Katwalk (14 page)

“Oh, yes, of course. That must have slipped my mind. Sorry. Well, anyhow, it looks like I’m going to have to live vicariously through you for the time being.”

“Like I’m exciting enough for
anyone
to want to live through vicariously,” Katrina scoffed.

“Come on, don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got the world by the tail right now, but you don’t seem to see it. Just a few weeks ago you were hibernating in a cube in Mountain View, and tonight you almost kissed a married guy in Manhattan. By
anyone’s
measure of excitement, that’s progress.”

Katrina couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”

“It’s definitely progress. You’re Kat now, remember?”

“I guess I am. You think maybe Kat would kiss a married guy?”

“I doubt it. Although I do like this new attitude of yours. I hope you keep it up.”

“Thanks. I’ll try my best. I think I’m going to hit the hay now. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay then, you hit it, girl.”

“Don’t go crazy in Fresno.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

Katrina lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for a while, replaying the evening’s events in her mind.

Had Reid been about to kiss her?

It doesn’t matter if he was or not.

He’s married.

Despite what might be going on in his relationship, despite the attention h
e’d
showered her with, he was
married
.

Married.

Off the market.

Unavailable.

Period.

End of story.

She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. It was time for her nighttime ritual. She shuffled into the bathroom and got to work.

Remove eye makeup with cotton ball.

Wash face with gentle foaming cleanser.

Apply night cream.

Floss and brush teeth.

Back in bed, she turned off the light and closed her eyes and tried not to think about Reid anymore, but it was no good.

The truth was, at least in her limited experience, most guys were either good-looking or smart. The ones who were both were usually arrogant.

Or not interested in her.

Or all of the above.

Sh
e’d
finally found one who seemed to break the mold—and he was already taken.

Her mind raced for a while, but eventually exhaustion won out and she fell asleep to the steady patter of rain against the window.

Chapter Seven

It was still raining when Katrina awoke early the next morning. She opened the drapes and peered out her bedroom window. The sun was up, but the sky was dark with storm clouds, the street quiet save for the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement. She turned to the clock on her nightstand. Although it was barely seven thirty, she was wide awake.

After a hot shower she gingerly pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, her sore muscles reminding her of the yoga class sh
e’d
taken. Then she went in search of an umbrella, an essential item she had somehow forgotten to pack. She figured there had to be at least one in the apartment, so she checked the hall closet first.

One
had been an underestimate.

She picked up a crammed bucket from the far corner of the closet and counted the umbrellas. There were seven in all. Most of them looked pretty flimsy, if not broken, and she wondered how many of them had been purchased from the opportunistic merchants who had a knack for appearing out of nowhere with cheaply made yet overpriced protection at the ready, just at the onslaught of a storm. Sh
e’d
seen men selling umbrellas on nearly every street corner during the cab ride home from Soho House.

At the thought of last night she shook her head and blinked a few times, as if that would jar the memories loose and send them on their way, out the door, never to return.

Oh, that it were that easy.

Ten minutes later, armed with the sturdiest umbrella she could find, she set off to buy a newspaper from the kiosk on the corner. She said a quick hello to the vendor, a slight, almost frail man with white hair who, despite his friendly expression, never said a word. Paper in hand, she thanked him and turned in the direction of the coffeehouse. The old man nodded and waved good-bye with a wordless smile. As she walked away, she wondered what his life was like outside of the little hut. New York was so diverse that it was almost impossible to picture people’s pasts—who they were and how they had ended up here.

Aside from the steady din of the rain and the clamor of the occasional car driving by, the neighborhood was tranquil—more so than at any time since sh
e’d
arrived. She had never been one to rise with the sun, but she had a feeling that Saturday mornings might become her favorite part of the week in New York, a secret window of time she wouldn’t have to share with countless others. She was already looking forward to leisurely reading the newspaper in the early morning calm.

The coffeehouse was deserted except for an elderly couple sitting at a table by the windows. Each had a cup of tea and a crossword puzzle spread out before them. The skinny young barista was behind the counter, looking as bored as ever. Katrina glanced up at the chalkboard menu behind him before ordering her usual blueberry scone and skim latte. Sh
e’d
just paid when the door behind the counter opened. Justin walked through it carrying a large bag of coffee beans.

