New Amsterdam: Tess (9 page)

Mindy uses the serving tongs and places a small portion of cornbread on her plate. “Think of this as a tasting, Heather. Jam or honey?”

Suggesting something lighter, Thessaly offers, “Try the peach-infused honey, Heather. No added sugar and the taste is phenomenal. I also have sugar-free strawberry jam you could spread on a low-fat rice cake.”

“No, please don’t bother – I’ll rely on Mindy’s impeccable taste. Does the honey come from your family’s farm? I’m so fascinated with the subject.”

“It does! I receive raw, harvested honey shipments every few months and then I package it in my shop.” Thessaly opens a photo album on her tablet and shows the ladies previous examples of custom products. “Mindy will direct me as to what you’ll want during your reception – from there, we can create almost any flavor and personalized packaging specifically for your wedding.”

In a hoity voice reserved for the Manhattan elite, Mindy reveals, “Heather’s fiancé owns a lovely property on Shelter Island. Since family and friends from all over the country will be attending, they’re graciously hosting a destination weekend wedding. Every detail is important, as I’m sure you understand.”

Heather opens an album on her iPad and scrolls through the pictures of the white and blue beachfront estate. “Dennis and I want our guests to enjoy a weekend getaway while attending our wedding. The rehearsal dinner will be outside featuring a feast of an autumn harvest. We’ve planned a pancake breakfast the following morning, lunch in town, boating activities, a trip to the winery, and then on Saturday night, a reception that will impress Julia Pierce. Nothing over the top or pretentious though – Dennis and I want the wedding to mimic an upscale bed and breakfast.”

“Oh, Heather, it looks amazing – will Julia Pierce be there? I love her columns,” Thessaly adds, glancing in her periphery as a burly delivery man enters her shop.

“She’s doing a two-page spread!” Heather beams.

Rising from the island, Thessaly asks, “Two pages? Can you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course, dear. I’ll just be sampling this strawberry jam.”

Joining Meg as she tries to answer the silly questions of a young couple, Thessaly nudges her hip. It never ceases to amaze her that honey and jam can bring so much debate.

“Hi, you will love the light and fragrant taste of the lavender honey. I’ll have Meg bring you some tea,” Thessaly offers.

“What’s up?” asks Meg when the couple leaves.

“Can you bring the wedding chicks some water with lemon? There’s a delivery guy here unloading crates, but I didn’t order anything.”

Meg glances at the door and shrugs her shoulders. Plodding to the kitchen, she mumbles, “Water and tea.”

Walking to the front of the store, she watches as a large, hairy man wipes sweat from his brow. “Can I help you?” Thessaly asks with a polite smile.

“Tess Sinclair? I got your order of white peaches – one bushel.”

“I think there’s a mistake! I would never order that many peaches.”

“I only deliver, lady – and I don’t get paid if I don’t deliver. You wouldn’t do that to me, would ya?” Sweat runs down his cheeks like dejected tears while he continues to unload his dolly.

“But, I, where did they come from?”

The delivery man stacks the crates of peaches in the front corner of the shop, moaning as he stretches from his rolling cart to the short tower of wooden crates. “Brooklyn Soil.” He pulls out a crinkled slip of paper from the pocket of his plaid shirt and drops it into the top crate. Wiping sweat from his upper lip, he smiles quickly and then scurries out the door before Thessaly can stop him.

“I didn’t order peaches,” she mutters to herself. Lifting the folded invoice from the top crate, Thessaly reads silently.
If you have a dispute with your order, please call Levi Jones.

Fighting a smile, Thessaly walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right with you, ladies,” she says as she passes Mindy and Heather.

Returning a plastic smile, Mindy replies, “Take your time, dear.”

As Thessaly enters the kitchen, Seth looks up from the pyramid of stacked jars and frowns. “Tess, you’re flushed,” he teases.

“Hey, can you give me a minute?” she asks.

“Sure – but don’t mess with my Jar Jenga.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she promises.

