Artichoke Heart

September 9, 2021 angel_grant

Source: https://www.literotica.com/s/artichoke-heart

Author’s Note: This is a long and very slowly building story. Please consider yourself warned—or promised if you like a slow build. Thanks for reading.

//

I switched off my phone and tossed it in the bottom of my bag like I hated it, like it was to blame for the phone call I’d just abruptly ended. I shoved my students’ papers into my bag and shrugged on my coat, feeling an all too familiar anger rise up inside me.

That asshole. That stupid, lying asshole.

I was waiting at the elevator, savagely pressing the call button just for something to hurt, before I realized not having my husband around—even if it meant he was off somewhere with some other woman—was actually preferable to having him home. We rarely spent any time together these days, and when we did it was tense with unvoiced accusations and simmering resentment.

I didn’t love him anymore. I didn’t even like him. But, the betrayal still hurt, and the transparent lie of a last-minute meeting out of town, just made me feel like the fool I was for letting him get away with it, for staying with someone with so little regard for me. Every time he lied, I berated myself for not leaving. The marriage was obviously over. It had been for years. So, why was I still with him?

It took the ride down to the ground floor for me to push my anger and hurt down far enough I could ignore it. Once I was outside, in the crisp October air, I turned my thoughts to the night I might have before me, unhindered by my husband’s oppressive presence. Dinner out? Maybe a movie? Or, I could pick up some take-out on the way home and watch something on Netflix. I decided to leave it for a few blocks, see if anything else came to mind, lying to myself that this was what freedom felt like.

I walked slowly, letting the window displays snag my attention, noting crimson was the color for dresses this winter. I’d become quite skilled at not feeling anything for too long, at pushing my resentment aside when I grew exhausted with it, or too close to tears. Soon I was feeling light again—or at least no longer weighed down by emotion—and decided I’d pick up a bottle of wine and stop by one of the markets on my way home for something easy for dinner.

A gourmet food shop had a window display of Guittard cocoa tins that stopped me in my tracks as I walked by. I studied the display and felt a warmth creep through me as a memory surfaced: I was 13 years old and sitting at the kitchen island on a high stool watching as Danny, my family’s cook, filled two demitasse cups with steaming hot cocoa. One he pushed across the counter to me, the other he lifted to his lips and together we took the tiniest sip of the fragrant creamy drink. It was too hot to really drink, but the scent was impossible to resist, and though that first sip almost always burned the tip of my tongue, the bitter sweet flavor made it all worthwhile.

I couldn’t help but smile; it was a simple ritual from my childhood, and one that I hadn’t thought about in years, but it was a special one to me. My childhood hadn’t been without strife, but that memory was completely unspoiled, and it warmed me to my toes. On impulse, I ducked into the shop and bought a tin. It was possible it would languish in my cupboard, unused, but it was also possible the sight of it would make me smile, and anything that did that these days was worth having around.

A block from the subway I passed a coffee shop. Normally I didn’t drink coffee in the afternoons, not since my preferred afternoon drink had become wine. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the memory of that long ago hot beverage, but I soon found myself making my way to a small table on one side of the room, cappuccino in hand, my mind again turning to memories of my childhood.

I grew up on the upper west side of Manhattan with my parents and my older brother, Mark. My dad worked on Wall Street, and was more or less absent throughout most of my childhood. We weren’t close at all, but as a little kid I was always trying to find a way into his heart.

When I got older, my resentment toward my dad grew and turned to anger. A large part of that was seeing how he treated my mother, whom I adored. He wasn’t violent, just neglectful. He paid so little attention to her needs; in his mind his were more important. I never quite understood why my mom was with him, why he was still with him after all these years when they obviously hated each other, though now, as an adult, I understand sometimes situations are less about choice than habit once you’re in them.

My mom worked at Columbia University in an immunology research lab. She was a kind person, very generous, with a lot of energy, and she worked hard to make sure my brother and I didn’t suffer as a result of her career or my dad’s apathy toward the family situation.

She was a beautiful woman, with long, dark, wavy hair that gleamed, and brown eyes that were bright with interest and enthusiasm. She was taller than average with a feline grace in her long, slender figure. I’d been lucky enough to inherit her looks, and, though I hated to admit it, I’d inherited her bad taste in men as well.

When I was 12 my mom hired a cook: Danny Rousseau. She worked full days just like my father, but he still expected her to take care of dinner every night. She did, for six years before deciding to hire a cook to come a few times a week and prepare meals she could just put together quickly once she got home.

I sometimes wondered if it was only Danny’s talent and enthusiasm that made her choose to hire him in particular. He was also handsome, a young man in his mid-twenties with deep auburn hair, bright blue eyes, a boyish face and a quick smile. It wasn’t until I was married myself that it occurred to me she hired him to irk my father.

I’d had such a crush on Danny. That hair! Those eyes! And always a smile that made me melt. He had the most beautiful, graceful hands I’d ever seen, and I loved to watch him work, marveling at how effortless and intuitive all his motions were. The fact that he fussed over me, making me special treats, and acting interested in whatever I was learning in school at the time only added to my attraction to him.

He was only at the house three days a week, four hours each day, but for the first couple of hours after I got home from school I had him all to myself. I would rush into the kitchen and park myself on the high stool and watch him work. My mom hired him right around the time I discovered boys (and all the feelings they stirred up in me), so a few hours alone with a good-looking guy who smiled at me, joked with me, and made me cookies was so much fuel for my adolescent fantasies. It was a schoolgirl’s crush—waves of dizzying excitement and persistent longings I was just starting to figure out how to address.

I smiled to myself remembering how special those hours had been for me, and how giddy he’d made me feel. To Danny they were probably just part of his job, maybe even an irritation at times, but to me they meant a lot. I found myself wondering where that giddy, romantic girl went. It felt like forever since I’d been that excited over anything in my life.

I happened to be staring absently in the direction of the cafe door when a man walked in. My eyes followed him without intention as he made his way to the counter to place his order. He was tall and thin, and nicely dressed in a black overcoat, slim trousers, and beautiful leather shoes. Red hair peeked out from under a dark newsboy cap, making me think again of Danny. He looked my way as if he’d felt me staring, and I felt my stomach drop in recognition and disbelief.

