot of friends, since I didn’t grow up here. Stayed down south right up through college and the first five years of running the honey business, before moving back to New York to step in as general manager. Most men my age in this city are settled down or workaholics and I fall into the latter category.

But I haven’t felt alone since meeting Stella.

It’s possible I’m just a regular acquaintance to her and I have zero right to step out onto this roof and send this pierced gentleman packing, but my heart seems to be in control of my mouth. And my heart is not handling the sight of her standing with another man well at all. It’s lodged up underneath my bow tie, beating two hundred miles an hour.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, giving the kid a broad smile and jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “There’s some woman out here looking for you. Says she’s your mama.”

“My…” He straightens, his features going from man on the prowl to confused boy. “Are you sure? She lives in Milwaukee.”

I’m already nodding. “I could pinpoint a Wisconsin accent in the middle of a hail storm.” I move my flattened hand up and down until his eyes widen. “She’s about yay high?”

“Whoa. That is her.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to wake up, looking at Stella and then the opening leading back into the bar indecisively. “I guess I should…”

Well I was starting to feel bad about lying, but he’s really weighing his options, isn’t he? Continue flirting with my Stella or going to find his mother who has flown all the way from goddamn Wisconsin in the blistering cold a week before Christmas. My conscience is clear.