A Day in a Life

Chapter Twenty

Saige

T HE BAND HAS started to play as dusk descends. The overhead string lights have flipped on. Shortly, the dinner crowd will take over the restaurant.

I checked on Knox two times. He didn’t want anything else, so I haven’t been back to his table. In fact, I’m ignoring his table. I don’t care if I don’t get a tip. I don’t even care if he takes off without paying his bill. I’ll cover it. I can’t face him again. He makes me feel fluttery on the inside. My heart can’t maintain a normal rate around him either. He’s someone to avoid. Except I feel as though we’ve now established an early friendship.

The memory of landing on top of him a couple of days ago is still fresh. I can’t forget how good he felt. While I was embarrassed, I was far from repulsed. The hint of cologne combined with his brown eyes made me freeze in place. My body betrayed me by not wanting to move. His breath was sweet, making me want to move even closer.

The energy it takes to work steals conscious thought from my brain during the dinner rush. Once we’re done with the mind-numbing cleanup, I holler a goodnight to Randall and Sissy. I head for the door, but stop abruptly once I get outside.

Knox is leaning against the wall of the restaurant, his arms folded across his chest. “I never paid my bill,” he says quietly.

“Sorry, we were busy. I covered it. No worries.”

“That’s not fair to you.” He hands me two twenties. “Keep the change. You deserve a good tip for how hard you work.”

“Thank you. I’ll settle up with the restaurant tomorrow.”

I continue to walk past him until he says, “Can I walk you home?”

I pause, turn, and face him. He faces me as well. “What do you want with me?” It comes out soft. Not a whisper, but not my usual voice either. Unlike most people, my scared, angry, or upset voice comes out dangerously soft.

He blinks heavily. “To walk you home, to make sure you get home safely.”

“And will I?” I utter so softly I wonder if he heard me.

He did. “Will you what?”

“Get home safely.”

“Yes, of course. You don’t know me, so I understand your hesitancy. I can’t believe I’ve never even introduced myself.” He holds out his hand. “Elijah Garrett.”

Goodbye, Knox. Hello, Elijah.

I like it. I repeat it silently several times. Elijah Garrett. Elijah Garrett. Elijah Garrett. His name feels good inside my brain. Fits him. A unique name for a unique man. I don’t reach out to shake his hand.

He lets his hand drop. His other hand grips his cane. Brook’s right. His cane is sexy on him. Makes him vulnerable, approachable.

“And you must be Saige Riley. Pleasure to meet you.” The overhead string lights cause a twinkle to form in his eyes.

When I still don’t respond, he holds one hand up in the air. “I’m sorry, I can see I’m bothering you. I’m a little rusty at this type of thing. It’s been two years since my divorce, and to be honest, I haven’t dated at all since then. You’re the first person to spark my interest, and I’ve said all the wrong things. I can tell you’re not interested, so I’ll leave you alone.” He grants me a nod and begins to walk away, leaning on his cane heavily.

I can’t help but feel sorry for him, even while knowing it could be an act. I’m a suspicious person. I watch my fair share of true crime on TV. I hope he doesn’t think I want nothing to do with him because of his disability. I’m not okay with that. Am I about to have a change of heart?

Yes. Yes I am.

Who am I kidding? This man has tentacles wrapped around my heart already.

When he’s about five feet away, I say, “I spark your interest?” I curse my soft voice. I can hardly raise it even if I want to. Did he hear me?

He stops and turns around slowly. “Yeah.”

“So when you wanted me to show you around Key West, it would’ve been a date?”

He half smiles. “I messed that up royally, didn’t I?”

“You really did. A girl doesn’t like to be friend-zoned from the very beginning. Just for future reference.”

“I didn’t want to come on too strong.” A sad smile crosses his face. “I really am sorry.” He turns to leave once again, one hand tucked into his pocket. His dejected demeanor makes me feel sorry for him again. His ineptitude at asking me out says he’s not a player. Unless I’m being played by a player, which I’ve decided I’m not.

“Okay,” I say. The breeze carries my voice to his ears.

He turns again. “Okay what?”