When Seth leaves, Thessaly removes the business card she stashed in the canister with her candy. Dismissing the three new texts she received from Mason, she starts a casual text to Levi. Mid-thought, Thessaly takes the plunge and dials the number to Brooklyn Soil.

After the third ring, a familiar, gravelly voice answers the call. “Hello, Brooklyn Soil.”

Her throat dry, Thessaly crackles, “Hi, um, may I speak to Levi Jones?”

A brief pause is followed by a snicker before he replies, “Levi Jones is currently at a tent revival sacrificing the baby carrots. Can I take a message?”

Knowing that she’s speaking to Levi, Thessaly decides to play along. “Yes, please leave him a message. Tess Sinclair would like to know what she’s supposed to do with a bushel of peaches.”

“Levi would probably ask why you speak in third-person.” Pausing for effect, he adds, “And then he’d ask you to dinner.”

Chapter Six

Ms. Sinclair, CEO, The Hive:

The patent office has received your trademark request for the name, Sinclair Wild Honey. As you are aware, we go to great lengths to secure trademark applications within a timely manner. However, please allow six months for the request to be approved.

Best of luck in your new venture,

Christopher Reinhart, Patent Officer

Cheering quietly and closing her laptop, Thessaly dances to the bathroom to finish primping for her date with Levi. Humming a
U2
song and shaking her hips, she removes the loose towel from her head and pats her hair dry. Her golden curls are somewhat limited in styling, but her hair looks amazing when it dries naturally with just a dab of Bumble and Bumble Curl Conscious Defining Crème.

She scrunches segments of her layered bob while singing the chorus to Wild honey.

Leaving the bathroom and twirling through the kitchenette, Thessaly makes her way to the small closet. Fishing out a tangerine dress with a price tag, and a sexy pair of turquoise pumps, she commits to being bold by ripping the Nordstrom tag off in a swift yank. She would never wear such a vibrant color with Mason – in fact, he didn’t like her in anything other than the sophisticated classics of black, navy, and a touch of pale pink.

“Wild honey,” she says, stepping into the dress.

She tugs at the side zipper and then slides her hands over the curve of her hips. Pleased with her reflection in the floor-length mirror and shocked that she’s a different person with just a dress, she chuckles. Stepping into her pumps and grabbing a small floral clutch, she switches on the overhead fan to cool her apartment, and then locks the door behind her.

Outside on Pearl Street, the man with the peacock feathers waves in her direction. Feeling confident and bold, she makes her way to his alcove. Keeping a small distance from his impending cynicism, she asserts, “Love is bold.”

The man smiles, sparkling white teeth rarely seen on the face of a vagrant New Yorker, but then he pulls out his journal and begins to write.

Slouching her shoulders, Thessaly frowns. “Ugh, what a fucking riddle,” she mutters, turning to walk away.

Summers in Manhattan mean casual dinners and cold drinks, so Thessaly is meeting Levi at a Seaport pub known for their New Zealand-inspired menu. Although she’s not a fan of lamb burgers or vegetables, or any establishment that doesn’t offer dessert, she’s excited to try a new restaurant on an actual date. But as she walks the three blocks to the pub in a dress the color of a traffic cone, Thessaly fidgets uncomfortably – slouching her shoulders and crawling back into her sweet shell of sugary honeycomb.

“Tess!” shouts Levi.

Following the sound of his deep voice, Thessaly crosses the street to find Levi rakishly leaning against a parking sign. Contrary to Thessaly’s loud attire, Levi’s dressed in a black T-shirt and dark denim jeans. Other than his expensive Tag Heuer watch and barber-fresh shave, Levi Jones is every drop of rugged masculinity.

Levi runs his eyes over the curve of Thessaly’s slender hips, watching as her body sways like an African daisy in a field of Manhattan gray. Uncrossing his arms and walking toward her, he thinks,
wildflower
.

“Hey!” Thessaly’s raspy voice is perkier than usual.

Reaching in for a kiss on the cheek, Levi says, “Our table is ready. Do you like kale?”

Faking a smile, Thessaly replies, “So, so good.”

Levi places his hand on the small of her back and leads her through the large opened door to the restaurant. “You lie,” he whispers behind her ear.