He held my gaze for only a second and then looked away, unknowingly presenting me with his profile. I continued to stare, knowing it couldn’t be him, that my mind was just playing tricks on me; there was no way this could be Danny, it was too improbable to imagine. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he waited for his coffee at the counter, checking the screen of his smartphone. He was certainly the right height and build—tall and lean—and the hair, which was such a distinguishing feature, even hidden under the cap, was familiar. But when he looked in my direction again, the shock of recognition nearly took my breath away.

He paused for a moment to put something in his coffee and I could see his brow furrow, the corners of his mouth turn down slightly, and then he looked at me one more time, either curious or irritated by my open stare. It was that slight motion of his mouth that convinced me.

I stood, called out his name, and took a step toward him. His brow twisted in confusion, but he turned his body toward me and I knew.

“Oh my God,” I said, giddy excitement squeezing my voice. “Danny is that really you?”

“Danny?” he repeated.

He sounded so confused, I thought I’d gotten it wrong, but I could see him clearly now and there was no doubt in my mind it was really him. I pressed on, moving closer.

“It’s Eleanor…Eleanor Wagner, remember? Ella? From, like, twenty years ago? You worked for my parents.”

The penny dropped and a wide smile spread across his face. Now it was his turn to stare in disbelief while I felt my schoolgirl’s crush flare inside me…oh, that smile was magic.

“Ella?”

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” I said. “I swear, I was just thinking about you. I mean, just a minute ago, when you walked in I was thinking of you.”

“Ella Wagner.” He shook his head. “Unbelievable. Truly. My God, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know…18? 19 years? I was in tenth grade when you left…”

“Well, I guess you grew up. You look—” His eyes swept over me briefly and I felt the blood rush to my face just like it used to when I was around him. “You look like your mother. You look fantastic.”

I invited him to sit and he slid into the seat opposite me and the next hour was spent in conversation, a constant stream of questions and answers interrupted only when one of us needed to marvel out loud again at the weird coincidence of our meeting.

While we talked I admired his face. It was even more attractive than I remembered; still boyish, despite the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, and the three day beard. I saw grey in his auburn hair, though not much, and it was still thick and wavy beneath his cap. He wore a wide silver ring on each index finger, but no wedding band. I found it hard to believe he wasn’t married; he was such a catch.

I learned he’d only stayed in Manhattan a few years after he stopped working for my family, and then he moved to Europe and traveled around a little before settling in France. He was currently teaching at a cooking school in Paris—his dream job, he said—and loving every minute of it.

I was reluctant to go into much detail about my own life—I wasn’t exactly proud of the decisions I’d made, but my own teaching career was one thing I felt good about so I focused on that, skipping over my unhappy marriage as much as possible. I was certain he was curious, but he didn’t press for details when my answers to his questions lacked real information.

“I was so mad at you when you left.” I admitted in a laugh, remembering just how confused I was when I came home expecting him there, and finding an empty kitchen instead. I’d felt so betrayed and angry when my dad told me he wasn’t coming back. “You never said goodbye. I was heartbroken.”

He made a pained face. “Oh, Ella…”

“I think I even locked myself in my room for a day…” I laughed again, embarrassed by my own drama. Then I noticed he wasn’t laughing. “It’s OK,” I said. “I didn’t stay mad long, but I did miss you.”

He sighed and tried to smile. “I’m sorry about that. I would have said goodbye if I’d had the chance. I knew you’d end up thinking I just quit.”

“You didn’t?”

He sighed again and shook his head. “No…your dad fired me.”

I stared at him blankly for a second. “That’s not what he told me. He told me you’d quit, that you got a better job and left.”

Danny smiled a grim smile. “No. No, I would never do that,” he said. “That job was the best I’d ever had. I would never have left it.”

The news was shocking, but I knew in my gut he was telling the truth. It had never made any sense to me, that he’d just leave without saying goodbye at least. On the other hand, I had no trouble imagining my dad firing him.

“Oh my God, Danny. I had no idea. What happened?”

“I’m not even sure,” he said. He shifted in his seat, looking away from me for a second. “He just told me to go and not come back. He paid me for the next month, I guess so I wouldn’t sue him or something, and then he told me to go.”

“He didn’t give any reason?”

“He was really angry. I was pretty scared, to be honest, he was so aggressive. He just told me to get out and never contact the family again, so I did.”

He lifted his head and looked at me, shrugging. I stared, trying to shuffle the conflicting stories and implications in my head.

“I thought a lot about it after it happened, trying to figure out what happened. Maybe he just hated me. Or hated that she hired me. Or maybe he thought there was something going on between me and your mom. There wasn’t, but I don’t know…maybe he thought I was a threat.”

I sat back, my head spinning from these revelations.

“Anyway, I don’t know why your dad fired me. All I know is that it was sudden and he was adamant that I not contact his family again.” He smiled, his voice apologetic. “So, Idid leave without saying goodbye, and I always regretted it.”

“Oh Danny, I’m sorry. I had no idea…”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” He reached out and took my hand and squeezed it, his smile stretching. “It’s all in the past. I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore. And now you know I never intended to leave without saying goodbye.”

From inside his pocket his phone buzzed. He pulled his hand away, but held my gaze a few seconds longer. It shouldn’t have made my heart beat so hard, but it did. He drew out a slim cell phone and looked at the screen.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this,” he said. He answered in French, and had a brief conversation. He dropped it back into his pocket and sighed. “I hate to say it, but I need to get going.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

“Listen, I’m in New York until the 12th. I’m going to a wedding this Saturday, and next week is a mess of family birthday parties and other stuff, but I would really like to take you out to dinner before I go back to Paris, if we can swing it.

“This is a long shot, but a friend of mine is head chef at a really nice place in NOHO and I haven’t had a chance to check it out yet. It would have to be tomorrow night, though. Really short notice, I’m sorry, but I have a reservation, and, anyway, it’s the only night I’m free. Are you and Steven busy? I’m sure I could change the reservation to three.”

“Steven’s away,” I said quickly. I could have accepted the offer first, or told him he didn’t need to go to so much trouble, but that was what came out of my mouth first: my husband was away.