“You can walk me home.” He doesn’t need to know I’m armed with pepper spray. Or that Randall and Sissy live just below me and treat me like the daughter they never had. They’re not home yet, but they will be soon.

His smile lights up his face. “I would love that. It’s a date. Our first date, which makes it the best date.”

He walks with a swagger in his step toward me, in spite of needing a cane, then offers me his arm.

My hesitation is so obvious, you’d think he just offered me a snake.

“It’s okay,” he says, lowering his arm. “Too much.”

At this point, he must regret his attempts to get to know me. I’m as prickly as a porcupine. I feel bad, but I also can’t change my ways. Even though the very sight of him makes my heart beat double time. I’m not sure I’m capable of taking the next step past friends.

“So, Saige Riley, how long have you lived in Key West?” he asks as we walk slowly.

“Somewhere around seven years.”

He’s just making conversation. That’s all. He knows nothing about me.

When we’re both silent for what feels like years, yet is only seconds, I ask, “How did you hurt your leg?”

“I was shot.”

I stop in my tracks, turning toward him. “Excuse me?”

He faces me. “You’re looking at a policeman who is now considered unfit for duty. And as far as I’m concerned, deskwork is a death sentence, so…”

“Say no more. I see why you needed a vacation.”

“Desperately.”

“So a cop is walking me home?” I admit, I feel a little better. I mean, if he’s telling the truth. I wasn’t born yesterday. At least I keep reminding myself that I wasn’t.

“I’m not really a cop anymore…”

“Sure you are. Don’t say that.”

His eyes stare into mine in a way that makes me want to squirm. “What I meant was…”

“Why me?” I interrupt, my soft voice irritating me. Sometimes I want to be heard.

He’s had his eyes on me all day. Every single time I glanced his way. He was always watching me. Just like the first day. It should feel creepy. Why do I feel noticed instead? Out of all the people in the restaurant, he chose me.

“What do you mean?”

“Out of anyone you could’ve chosen, why me?”

“Ahh.” Elijah looks down at the ground, gathering his thoughts.

When he looks back up at me our brown eyes meet again. A flash of a beautiful, brown-eyed baby girl wanders through my mind, cutting through my heart with a knife. I thought I’d put those hopes away. But the wish for a brown-eyed baby girl is too strong for me to ignore.

“I find you beautiful. You stand out in a crowd. I feel mesmerized by the sight of you. I want to know more about you, the real you. I love what’s on the outside, and now I want to know what’s on the inside,” Elijah breathes.

I’m probably the only woman in the world who could resist those words, but I don’t. They melt my frozen heart. I don’t mention I noticed him too. I’ve heard it said that when you feel a strong attraction for someone, often they feel it too. In this case, it’s true.

I would never mention this theory to a stalker, though.

At any rate, I’d love to spend time with him. The truth is, I’m scared.

My chest is still rising and falling much too quickly from his sweet words. “How long are you here?”

“Two weeks,” he says, rubbing his scruffy chin. “Maybe more. Depends on how I feel. I might extend.”

I don’t know how to respond to his remark. I take a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m home.”

“We’ve literally walked ten steps,” Elijah says, sounding disappointed.

I point to the building behind me. “Top story. All mine.”

“You live next door to the restaurant?”

“I do. It’s a great commute.”

He casts me a strange glance. “No wonder you let me walk you home. Shortest first date ever.”

“It seemed safe. Especially now that I know I’m with a cop.”

“Saige,” he says firmly, “I’m not a cop anymore. I didn’t take the desk job. I work as a PI. Mostly insurance fraud cases.”

He studies my response closely, perhaps looking for disappointment.

“Can I call you Magnum?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not if you want me to answer.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Try me,” he challenges.

The intensity in his eyes makes me want to run and stay at the same time. “Goodnight, Elijah Garrett. Thanks for seeing me home safely.”

“Wait. How about a walk around the block? I enjoy your company. This has been far too short.”

“I’ve been on my feet all day, and you want me to walk around the block?” I point to my aching feet. “One of the waitresses called in sick. I just put in a twelve-hour shift.”