He set the bag on the floor and clapped coffee dust off his hands. Then he greeted Katrina with a warm smile. “Good morning. You’re in early today, especially for a Saturday.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Rain keep you up?”

“Something like that.”

He gave her a look, then nodded with just the hint of a smile. “I get it. Don’t worry, I won’t pry.”

The young barista smirked.

“Be nice, Peter,” Justin said as he turned toward the back door, although it looked like he was chuckling a bit himself.

Katrina felt her cheeks flush as it dawned on her why they were amused. Sh
e’d
clearly given the wrong impression about what sh
e’d
been up to all night, but, not knowing how to rectify it, she remained silent.

Peter handed her the latte and scone.

“Thanks, Peter.”
So that’s his name
.

“No problem.”

She was still feeling embarrassed as she turned away from the counter, but she was also a tiny bit flattered that the
y’d
both assumed she hadn’t spent the night alone. At home, no one would ever assume that. She took a seat at an open table near the windows and settled into the newspaper, dimly aware of the rhythmic cadence of the rain peppering the glass.

It wasn’t until she was halfway through the front section that she realized sh
e’d
never thanked Justin for his list of things to do in New York. She looked over at the counter but didn’t see him. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even eight thirty yet. Was he in the back room? She doubted he was already taking a break, but then again, he probably began his shift super early. She looked back at her newspaper and wondered what it would be like to work at a coffeehouse, especially one where the other employees looked like they were barely out of high school. She could imagine her mother shaking her head and saying something along the lines of
That’s what happens when you don’t get a degree.

Then she thought of Ryder from last night. He had a high-profile job, made loads of money, and—in his own words—liked to get into trouble for fun. Mr. Get-into-Trouble-for-Fun probably had a huge bank account, but in her opinion, he didn’t have half the warmth of Justin.

“So what’s on the docket today? More exploring?”

The sound of a man’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw Justin standing there.

“Oh, hi. I thought yo
u’d
left.” She felt as if sh
e’d
been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. If he only knew what sh
e’d
just been thinking.

He smiled. “On a Saturday? Rarely. Did you get my list?”

She flinched with shame at how rude she must seem. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for not coming back with my notepad. I got a little
. . .
distracted.”

He held up his hands. “No worries. I told you, I’m not a private investigator. Just a native New Yorker who wants to make sure our guests enjoy the time they spend in our glorious city.”

“Do you live nearby?” She pictured him and his wife in a tiny yet cozy place around the corner. Or maybe they had a bigger place in one of the other boroughs?
It must be hard to pay rent anywhere in New York City on a barista’s salary
, she thought. She wondered what his wife did for a living, or if their parents helped them out like Shana’s did.

“Not too far. I gather you’re enjoying your time in New York so far?” He crossed his arms in front of him.

She swallowed, still embarrassed at how he thought sh
e’d
spent the night, and tried to redirect the tone of the conversation. “I am, thanks. Anyhow, I think I’m going to check out the Museum of Natural History today. Seems like a perfect way to spend a rainy day.” She took a sip of her latte, suddenly energized at the prospect of the day she had planned.

“Hmm.” He frowned.

She set down her cup. “Hmm what?”

“I hate to break it to you, but I fear the entire city might have the same idea, or at least the portion of the population with kids.”

Her face fell. “You think so?”

“Unfortunately, I
know
so. That place is packed to the rim even when it’s nice outside and there are a ton of other kid-friendly options. And today’s Saturday to boot.”

“Do you have kids?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. It was too personal. Why had she asked him that?

He shook his head. “I just like museums. Studied a bit of art in college. I take it you don’t have kids either? You don’t strike me as the type to abandon your children to go live it up in New York.”

She smiled. “I would hope not.”

“Anyhow, if you
do
go to the Museum of Natural History today, brace yourself for a monster crowd. I mean sardine-style
packed
. Those dinosaur bones are quite a draw.”

“How disappointing.” Katrina really didn’t like crowds. Not surprisingly, they made her anxious. “This throws a wrench into my plans.”