“Oh,” he said, looking at me carefully. “Well, would you like to go? With me? If Steven doesn’t mind, of course—I don’t want to make things awkward.”

“No, it’s fine.” I didn’t say he wouldn’t mind, because he would. If he knew how good looking Danny was he’d mind very much, and very loudly. “What time?”

Danny smiled, clearly pleased by my response. “6:30.” He drew his phone from his pocket again. “Give me your number, I’ll text you the address.”

Once he’d finished adding my number to his contacts, he switched off his phone and slid it into his pocket. Then he reached out and took both my hands in his and grinned at me.

“This was such an unbelievable coincidence, Ella. I can’t believe we just ran into each other like that. I’m thrilled to see you again, and to meet the grown-up you. I knew you’d turn out to be a brainy beauty.”

“I’m glad I recognized you,” I said, flushing at the compliment, or possibly the heat of his hands on mine. Or maybe just that face, that gorgeous face made somehow even more gorgeous over the past 20 years. “I really was just thinking of you, right when you walked in. It’s crazy.”

“This was the most pleasant hour I’ve spent in a long time.” He squeezed my hands and then released them, stood, and buttoned up the front of his coat. He looked down at me with a smile on his face that brought me right back to my childhood. I could have easily been working on my algebra homework while he sliced potatoes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ella.”

“See you.”

I was left staring at his retreating form, my heartbeat a little irregular. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed myself that much, or how long it had been since I’d sat across from a man and found him so delightful. Old, forgotten feelings of attraction and admiration were bumping around in my head, confusing, but exciting feelings.

//

When Danny’s text came through the next afternoon, with the address of the restaurant, my heart did a little leap. I felt exactly like the cute boy from class had called; irrationally excited and flattered. My thoughts were completely preoccupied with the evening to come, and about an hour later, I realized grading papers in my office was a lost cause. I left early, got a manicure on the way home, and spent the subway ride mentally sorting through the contents of my closet for something to wear to dinner.

I took entirely too long getting ready, fussing over my makeup and hair, and trying on dress after dress. I had to keep reminding myself this wasn’t a date, it was only dinner with an old friend. The fact that he was handsome and made my heart flutter did not make it a date. Still, I double checked my reflection before I put on my coat.

He’d said I looked like my mother, and for the first time in a long time, I considered the idea. I was a few inches shy of her 5’9″, but I still had her lean shape, modest curves, and B-cup breasts. My shoulder length hair was the same dark brown with natural mahogany highlights, but my eyes were a lighter shade of brown than hers were, more like black tea than coffee. I had her face, though. No doubt about that: oval, with high cheekbones and a full-lipped mouth. Objectively, I knew I was beautiful—not because I was vain, but because I knew my mother was—but it had been a long time since I’d thought about it, or whether it even mattered. Tonight, I looked my reflection over and found myself hoping it did, and hoping especially that Danny would think so.

He was waiting in front of the restaurant when I arrived. I noticed right away he’d shaved, and now I could more easily trace the contours of his jaw and cheeks with my eyes, but I couldn’t quite decide if I preferred him clean-shaven, or a little scruffy; either way he was a very pleasing sight.

He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, European style.

“I’m so glad you made it. I’m sorry Steven couldn’t,” he said. “I was looking forward to meeting him.”

“I’m sorry too,” I lied.

“Well, on the flip side, now everyone will think I’m out on a date with a beautiful young woman.”

He flashed me a smile that made me blush. I knew it was just a playful remark, that he saw me still as the kid on the high stool with homework and ballet lessons later, but it still felt good. I realized it had been a long time since I’d been on the receiving end of a compliment not related to my work.

He drew out a pair of thin reading glasses when we sat down, reminding me he was that much older than me, and together we browsed the wine list. When he offered to order for me, I let him. And when our server came, he asked her to let his friend James know we were here.

“I don’t often brag about my students, but James was a without a doubt the most talented I ever taught,” Danny said. “I make no claim on his success—he came to me with more intuition and talent than I’ve ever seen in any other student.”

“I didn’t realize he was a student of yours.”

“Six years ago, might be seven. We see a lot of promising artists go through the program, but James was in another league. A natural at everything, and so creative. I knew he’d go on to do incredible things, and he has. I’ve read nothing but rave reviews of his work. And considering he must have improved since I last tasted his cooking, I am really looking forward to this meal.”

We were halfway through the meal when Danny put down his fork and stood, his face splitting in a grin.

I turned, and followed his gaze. A handsome young Asian man in a white kitchen coat approached the table, he looked to be 30 at the oldest. Danny put his hand out to shake, and James grasped it and pulled him into a tight hug. They were both grinning as they embraced, and when they parted, their bodies stayed close, James still clasping Danny’s hand, his other hand on Danny’s shoulder. This all happened in a few seconds, but watching their postures, the looks on their faces, I could tell they were very close. Like, romantically close.

Irrationally, I felt a throb of disappointment. Danny was probably gay.

We were introduced and James shook my hand briefly, but warmly. He was very good looking, with delicate features, and a soft voice with just the barest European accent. He was quite charming. I complimented him on the quality of the meal and he smiled and thanked me graciously.

“You just met someone very famous,” Danny said, turning his smile on me once James had left. “Famous in certain circles, anyway.”

“You should be proud,” I said. “I can’t imagine how good it must feel to see your student go on to be so successful and know you had some part in that.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t need me to teach him anything. He’s got so much raw talent, it’s unbelievable. Honestly, it was such a treat to work with him.”

For the remainder of the meal, we talked about travel, and he told me as much as he loved living in Paris, he missed his family and sometimes got homesick for the states.

“Would you ever think of moving back?”

“I do think about it, but so far I haven’t been convinced I’d be as happy here. I don’t know what it would take to convince me, though. All I can think is I’d miss my little apartment and my adorable, asthmatic old landlady. And, I mean, Paris is just so…you’ve been, right? You know what it’s like.”

“I’ve been a couple of times, but not since I was in college. I remember it’s beautiful, but I’ve never experienced it like a local.”

“You should come visit. You took French in high school, n’est-ce pas?” He gave me a smile, emptying the rest of the wine into my glass.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh God, it’s been a long time, Danny.”