“We could sit on the beach for a while and talk. Get to know each other. I’ll even give you a foot massage.”

No. Too intimate. Just…no.

My feelings must show on my face because he quickly backtracks. “Or we can sit two feet apart, never touching, only talking.”

I’m so unsure, but I like this man. There’s something about him, something beyond his handsome good looks. I know better than to trust a man based on good looks alone. I learned that lesson the hard way.

But this isn’t some creepy man who won’t leave me alone. This is a man who caught my attention from the first moment my eyes rested on him. I don’t want to decline.

“Okay. Just for a bit. I’m tired, and I have an early morning.” I wish the warmth inside my body could translate into warmth in my words. I’m not there yet. It takes me a long time to let someone into my heart. Even friends.

“I’ll have you home before your carriage turns into a pumpkin,” he teases.

“ I turn into a pumpkin in about one hour. You have been warned. I’m a girl who needs her sleep.”

“Duly noted.”

We take the steps down from the boardwalk and step onto the sand. In spite of the late hour, there are many people out and about, loud music playing in the distance. Key West is popular for its nightlife. Randall and Sissy close at a modest ten p.m. because they can’t handle later hours than that. Bayside Eatery is not exactly the “happening” place. Which is why I love it.

We plop down on the sand, making ourselves comfortable. He keeps his promise to sit at least two feet away. He’s slowly building my trust. I don’t trust easily, but I enjoy his casual attitude. I don’t feel pressure from him. He’s letting me call the shots. I wish I didn’t feel so skittish.

“So why’d you get divorced, Elijah Garrett? What’s your fatal flaw?” I kick off my shoes and peel off my socks, my aching feet practically yelling “Thank you” at me.

“My wife wanted the prestige of being married to a policeman, and she didn’t want to be the wife of a broken man who limps, carries a cane, and lives with chronic pain. Face-planting on the ground isn’t my idea of fun, nor did my wife want to be standing next to me when and if it ever happened. She said it would be soooo embarrassing.”

“Are you serious?” I turn to see his expression. I’m shocked for him.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He pauses for a moment, looking me in the eyes. “There were other factors. My wife suffered a miscarriage. It was early on, but still traumatic. She knew it was irrational, but she blamed me, the broken man.”

I turn away. My breath quickens at the thought. I take a few minutes to calm myself down before a full-blown panic attack sets in. Not that I’m prone to panic attacks. I sure feel like one could happen at a moment’s notice, though. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough.”

I reach down and massage my calves. It’s been a long day, yet I’m wide awake, consumed with curiosity over this man who has suddenly appeared in my life, apparently smitten with me. This never happens, and it doesn’t feel real.

Yet here we are.

“I know this sounds cliché, but what’s a beautiful girl like you doing working as a waitress? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a waitress. But you’re young, and there are so many opportunities out there. Why waitressing? I hope I’m not offending you.”

“None taken. You’re right, it’s not my end goal. I’m an artist. I’m working on a collection of paintings, and I hope to be featured in a gallery one day. I guess you could say I’m a poor, starving artist.” I had the beginnings of success once. I’m hoping it can happen again.

He lifts his eyebrows. “I’m intrigued. Can I see your paintings?”

“I don’t show them to anyone. I’m actually not sure if they’re any good.” I let out a deep sigh, not mentioning my previous success. That was another life. Dreams are fragile. They can be shattered without notice. The truth is, I’m scared to approach a gallery. There are many right here in Key West. They love to highlight local artists. Fear of rejection keeps me painting away in the art nook of my small apartment, creating masterpieces that may never see the light of day.

“My curiosity is piqued.”

I think it over. “I guess…I might appreciate another opinion. But only if you promise to be brutally honest.”

“I promise.”

“Even if it hurts my feelings.” I can already feel the ouch.

“Deal.”

I rub my calves again, longing for the steamy bath that was my hot date for tonight.

“The offer still stands,” Elijah says bluntly.

“What offer?”

“A foot massage. But only if you ask for it.”

A man hasn’t touched me in seven years. Landing on top of him during the fiasco the other day doesn’t count. I’m not sure if I’m scared of him or if I’m scared of my reaction to his touch. Perhaps a bit of both.