“Don’t stress. There are more than enough things to do in New York when the weather’s not cooperating. And sometimes having a wrench thrown at you is a good thing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I hope you don’t mean literally. And you’re right—I’ll just come up with a new game plan. Don’t worry about me.” She thought about the huge list sitting in her apartment, as well as the one h
e’d
given her. There had to be something suitable for a rainy day.

“I’m not worried about you at all. You seem pretty spontaneous.”

“I do?”

He arched an eyebrow. “You moved here, didn’t you? If that’s not spontaneous, I don’t know what is.”

“I guess I don’t see myself that way.”

“Well, I know we just met, but maybe I see something in you that you don’t—at least not yet. Or maybe I’ve just had too much coffee today and I should keep my pop psychoanalysis to myself.”

She smiled and kept her eyes on her plate, her shyness holding her back from looking up at him. How could he possibly know what a big deal it was for her to have someone regard her as spontaneous? First Shana, now Justin. If they only knew how much it rattled her to have to change plans at all, much less at the last minute.

Finally, she looked up. “Thanks, Justin. Actually, I did something a little spontaneous last night.”

He gave her a look, and she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment again.

“Or yesterday
early evening
, I mean. I went to my very first yoga class.”

“Oh yeah? How did that go?”

She put her hands on her opposite arms. “Let’s just say I’m feeling it today. Apparently, I’ve gone nearly thirty years without knowing that I have absolutely zero upper-body strength, not to mention zero lower-body strength. It was a humbling experience.”

He laughed. “I’m more into basketball and weights to stay in shape, but I keep hearing good things about yoga. Maybe I should try it sometime.”

“Not that I have anything to compare her to, but I thought the teacher was great. She really made me think about
. . .
getting out of my comfort zone.” Katrina was surprised at her candor, but Justin didn’t seem to think she was being overly forthcoming. Or if he did, he didn’t let on.

He twisted his wedding ring. “Getting out of your comfort zone can be hard, but in my experience, it’s usually a good thing.”

Just then several patrons filed in all at once, the sound of the downpour outside nearly drowning out the soft jingle of the bells attached to the front door.

Justin glanced at the recent arrivals, then smiled at Katrina. “And so the weekend rush begins. I don’t want to get into hot water with the boss, so I’ve gotta get back to work. Have a good day, Kat.”

“You too, Justin. Thanks for the heads-up on the museum.”

“My pleasure.”

She watched him hurry to join Peter behind the counter. Sh
e’d
been going to the same Starbucks in Mountain View for years and had never met a barista like him there. At Starbucks, they all had the same perky, borderline robotic demeanor, but in all her years as a regular customer, none of them had ever expressed any genuine interest in her, much less gone out of their way to make her feel so welcome. Justin was different. He seemed to truly want her to enjoy her time in his city. Maybe it was because he was older, but she still couldn’t help wondering why he served coffee for a living, especially now that h
e’d
mentioned college. Had he dropped out?

Perhaps he did have a degree and did something else on the side—maybe acting, the way Shana did? Or maybe h
e’d
pursued something else that hadn’t quite worked out? Although she was curious, she didn’t know how to bring it up without offending him, something she feared sh
e’d
already done enough. Maybe he was content making lattes and chatting with customers. He was certainly good at it.

She looked down at her cup. Who was she to knock Justin for working in a coffeehouse? What right did she have to judge someone else’s career choices? Sh
e’d
spent eight years in a job she hated just to please her parents—and where had that gotten her?

Nowhere
, she thought.

Shana’s boyfriend was just leaving the building as Katrina approached the front steps.

“Good morning, Kat.” He looked up at the dark sky and opened his umbrella. “Enjoying this lovely weather?”

“Hi, Josh. Yes, there’s nothing like a deluge to brighten up a fall day.”

“Looks like you’ve already been out and about. Brave girl
. . .
unless you’re just getting home from last night?” He winked at her.

“Sorry to disappoint.” She pointed down the street. “I went around the corner for coffee. Are you on your way home, or just out to do the same?”

“I wish I were going out for coffee, but unfortunately I’m headed to the office.”

“Ouch. On a Saturday morning?”

He shrugged. “Par for the course at my firm, sad to say. At least when we’re working on a big case, which lately has been
. . .
always.”