“C’est bon. I’m sure it would all come back to you.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty good at understanding what people are saying, but I don’t know if I could string five words together to make a sentence.”

“Well, don’t let that stop you from coming. You could stay at my place, I’d give you the key and you guys could come and go as you please. I can stay with friends. I did that when my sister and her husband visited, it worked out nicely. They spent the day exploring and then we met for dinner after I got off work, it was perfect.”

“That’s a very sweet offer,” I said. I realized he was including Steven in his invitation, picturing me and my mystery husband roaming the romantic streets of Paris together, and my stomach knotted in an unpleasant and all too familiar way. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Please, do, Ella. I would love to show you around.”

I reached for my wine glass and tried not to look like a practiced drinker as I drained it.

There was a brief discussion before the check arrived. He insisted on paying, though I thought it was only fair I pay my half, since he’d fed me so many times in the past.

“Nonsense, this is only the start of making up for all those after-school crêpes I never got to make you.”

In the end, the discussion was unnecessary; the maître d’ explained James had instructed our entire bill was already paid.

“I know I shouldn’t feel funny about that,” Danny said once we were outside the restaurant. “I have to stop thinking of him as that kid who first walked into my class. Time passes, but sometimes my mind forgets to keep up.”

He turned to me then. The temperature had dropped noticeably since we’d arrived, and a light snow was falling. It swirled around us, dotting Danny’s dark coat and sticking to his auburn hair.

“Well, Eleanor,” he said. “Do you have a curfew or could we go in search of dessert? Or perhaps an after-dinner drink?”

“Drinks, maybe? I’ll go anywhere warm.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. He offered me his arm and we walked to the crosswalk. “I know a place that’s close.”

As we walked, our hips touched, and we shared a little heat between us where our arms were linked. It wasn’t an intimate touch, with all the layers and our thick wool coats, but I felt it all over my body, a spreading heat of excitement. It occurred to me I was truly attention-starved if that was all it took to turn me on.

We ducked into a bar a few blocks away. Danny got us drinks and then joined me at a small table I’d claimed closer to the back of the room. It was loud enough we had to sit close to hear each other when we spoke, but I didn’t mind.

I had so many things I wanted to ask him, but wasn’t sure how to phrase them. He wore no wedding ring, and hadn’t mentioned a wife or partner of any kind. Given the intensity of his brief exchange with James in the restaurant, his careful style of dress, his casually styled—but still styled—hair, and his general lack of obvious manly interests, I was pretty sure he was gay. But before I could think how to ask, he set his drink on the table and fixed me with a look of great interest.

“I’m curious why you’ve been avoiding talking about your husband all night,” he said.

“I’m not avoiding it,” I said automatically. My stomach tightened suddenly in dread.

“I think you are. Every time I ask about him, you manage to change to subject.” His voice was gentle, but teasing. “What’s the story? Are you hiding something?”

“No.” I tried to laugh it off, but my laugh came out as hollow and forced. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Then tell me what he’s like; I’m dying to know what kind of lucky guy gets to come home to you every night. I always imagined you’d marry a brilliant engineer with a yacht. Someone you could beat at chess, but he’d still love you because he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be with someone as smart and pretty as you.”

I laughed. His flattery excited me, but the truth of my awful relationship dulled my enjoyment. I took a sip of my drink and felt the whiskey burn my throat on the way down. I didn’t want to answer, but I couldn’t think of a way to politely refuse.

“Steven is…” What could I say? I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to admit just how little I cared for him, or he for me. “Well, he’s…” I looked at Danny who waited, watching me with quiet expectation. “He’s a lot like my dad, actually.”

Danny’s brows drew together and his smile slowly faded. “How so?”

Immediately I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes. The truth hurt. I knew I wouldn’t cry; I was very practiced at not crying, but I didn’t want to lie to Danny. I decided to be totally honest, and hope he didn’t judge me for not loving my husband anymore.

He was quiet and patient while I talked, and I sensed no judgment from him, only compassion. I talked for a long time, longer than I meant to, but at no time did I feel like he was tired of my story, and though I felt self-conscious about baring so much at once, I also got the strong feeling he understood in a personal and deep way.

When I was done, he sighed a heavy sigh and slid his hand into mine, where it was balled into a fist under the table.

“I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Ella. I’m sorry you’ve been so unhappy. You deserve better than that. It’s easy for me to say it, but you could leave him. You’re strong enough to be on your own. You just need support and encouragement from friends. I’ll help in any way I can, even if I can only be a voice on the phone reminding you why you’re worth the effort.”

He still held my hand under the table. I could feel his thumb moving very slowly, tracing across my fingers.

“I think you’ve just forgotten who you are,” he said gently. “What you’re worthy of. You need to remember you deserve better, and believe there are plenty of men out there who would give you that, because I know there are. Not every man is as self-centered or blind as your husband. I guarantee you are someone’s dream girl.”

I laughed.

“Hey, I’m serious,” he said, “There’s a guy out there just waiting for you to cross his path. A good man with a good heart who’ll want to do everything he can to make you happy.”

My mouth was suddenly dry. I stared at Danny who was staring back, his hand still holding mine. I wanted to pick up my drink, but I didn’t want to move. He wasn’t talking about himself, no matter how much it felt like that, no matter how much I wanted that to be the case, but his eyes didn’t move from mine, and his hand was still there, under the table, fingers wrapped around mine. So exciting, but confusing, too.

I managed a joke. “Do you have his number?”

He laughed then, squeezed my hand and let go of it. “I’m not going to lie, dating sucks when you’re over 25. But I really do believe that guy exists for you. He’s out there somewhere, waiting to bump into you and fall in love.”

I changed the subject slightly, steering it away from me.

“What about you? Do you believe there’s someone out there for you, too?”

“Ahh, well…I don’t know how I’d ever find out.” He swirled his drink thoughtfully before taking another sip. “I don’t date much.”

“You don’t date?”

He shook his head.

“On principle?”

“Hmm… More like habit.” I could see by his sudden avoidance of my eyes, the tables had turned; we’d hit on a difficult subject for him now. “Carefully cultivated habit, with a garnish of paranoia.”

