I felt my shoulders slump forward. “About like motherhood is treating you. It’s kicking my ass.”
“Ahh,” she said, before sitting up and slapping a hand to my knee. “New York does that to newcomers. You just need to gain your grit and once you do, you’re going to love this city and never want to leave. Trust me.”
I sure hoped she was right, but at the moment I had a bigger problem. “I’ll be leaving whether I want to or not if I don’t find a job soon.”
She frowned at me. “Still nothing yet?”
Shaking my head, I answered, “Nada.”
She tapped her chin and pursed her lips. “Ohh. Plants and books are your jam. What about a florist or a bookstore? There are tons of those in the city.”
She was right. I’d applied to many bookstores, even some of the larger chains. But I hadn’t thought about a florist.
That was a freaking great idea. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it. I stood up, making sure I had my purse. “That’s a fabulous idea. The best one yet.”
I was actually excited. Maybe I could get a job at a florist close to my place. I was even willing to venture on the subway and get lost a couple of times to work with plants. It would be worth it.
“You guys ready?” Tig asked everyone, coming from the back room.
“Actually, I think I’m going to skip out on dinner.” God knew I couldn’t afford it anyway. “I’m going to start hitting up some florists nearby.”
“You sure?” Soraya asked.
I nodded. “Yep. It’s a great idea and I need to get a job pronto.”
“Have fun,” Delia called out as I left before them.
“Good luck!” Soraya shouted as the door closed behind me.
I turned on the GPS on my phone, brought up Google Maps, and pulled up all florists within walking distance. There were quite a few within a five-mile radius and since I was a New Yorker now, I decided to pound the pavement and find a job today. Nothing was going to stop me.
Grace
After hitting up four florists and walking three miles, I realized pretty damn soon something was stopping me. And it was my damn legs. They were killing me. And my feet. God, they were even worse. I was definitely not used to being a New Yorker.
Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that traipse through Times Square but I couldn’t seem to resist. The magnitude of it all blew this small town southern girls mind. And the soccer gear advertisement I saw on a huge screen with this hot, muscled guy and a spotted goat was titillating and also weird as hell. Sometimes, I never thought I’d get used to this place.
I was even missing my hometown of Raleigh, North Carolina, which I didn’t think I would ever say. There wasn’t really much there for me and my dreams. But you know what was there? Less traffic and the ability to drive anywhere in a matter of minutes. In New York, you sat in traffic longer than it actually took to get anywhere.
I’d learned that quickly my first week here, when I’d opted to just park my car on the street, walk, and take the train.
I sat down at the first bench I saw and stretched my feet inside of my tennis shoes. God, I couldn’t wait to get home and take them off. And to think I’d done all of that walking and only found one potential job prospect.
Most of the places were hiring, but they wanted someone with experience. Apparently, loving and treating your own plants like children wasn’t enough to be hirable. Although, one lady did look like she might take pity on me and give me a second interview. She had my phone number so I could only pray she actually used it.
I was beat. Down to my soul. So, when I saw a coffee truck about half a block away, I knew that would be my next stop. I’d need the caffeine to even make it home. I got up and trudged toward the coffee truck, dragging ass, envisioning a very large Frappuccino of some sort. I wanted all of the sugar. I’d enjoy it guilt-free since I’d skipped dinner and walked over three miles.
I checked my email and Facebook on my phone while I waited on my turn behind two other people and when I finally made it to the front of the line, I could have cried. I needed that coffee like I needed life.
“What can I get you?” a dark haired man asked.
“I’ll have a caramel Frappuccino with extra whipped cream please.” I gave him a beaming smile.
The man just stared at me as if I’d lost my ever-loving mind and my eyes darted around, trying to figure out what was going on until they finally landed on his nametag. “Is there a problem, Anil?” I asked, cautiously. To which his only reply was nothing really. He just kept staring me down.
A long arm reached from behind me and a big body followed it, virtually cutting me off and stepping right in front of me.
“You know what?” the big man who’d stepped in front me said to Anil. “She’s just going to have a large coffee with extra sugar and cream and I’m going to have a small black coffee.”
He already had his card out, handing it to Anil and I wanted to yell at him that I wanted a damn Frappuccino, but I could only see the back of his head and I wanted him to look me in my face while I told his cutting ass about skipping lines and ordering shit for women that they didn’t want.
I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting and getting ready. I was going to let loose on this man. I didn’t need him to buy me a coffee that I didn’t even want. Why the hell were men so entitled? We women were capable of doing things, especially things like ordering our own drinks.
Anil set the coffees down on the counter and looked at me for a good three seconds before going on to the next customer in line.
Dark haired stranger grabbed the coffee he ordered for me and the one for himself before walking to the side. I followed so I could give him a piece of my mind.
Unfortunately for me, he turned around and blindsided the hell out of me. He may as well have given me a one-two punch to the face because I was knocked flat out.
It was him. The romance ruiner from Central Park. It was the kiss destroyer himself and I had to say that up close he was even better than I remembered.
I could have eaten him with a spoon, if I had one. But I didn’t even have a coffee so here I was, now thirsty and hungry. Great. He started walking toward a nearby bench so I followed suit in a daze.
The jeans he was wearing may as well have been painted on him because that bottom. Damn. And with every stride I made behind him, I realized how big he was and how small I was.
I was short at five foot three, but the man had a foot on me easily. He made me feel tiny and there wasn’t anything little about me.
He turned to face me, right in front of the bench, and took a seat on the right with the kind of grace and elegance a dancer might have and I immediately became nervous. All of my gusto and internal shit-talking about telling him off flew out the window. Because standing three feet from this man felt like standing a foot from a raging hot fire. He wore a black sweater that fit him like a glove and even in his faded jeans and black boots, he looked so fancy and put together.
I bounced around on my tennis shoe covered feet feeling somehow underdressed for a New York sidewalk, even though I was wearing my nicest skinny jeans and cute green blouse with white hearts all over it.
He set the two coffees on the arm of the bench while I stood there and gawked, before patting the spot next to him. What the hell was happening? I shuffled from side to side nervously.