But my feet hurt, and he’s offering. We’re on a public beach, I can still see my apartment, and if I screamed, I think Randall and Sissy would hear me. They’d come running to my aid. Slowly, but surely. Otherwise, there’s always pepper spray.

I think Elijah has already proven himself trustworthy in many ways. I also know it’s foolish to judge someone after knowing them for a whopping two seconds.

Maybe it’s time to not just be alive, but to live. Really live. Take a chance. Possess life.

“I’m asking,” I whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“If you hesitate, I might change my mind.”

Elijah moves in front of me, taking my feet into his lap. He takes my right foot into his hands first. When he begins to massage my foot, my eyes nearly roll back into my head. I let my head hang back and close my eyes.

Oh. My. Gosh. He has magic hands.

“If you want me to stop, say so,” he says, his voice as calm as the gentle sea.

I appreciate that he wants me to know this is my choice, with no pressure from him. “I don’t want you to ever stop in this lifetime.” Did I say that? Did those words leave my lips? Who am I?

I lift my head. “Wait. There’s something you should know. Right now. Before this goes any further.”

“Saige, it’s a foot massage. That’s all. Nothing more. I’m not friend-zoning you, just making my intentions clear.”

“I know.” But when I’m looking into his eyes as he does magical things with his hands, it doesn’t feel like only a foot massage. It feels like more. “I’m married.”

His hands stop doing the very thing I crave, pausing in place.

“What?” His expression can’t hide the shock my words induced.

“We’ve been separated for seven years. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him the entire time. But we’ve never bothered with the headache of a divorce. So technically I’m married by the letter of the law. By the spirit of the law, I’m not married, nor do I want to be married to him at all. It’s just that…well, I thought you should know. I think it’s important to be upfront. No secrets. Secrets ruin relationships.”

“I appreciate that.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue the foot massage.” It hurts to say the words. My feet are begging for his hands.

“Are you still asking?” he says, surprising me.

With every fiber of my being. I’ll regret this in the morning, but right now, I want it more than anything in the world. “I’m asking.”

“Okay. It’s just a foot massage. Stop overthinking it. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

I fall back onto the sand, uncaring that I’ll have sand in my hair. “I could be the president of Overthinker’s Anonymous.”

A deep laugh follows as Elijah Garrett’s hands begin their magic touch once again, massaging the ache of a long shift away. We may not be doing anything wrong, but it feels like the most intimate moment of my entire life. I feel warm all over and a tingling sensation has taken hold of every nerve ending in my body.

I remind myself of all the pedicures I’ve had in my life, some of which were performed by men. Those men massaged my feet and calves. They were professional and impersonal.

It’s no use. I can’t convince myself that Elijah’s foot massage is emotionally detached. It’s anything but. It feels like my body has been asleep and he has awakened me. I have to stop myself from undulating under his masterful touch.

Twenty minutes ago—I think, I’ve lost track of time—I was scared to have him walk me home. Now I’m supine on the beach allowing him to massage my feet while I act like I’m in ecstasy. Even my breathing has become irregular. Is this a foot massage, or…?

What am I doing? This isn’t me. Fatigue has made me do something far out of my comfort zone.

I sit up, slowly pulling my feet from his grasp, and tucking them under me. I notice the disappointment in his eyes. “Thank you. That was thoughtful of you. But I need to go. It’s far past my bedtime.”

He nods. “Goodnight, Saige Riley. It was a pleasure to meet you. I’ll walk you home.”

“It’s just right there.” I point behind me. “I’ll be fine.” When I’m on my feet, my shoes and socks in hand, I pause as I think through what I want to say to him. “Things in life that try to break us only make us stronger. You’re not a broken man, Elijah Garrett. You’re a strong man who didn’t let a hard thing break him. Remember that.”

I jog-walk to my apartment, running up the stairs. Elijah, Elijah, Elijah swirling through my mind. When I glance toward the beach, I see Elijah still sitting in the same place where I left him, watching me.

Always watching me.

I’m beginning to like his eyes on me.