“Oh.” It was obvious he’d understood my hurt earlier because he’d experienced it himself. I could tell I needed to tread carefully. “I’m guessing if I ask why, it won’t be a simple answer. It won’t be: girls have cooties.”

“I wish cooties was the worst thing that could happen to a person.” He shook his head, laughing softly. He stared into his drink, tilting the glass back and forth so the ice circled the bottom. Then he lifted the glass and drained it and looked at me.

“Do you know the phrase, avoir un coeur d’artichaut? It’s a French idiom. It literally means to have an artichoke heart, but the expression is used to describe someone who falls in love easily. Or frequently. Or both. You know, because when you eat an artichoke, you pick off the leaves one by one. So, it’s like someone giving away leaves of his heart one by one, to each new person. I think it can mean a person who is fickle in love, but also, just someone hopelessly romantic. That’s me.

“I haven’t dated in years. I’m not cut out for it. I’m too romantic, too ready to fall in love. The fact that I’m equally attracted to men and women only doubles my chances of falling in love. I can’t resist that feeling. But it’s not just the feeling—I mean, I feel it hard. I fall completely in love, like all the way. Even when I know I shouldn’t. Especially when I know I shouldn’t.”

I was listening, but I couldn’t help perking up at his admission of attraction to men and women.

“I have this pattern,” he said, sighing heavily, “of only being with people who I know will leave me—or leave for reasons other than me, but, you know, still leave. I think my logic, if I can call it that, is if I already know they’re leaving, I won’t have to worry about it. I won’t think about where it’s going or worry they’re going to run out on me.”

“You don’t want a long term relationship.”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand. I do want that. I want a long term relationship worse than almost anything. I just don’t believe it’s going to happen. I don’t think it’s in the cards for me, not the way I keep falling for people I can never have.”

“Tell me why.”

“Oh, God,” he said, exhaling as if he was suddenly completely exhausted. Looking at him, I saw weariness for the first time in his boyish looks. He looked his age. He ran his hand through his hair, looked away, then looked back at me. “It’s a long story.”

“So was mine.”

“I think I’ll require at least one more whiskey before I start. You want another?”

I drained my glass and nodded.

“Be right back.”

I listened for the next hour while he recounted the last 20 years of his life. The jobs he’d taken after my dad had fired him, how he’d decided to move to London. How he’d struggled at first, taking odd jobs before working with one family in particular, cooking for them every day. Not long after that, he said he’d met a woman, and fell in love.

He described it as the most intense love he’d ever felt. They’d talked about getting married. He’d been happier than he’d imagined possible. And then she’d left him.

“I came home from work to an empty apartment,” he said. “She took everything. Not just her stuff, but mine, too. All my Misono knives, some of my nicer cooking ware, stuff she could sell, not the cheap, everyday stuff. It wasn’t an impulse.”

I felt genuine horror trying to imagine being betrayed like that.

“She totally played me. It was humiliating.”

He went on a little while longer, looking defeated and embarrassed, and explained that every relationship after that was with someone who he knew would only be around temporarily.

“Like I said, there’s a pattern. I always fall for the ones who are going to leave—they’re only in the country for half the year, or they change jobs and move away, or they’re students and I’m just the way station between destinations.”

“Like James?” I said it before I knew what I was saying. My hand shot up to cover my mouth. I almost apologized, but he smiled.

“You’re astute,” he said. “Or was it so obvious?”

“It wasn’t obvious, I just happened to be watching you closely. You seemed…intimate.”

“We are,” he said, still smiling. “Or, rather we were. Past tense. Five or six years ago. I was his mentor at the school. We worked very closely together for two years—lots of one-on-one training, pretty intense stuff when exams came around. We spent a lot of late nights together.

“The attraction was mutual, but nothing happened while he was my student. Once he finished his courses, though…” He blew out his cheeks and gave me a look. “Damn, things got hot. Fast. He stayed in Paris two years after school, with me. We had a little apartment together. It was a very sweet period of my life. And then he moved to Manhattan, which is where he belongs, and I am thrilled for him—he’s an amazing talent and he’s proving himself. He wouldn’t have taken the risks he took to get where he is now if he’d have stayed in Paris.”

“You didn’t think of going with him? Coming back to New York?”

“I did consider it. I would have stayed with him forever, but that wasn’t where he was in his life. He was just a kid, really. Twenty years difference…at least when you’re young, is kind of a big difference. He wanted to have fun, and I would have been in the way of that.” He smiled. “It’s OK, though. I love him, and he’s happy. It’s all good. That was my last really intense relationship, though. Since then, I have held back, protected myself, I guess. I only let myself admit I’m interested in someone if I think they might just be passing through.”

He glanced at me and whatever expression was on my face made his change completely.

“Wow. You look so sad. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you my whole pathetic tale.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I must sound like such a sad old man.”

“Not at all. I’m just sorry if I pushed you to talk about painful memories.”

“No, no. That’s fine. I’m just completely embarrassed now.” He smiled ruefully.

“Well I won’t think less of you for falling in love with everyone if you won’t think less of me for staying in my loveless marriage all these years.”

“Well, it does break mon coeur d’artichaut,” He put his hand on his chest over his heart, “to see you so unhappy, but I would never judge you for the choices you’ve made. And anyway,” He leaned toward me slightly and narrowed his eyes. “I think you’re on the brink of something fantastic. Some big life change. I can feel it, can’t you?”

I looked at him seriously, loving the sight of his handsome face in the dim light of the bar, loving knowing he was studying me, thinking about me, knowing he believed what he said; that I was strong enough to leave Steven.

“I think I can,” I said. “Something fantastic.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He raised his nearly empty glass and waited, a grin spreading across his face. I lifted mine and in the few seconds it took us to clink glasses and finish our drinks, we locked eyes. I don’t know what it felt like for him, but for me, it was electric. Full of possibility, of something big on the horizon.

Once he’d drained his glass, he drew his phone from his pocket. He glanced at it and frowned.

“Ohh. It’s so much later than I thought. I have to go. I really don’t want to.” He sounded like a disappointed child being told he had to go to bed. “I want more time with you, Ella. I still have so many questions, so much I want to know about you.” He glanced down at his phone again, thumbed through a few screens, and then sighed. “Damn it. I really do have to go, though.”

