The Real(3)

He chuckled again as he looked down at me from where he stood, then grinned.

“Today isn’t the right day.” The husky baritone of his voice matched the silky hue of his eyes, which seemed to darken as he looked me over.

“No?” I asked in a whisper as I sized up his six-foot-plus frame and imagined the possibilities.

“No,” he said. “Maybe we can not have coffee again sometime?”

He’d tapped out with a simple ‘no’ from me. He couldn’t have been that interested in the first place.

I couldn’t deny the disappointment welling up in my ovaries.

“Okay.” I lifted the last syllable when he didn’t press further.

Cameron pulled out his wallet and set some money on his table then walked over to mine and did the same.

“At least let me buy your next cup.”

After setting the bills down, he stood over me briefly and I caught his scent—purely masculine. I inhaled as much as I could without being obvious. He didn’t smell like a psycho.

Cameron picked up his man–bag while I pictured running my fingers through his messy, inches thick, dark-brown hair.

Don’t let him leave. Tell him you aren’t that big of a bitch. But that would seem desperate. You aren’t desperate. But you are horny. Omg, are you horny??

As if reading my thoughts, I caught another flash of his teeth and had to bite my cheek to keep my reaction in check.

“I’ll see you.”

“Yeah, see you. And thanks,” I said to his retreating back, an octave louder than necessary. “For the coffee,” I added. Outside the window, Cameron bent and exchanged words with Bennie before sticking some cash in his hand.

Well, Abbie. Guess you’ll just have to wait until the next time you roll out of bed and a beautiful man hits on you. Should happen again, you IDIOT!

Once again, my hesitance had cost me. And I couldn’t help but feel like this time it cost me big.

Sagging into my seat, I continued to stare in his direction, watching those broad shoulders walk out of my life.





A sharp finger poked me in the shoulder, and I looked up from my seat on the L to see a woman in a bright pink, bubble-covered trench coat hovering over me. Her face was marred with unforgiving age and her teeth the color of a raincloud. I pulled out an earbud playing “Youth” by the Glass Animals before she spoke.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

I shook my head as I inched back, retrieving some of the personal space she’d invaded. “No, sorry, I don’t smoke.”

“Too many non-smokers in this city,” she snapped, as she ogled me closely to see if there was anything else on my person she could ask for. I quickly put my earbud back in and looked out the window at the fly-by houses and trees covered in the fading amber sun.

The woman hovered a little longer before she moved on. I ignored the twinge of guilt. I gave to the needy, not the rude and expectant. It’s a skill you acquire when you live in the city.

When I stepped off the train at my stop, the brisk air slapped me in the face. Wicker Park wasn’t exactly riddled with crime, but it was a melting pot and always bustling, which still made it necessary to stay alert. With my tote hanging on my arm, I slid my hands into my coat as I walked past the familiar side street cafés, bookstores, shops, restaurants, and pubs. The neighborhood had an intimate charm and a small radius, but on any given day, you would find it hard to spot the same neighbor in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

I thought of Cameron as I walked through the iron gate and up the steps to my three-flat. I’d stopped by Sunny Side that morning in hopes of seeing him and had worked for hours longer than usual in an off chance to steal another glance. It was pathetic, but true.

My love-life had been a train-wreck for the past few years, to put it mildly, and he seemed like a bright spot, an opportunity. And then . . . he’d left.

I shrugged to myself. His loss.

After waiting in vain, I’d taken the train into the city to meet my brother, Oliver, for a late lunch. Turned out I waited for two men that day who never showed. Oliver had texted me last minute, saying he couldn’t get away from the hospital, but I knew better. He kept a full schedule, both personally and professionally. Even if he was a womanizer, he was rarely alone. I cursed the fact that I envied him for that, because I never thought I’d see the day.

Flipping through my mail I counted my blessings.

I still had my health, a career I loved that afforded me every comfort, including my oversized home. I made the decision to buy despite my marital status. I was pushing thirty-one and still wasn’t part of a we, so I lifted both middle fingers to Cupid and invested in a love nest of my own.

The top two floors were mine, but I rented out the basement floor to a little old lady, Mrs. Zingaro, who’d become my second job. Though she was sugarcoated, she creeped me out sometimes. I swore she was dead or dying every time I saw her perched on the bench in her garden. She was one of those people who would stare off into space and scare the shit out of you when they snapped out of it.

My first experience with this last summer had scarred me for life. I’d found her standing statue-still in the middle of her garden—the garden she dug up after I’d paid a fortune for new sod—with a watering can in hand. She was frozen for several moments as I approached her, gently calling her name. I wasn’t sure if a corpse could stand, but in broad daylight, I was certain I was witnessing it.