Some Like it Hotter

Stanley sent him a withering glare. “Man, she deserves a jerk like you.”

“Yeah, she probably does.” Ames nodded pleasantly. “Nice talking to you.”

Stanley walked off in disgust. When he turned the corner onto Forty-Fourth Street without looking back or slowing, Ames’s body started to relax, adrenaline slacking off.

He crossed the street to NYEspresso, catching Eva’s worried face peeking through the front window of the dim shop. He gave her a thumbs-up, feeling like a hero returning home victorious after an epic battle, aware since his fight-or-flight instinct had calmed down that confronting a drunk, hostile guy had probably been really stupid.

She opened the door. “Ames. Thank you so much. I can’t believe you did that.”

“It was nothing. I was on my way home anyway. No big deal.” He resisted the urge to swagger and puff out his chest. Women made men act like complete morons. “But if you see him again, call the police immediately, okay?”

“Yes. I will.” She still looked pale.

Another rush of protectiveness. He wanted to bring her up to his place, calm her down, feed her, make her feel safe...

Yeah, then what? It wasn’t his job to take care of her. He’d made his decision regarding their lack of a future, and if he was going to change his mind, it wasn’t going to be on a dark night when he was still feeling shaky himself.

She came out into the street and locked the door behind her, fumbling with the keys. Her hands were trembling.

Ames would hail her a cab, pay for her to go home. No way was he letting her take the subway.

He opened his mouth to offer. Made a strangled sound. The words wouldn’t come.

Eva looked up at him, startled, searching his face, vulnerable and sweet. She was wearing zebra-striped leggings and a patchwork tunic over red high-tops. Her hair was gathered in a clump of curls on one side of her head and decorated with black-and-pink plastic snails. Instead of weird, the outfit struck him as incredibly endearing.

He took a breath, ready to try again. Cab. Home. He could do this.

“Why don’t you come up to my place for a drink? You look like you could use one.”

No, no, what happened? Those were the wrong words.

“Oh.” Eva blinked, clearly taken aback. “That would actually be really nice, Ames. I’m not up for a commute just yet. Thank you for understanding.”

“Sure.” He hated seeing her so subdued. He hated how much he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, make her smile again, make her laugh, restart her crazy energy.

Instead, he took her hand and kept it all the way up to his place, where he let go reluctantly, because it would be seriously weird to keep holding it walking around his condo.

“What do you feel like?” He moved into the kitchen, which was bright and warm and smelled of Jean’s earlier cooking. Exactly the homey atmosphere he wanted to offer her right now. “Wine? Beer? Harder stuff?”

“Wine is fine.” She stopped in the doorway, as if still uncommitted to being home alone with him. “Red or white, whatever’s open.”

“You hungry?” He removed a covered dish from the refrigerator. “Jean made lasagna.”

“I am sort of hungry. If you’re sure...”

“Sure that it’s lasagna?” He quirked an eyebrow, relieved when she smiled. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Ames.” She hugged her arms around herself, tightening the baggy top to her slender frame, exposing the tiny hummingbird at her neck. “This is really nice of you. I was a little shaken up.”

“Yeah?” He slid the lasagna into the microwave and turned it on. “Why, they don’t have weirdos in California?”

“Ha-ha.” She nodded when he held up a bottle of Valpolicella. “They have plenty.”

“Just none in your shop.”

“Actually.” She waited so long to continue that he had the wine open and the bottle ready to pour before he looked up questioningly. “It wasn’t the guy so much. It was you walking right up to him. He could have had a gun, Ames. He could have been high or mentally ill. He could have hurt you or killed you. All because of my paranoia.”

Ames put the bottle down. She was breathing high and shallow, blue eyes wide with worry. A tear rolled down her right cheek.