“It’s OK. I mean, this was just such a crazy coincidence that we even ran into each other. I just feel lucky it happened at all.”

“You’re right. We had a lovely dinner and drinks, which is more than we had yesterday when I had to say goodbye. I just wish I’d run into you a week ago, when I first got here. I had so much more time. I’m not leaving until Tuesday, but I’m meeting my sister and brother for brunch tomorrow, and then I have to go to—” He stopped abruptly and he cocked his head slightly, a quizzical, hopeful expression. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come to a wedding with me, would you? I RSVP’d for two, thinking I’d drag my sister along for company, but she kind of hates weddings. I was going to have to bribe her big time.”

I didn’t even think about it. “I love weddings.”

“Can you make it?” He grinned when I nodded, his whole face one big smile. “That’s the best news. I’m so happy.”

We sat for a few more minutes making arrangements, then bundled up and headed back outside. He stood smiling at me as we both pulled on gloves and rearranged our lapels and scarves to block the cold wind, then offered his elbow for me to take, and together we walked the four blocks to the subway.

“Thanks for dinner. Or, thank James for dinner, I guess,” I said when we stopped at the subway entrance. “Thank you for the drinks. I should have bought that last round.”

“Don’t be silly. I was happy to buy. And happy it’s you I got to buy them for. I’m so happy, I’d buy you just about anything right now.”

I laughed. “A Ferrari?”

“Hell yeah, I’ll get you two. What color?”

I laughed again. I felt light, almost breathless. I was sure some of that was the alcohol. But only some.

“Oh, surprise me.”

“I’ll make sure one has flames.” He grinned and looked at me a long second, during which my heart seemed to be having trouble finding a steady rhythm.

“So, I will see you tomorrow, then, Miss Eleanor. How exciting. J’ai hâte!”

I nodded and for just a few seconds too long, we looked at each other. I felt the heat of the alcohol and the heat of arousal flood my whole body. Despite the wind tugging at my hair and sneaking into all the gaps of my winter clothes, I felt uncomfortably hot.

He held out his arms and we hugged. A tight hug, maybe a longer hug than most friends might exchange in the same situation, but a platonic hug. I took the steps down and resisted the urge to look back over my shoulder to see if he was watching. It was hard, though.

//

The wedding was in Midtown and we’d made arrangements to meet at the 28th Street station. It was a gorgeous day, chilly, but with a bright blue, cloudless sky. I was waiting for him up on the street. As soon as I spotted him heading up the stairs—his auburn hair gleaming once he stepped into the late morning sun—my heart started to beat faster.

The previous night, after I got home, I’d been full of energy and determination like never before. I called up my brother Mark and told him I was going to divorce Steven. I’d thought it a million times, but saying it out loud had been so exciting, so empowering. His reaction of unwavering support and encouragement fortified my decision. I went to sleep feeling happy, truly happy and hopeful for the first time in years.

I woke early, for once without the blaring beep of my alarm, and drank my morning coffee by the window, my thoughts turning back to the previous night. I owed Danny so much for his kindness and understanding, and for drawing out my unpleasant truths. He’d unknowingly led me to make a decision I’d been unable to make for a long time.

I kept thinking about what he’d said, that I needed to remember who I was and that I was worth better, and I determined I would do just that; I’d remember, and I’d actively pursue what I felt I deserved. Only the best, from now on.

Danny’s smile was so wide as he approached me. I felt its radiance like a sun, warming me all the way through. He greeted me in French and kissed my cheek. I caught just a hint of fragrance as he drew back.

“I have some news,” I said once we’d said our hellos and headed down the street.

“Good news?”

I nodded and told him about my long conversation with my brother.

He stopped walking and looked at me. “C’est pas vrai,” he breathed. “You’ve decided?”

“I don’t want to become one of those horrible couples who fight all the time, who openly hate each other, but never split up. Like my parents. Married and miserable.”

“Oh Ella. I am so happy for you.” He hugged me, pressing a kiss on my cheek. He smiled at me for a second and then took my arm and we started to walk on. “This is the best news. I’m so proud of you.”

“I have you to thank. Last night—I know I left the bar a little tipsy, but when I got home, I felt so clear-headed. So, thanks for listening. It helped more than I can tell you.”

“We have to celebrate. We have to celebrate the start of your new life, of your something fantastic. Maybe we can skip out of the reception, go do something more fun. Anything you want.”

“I don’t want you to miss seeing your friends, Danny. Maybe we can go out for a drink after. Anyway, if I’m starting a new life, I can make every single day a celebration, right?”

He smiled, his blue eyes the same color as the sky. “Absolutely.”

The wedding was lovely. Bigger than I expected, with more flowers than I’d ever seen in one place at one time before. I didn’t even know either man, but I was moved by how sweet their vows were, and how clearly deeply in love they were. It set something inside me alight and I realized how much I missed that feeling, of loving and being loved. As I watched the newlyweds kiss, I silently hoped they wouldn’t lose what they had, that they wouldn’t fall out of love, or forget why they fell in love in the first place.

The reception was in the same venue, downstairs, in a beautiful ballroom. Over cocktails I had a chance to meet all Danny’s old high school friends. They were all friendly, all gay, and though nobody asked, I could tell they were all curious who exactly I was. Danny had only introduced me by name, with no further clarification as to how we knew each other. Maybe he just wanted to leave them guessing, or maybe it hadn’t been anything more than an accident, but it gave me a little bit of a thrill to think others were assuming we were a couple.

After we’d done a circuit of the room, Danny leaned close to me to be heard over the music.

“Do you want to leave? We could go somewhere else. I don’t want you to be bored.”

“I’m not. This is lovely. I know I don’t know them, but I love seeing Brian and Matteo together, they look so happy.”

We drifted to an empty table near the dance floor and sat. Across the room, the newlyweds were surrounded by friends and family, everyone smiling and laughing.

“They do, don’t they?” He said, watching them for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“You didn’t? I’m embarrassingly romantic,” I said. “You’re not the only one who gets impossible crushes.”

I thought of all the afternoons I spent with him as a kid, and how much his presence had affected me. It had been an intense feeling then, especially when I was just starting to understand why I was having the feelings in the first place. Now I knew why, and they were even more intense.

“I had such a huge crush on you, when you worked for us.”

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe the romance of the day had affected me. Or maybe I was feeling impulsive and reckless in my new life. Or maybe I’d lost my mind. I don’t know, but I said it shyly, unable to meet his eyes.

“You did? Quoi!”

“Tell me you didn’t notice.” I was prepared to be mortified on behalf of my middle-school self. He shook his head, his face registering genuine disbelief. “Oh, thank God. I’d die if you told me you’d noticed.”

He smiled then, a big grin. “That’s so cute, Ella.”

“I’m so embarrassed. Why did I tell you that?”

“How bad was it? Come on, feed my ego, Ella. Dîs-le-moi! Did you doodle my name on your folders? With hearts and stuff?”

I laughed. “Probably. I don’t remember. It was really bad, though. I know I looked like I was doing homework, but I was just sneaking peeks at you.”

He laughed, too. “Incredible. I had no idea.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Do you still like older men,” he teased. “Or did you see any boy toys you might like to take home?” He was looking at me from above the rim of his glass. His expression was playful. “There are some cuties over there by the bar. They might not be too gay.”

“Well, maybe you should go flirt with them,” I said, happy to be moving away from my embarrassing confession. “This is your kind of crowd.”

“Gay?”

“Well, yeah,” I said laughing. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant you could fall in love with anyone in this room and there’d be no danger of having to deal with the consequences, since you know it’ll be over in a few days when you leave for France. You could safely spend a whole night with anyone and walk away without complications.”

He considered, his eyes not leaving mine. “Huh. Are you saying, if I wanted to be with someone tonight, I could pick anyone in this room? Anyone at all?”

“Um…” The look on his face went straight through me like a wave, moving me as it passed. Parts of my body responded immediately, but my mouth took a second longer. “Ah…” I stared at him, suddenly full of an ache that had been there a long time, but I’d only just noticed. I had to swallow hard to get my reply out. “Yes. Anyone.”

He didn’t look away, and I felt trapped by his gaze. My heart went bump bump bump in my chest, not fast, but hard, like it was trying to get my attention.

He sipped his drink and then set it down. “That’s something to think about,” he said softly.

Finally his eyes shifted from mine and I felt myself exhale a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

He turned his head and I watched his eyes as he followed the action on the dance floor. “Do you dance? I know you used to do ballet. What about…?”

“I used to love to go to clubs in college, but it’s been a while,” I admitted. “I’m afraid I’ll look like an ass.”

“Well, there’s something undeniably pathetic about a 45 year old white man on the dance floor. So, even if you look like an ass, I’m still gonna look worse.” His eyes shifted, and he raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

I finished my drink first, draining my glass, thinking the alcohol might help with the nervousness I suddenly felt that had nothing to do with making an ass of myself, and everything to do with the way he’d looked at me a moment before.

I stood first and put my hand out. Danny took it and let me lead him to the dance floor.

Immediately I was transported back to college, to the nights my girlfriends and I had spent at the clubs. I felt the freedom I’d felt then, the life inside me. Back then, I hadn’t doubted my ability to move, or my physical appeal; on the dance floor I’d always felt powerful and sexy. I felt it now, thumping inside me in time with the bass. And just like back then, I felt the possibility that something might happen with the cute boy dancing in front of me. When I searched his eyes as we danced, a crackling foot of electric attraction separating us, I saw that possibility mirrored back. I didn’t care that this cute boy was a 45 year old man.

We went three songs, and then the DJ put something slow on. Couples merged all around us, but Danny and I stood there for a few seconds, just looking at each other. He reached for me first, and I moved uncertainly toward him. If it had happened yesterday, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would have let him hold me and never doubted he loved me, but loved me like family. It might have excited me, but I wouldn’t have wondered if he was thinking what I was thinking, or if all the places where our bodies touched were sending pulsing waves of pleasure through his body, too.

We swayed together, very nearly eye-to-eye, wearing matching expressions of uncertain desire on our faces.

When he kissed me, everything seemed to stop around me. The music was muffled in my ears, and the lights bled and dimmed above us. If there were other people still on the dance floor, I didn’t know it. All I felt was his hands on my waist, one pressing harder than the other, holding me close, and the heat of his skin where I’d linked my arms behind his neck. And his mouth—his mouth on mine. So warm and soft and exciting.

It was only one kiss, and then he drew back enough to move his mouth to my ear. I could feel his warm breath as we swayed together under the slowly pulsing lights.

“I know who I want to be with,” he whispered into my ear. “Three hundred people in this room, but I only want one. I only want you. I want to be your something fantastic, if only for tonight.”

I could feel my pulse in my palms and my neck. I could feel it between my legs, too, urgent and suddenly more alive than I could ever remember.

“I understand if that’s not what you want, but I needed to tell you. I needed to say it: Je suis amoureuse de toi.” He drew back enough to look at me and said, “That translates roughly to: I am an idiot.”

I laughed, but I knew what he’d said—that he’d admitted to being in love with me—and while it shouldn’t have surprised me, given how he described his approach to love, his tendency to fall in love easily, it did thrill me and I felt my knees go a little weak. So many thoughts tumbled through my mind, but as I thought how to answer, I knew I’d already made my choice.

“I want to be with you, too.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded, and we finished the slow dance in silence, eyes never moving from each others’ faces.

We caught a taxi and spent the whole drive to my apartment kissing: soft, slow, sensuous kisses that made my whole body feel like I still had a bass line from the dance floor inside me, throbbing away. When I grew so turned on I had to lift my mouth from his to breathe, pressed his mouth to my ear and whispered softly how he wanted me, and what he wanted to do.

By the time we got to my building, I was in such a state of arousal I felt my knees buckle slightly as I stepped onto the sidewalk. Seeing him there in the elevator up to my apartment was surreal; he looked so attractive, so sexy, so out of place. I might have convinced myself I was dreaming except for his hand in mine.

I fumbled with my keys in my agitated state, but eventually got us inside. It was dark and chilly and empty and I breathed a sigh of relief out of habit.

I thought of showing Danny around, and I thought of offering him a drink, but I also thought of how his mouth had felt on mine in the taxi, and of all the things he’d whispered into my ear, and how much I wanted them to happen.

I can’t remember how we got our coats off, or our shoes. I don’t remember taking them off, or leading him down the short hallway to my room. But I remember the sight of him when I turned on the lamp by the bed, elegant and handsome in his suit jacket and vest, tall and lean with legs that went on forever, watching me with undisguised desire.

“Will you do something for me?” He was unbuttoning his vest buttons with one hand and tugging at the knot of his tie with the other. “Let me take charge,” he said. He slid his tie from the collar of his shirt and tucked it into his jacket pocket, which he also removed. I watched his hand move to finish the buttons on his vest. “Just this first time. Let me make love to you, Ella. You don’t have to do a thing, just relax.”

“First time?”

He smiled. He dropped his jacket on a chair beside the door and added his vest and belt to the pile. He was undoing the buttons on his shirt cuff as he stepped toward me. Once he was close enough, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to mine. He kissed me softly then lifted his mouth and said, “I want you.” He kissed me again, allowing his tongue to slip between my lips before he drew back and repeated, “I want you. I want to make you feel so good. Better than you’ve ever felt. Better than you’ve ever dreamed you could feel.” He kissed me a third time, drawing my lower lip gently between his. He sucked lightly. I moaned.

“Mmm I like that sound. Je te veux, ma chérie. My God, I want you in so many ways. But first, I want you to relax; you’re so tense.”

He drew back and held my gaze as he finished rolling up his sleeves. Once he had, he lifted my hands to his shoulders and put his on my waist. He pulled me toward him, close so our bodies met, and slid his hands up my back and down again, his fingers moving in waves all along my spine. I moaned unexpectedly, it felt so good.

“You hold everything in. Years and years of tension, no doubt. I can see it in your posture. Your gorgeous body is under so much stress.”

I didn’t deny it. I just sighed, my arms around his warm neck, as he kneaded the muscles on either side of my spine.

“Turn,” he said softly, moving his hands back to my waist and urging me gently around. A moment later his hands moved up my back and landed at my neck, flexing gently. I felt immediate relief from a tension I no longer even noticed, with pleasure following closely behind. I couldn’t remember the last time a man touched me with so much tenderness. I could feel the longing in my body for more.

“Your shoulders are so tight,” he said softly. Then, “May I take off your dress? I’ll give you a massage.”

He waited for me to reply before he began to lower the zipper of my dress. I helped free my arms from the fabric and he held it while I stepped out. I stood for just a second in my bra and panties, turning to look over my shoulder at him as he dropped the dress over his own discarded clothes.

He smiled as he approached me again. He turned me to face him again and ran his hands over my bare arms. He let his eyes drop and they roamed over my body for a few seconds.

“You have such a beautiful body,” he said in a voice low and soft, full of the sensual promises he’d made in the taxi. Then he kissed me softly again, his mouth open over mine and he ran his fingers up and down my bare back. When he lifted his mouth, he took a tiny step backward and started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“I want you to lie down, Ella,” he said. “On your stomach, please. Right in the middle of the bed.”

I didn’t question him, but I did hesitate. I backed up until I felt the bed touch my legs and sat down. He didn’t speak, and for the next minute I watched as he undid the buttons on his shirt and slipped it from his arms.

His body was lean, and fit; he’d obviously seen the inside of a gym, but there was nothing sculpted about his torso, it was just nice in all the right ways. His shoulders were freckled, and though he had very little chest hair, it did trail down from his chest to his belly where it disappeared below the waistband of his trousers. My eyes couldn’t help following that line, conjuring up images of what might lie beneath.

He repeated his request, and I obliged, though I longed to watch him undress completely. I climbed onto the bed, and took a few seconds to settle into the surface, my arms down along my body. I could hear the soft sounds of Danny continuing to undress behind me, and a thrill ran through me.

I felt the bed dip a few seconds later, then his warm hand on my leg as he moved next to me.

“Now, lie still, and we’ll see if we can’t relieve some of that tension, hmm?”

His hand moved up my thigh and over my ass, then continued higher until he reached the strap of my bra. He undid it and put both his hands on my back, just below my shoulder blade and began to knead the muscles there. The effect was immediate.

“Oh my God,” I said, half into the bed’s surface. “Danny that’s so good.”

“Let yourself relax,” he said. “You’ve got years to let go of.”

“Tell me about it.” I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the pleasure he was giving me, but my body was so unaccustomed to relaxing, I could feel my muscles resisting the work he was doing.

“You’re doing great,” he said, as if he could tell I was struggling. Maybe he could. “Just let it go. Focus on my touch and let yourself relax.”

It took conscious effort on my part, but I felt the tension gradually lessen. My body eased into the soft surface of the bed. I couldn’t help the moans and sighs that escaped my lips as he worked his way up my shoulder to my neck, but I could tell by the way he responded with soft laughs that he found my vocalizations amusing.

Before he switched sides, he undid the fasteners in my hair and took a few seconds to run his fingers through the whole length. It was as exciting as the massage, as his kisses, and I realized just how pleasure-starved I was.

Then his hands focused on the other side of my back and shoulders, and I resumed my sighing and moaning. I was hot all over. It felt like my blood was rushing through me, heating me up. At different places, I could feel my pulse, slow and strong.

“Can you roll over? I need to get at the back of your neck, but I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“That’s kind of you,” I said as I started to shift from my stomach.

As I rolled, he reached for my bra and slid it from my arm, waiting until I was on my back to slip it all the way off. At the same time, he was moving from the bed’s surface. I caught sight of his erect cock and his dark red pubic hair, just as he turned away. My stomach tensed with excitement.

He dropped my bra on top of my dress and came around the bed toward my head. I craned my neck as he walked, admiring his body. He had an older man’s body. There wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, and it didn’t matter; I was far from disappointed by what I saw.

“I’m going to pull you closer,” he said once he’d reached the other side of the bed. “Just a little.”

His hands moved under my shoulders and he slid me toward him, until my head was almost at the edge. “Perfect,” he said, smiling down at me. He drew my long hair out from under my neck and combed his fingers through it while I watched him, upside down. Then he slid both hands under my head and I felt the light pressure of his fingers as he worked them along the muscles that ran from my neck to my head.