They arrive at a crowded table flowing with IPA beer bottles and buckets of peel-and-eat shrimp. Thessaly’s shoulders drop and her smile fades when she’s met with a group of seated urban farmers staring up at her – three men and two women, all dressed in the same quirky Brooklyn Soil T-shirt. The table holds six chairs, and Thessaly makes seven, so Levi steals an unused chair from the bar and offers it to Thessaly.

Sitting at least three inches higher than the rest of the group on an elevated stool, Thessaly shrinks in embarrassment.

Aware that she’s uncomfortable, Levi thinks
, she’s wilting.
So he leans into her and hums, “You look amazing.”

The stress on the letter
z
buzzes through her ear and sends a cold surge down her neck. And whether it’s the sensual vibration of Levi’s voice, or the hope she may escape the lamb burger, Thessaly relaxes with a smile.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet Tess. She owns The Hive on Fulton.” Levi’s friendly yet authoritative voice hushes the group.

After a few
hellos
and
I
love that place
from the table of urban farmers, Levi turns into Thessaly, causing the rough denim of his jeans to scrape against her bare legs. “So yeah, it’s a fairly monumental week for the rooftop farm – we needed to celebrate.”

“Levi, I understand.” Thessaly nods, glancing over the drink menu placed in front of her. “I just assumed we were on a date,” she adds shyly.

“Hey,” Levi interrupts.

As soon as Thessaly looks up from her menu to answer Levi, two waiters approach the table with platters of lollipop lamb chops, grilled chicken wings, and stir-fried kale. They refill the water glasses and remove the buckets of shrimp exoskeletons.

The shorter waiter hovers near Thessaly and asks, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Oh, a pear cider would be great,” she answers.

When the waiter leaves, Levi gently places his hand on Thessaly’s knee, allowing his pinky finger to trace small circles on her thigh. “Hey.”

Overwhelmed by the heat of his touch and the intense gaze of his indigo eyes, Thessaly utters, “Ha-eye.”

Locking eyes and counting the shared breaths between them, Levi finally emits a low growl. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.

“But I didn’t get my cider, or the yum-my k-ale,” she says flatly, each syllable choppier than the last.

Smirking as he stands from the table, Levi offers Thessaly his hand and then turns to address his employees. “Tess and I have plans.”

“Levi, thanks for dinner, man,” the chubby, bearded hipster on the far left mumbles.

“Thank you, boss!” the two women chime in unison while filling their plates.

“Yeah, yeah. This dinner does not mean you get to come in late tomorrow. Eight a.m., folks.” Levi nods and then tugs on Thessaly’s hand. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she replies, tucking her clutch under her free arm. Turning to look over her shoulder, Thessaly adds politely, “It was nice meeting y’all.”

Levi leads Thessaly back toward the large door, stopping by the hostess stand to sign the credit card tab. “Can you email me the bill?”

“No problem, Mr. Jones. Enjoy your evening,” the hostess proffers while returning Levi’s American Express card.

Thessaly and Levi walk along the crowded sidewalk as a couple completely in sync. It’s a comfortable gait for both, moving to the sounds of the City while dissolving into the blanket of humidity. At the next block, Levi pulls Thessaly in the direction of a shaved ice truck and laughs.

“What would happen if we ask for every flavor of syrup?”

“Other than it probably being brown in color? We would experience the tastiest shaved ice on the planet!” she chirps.

Joining the long line, Thessaly shifts her weight every few minutes, smiling through the pain of blisters forming from her unforgiving pumps. “We’re next,” she says in relief.

“Do you like shuffleboard?” Levi asks randomly.

Moving to the counter to order, Thessaly glances at Levi’s profile – watching as he tightens his lips and rubs his chin. “Sure,” she replies.

Ringing a bell, the young man in the shaved ice truck asks, “What’ll you have?”

Levi places his arm on the counter of the truck and replies, “You have quite the creative menu. Although, the oatmeal chai surprise sounds a little scary.” Tapping the stainless steel counter, Levi demands, “Here’s what we want – orange, strawberry, lemon, peach, pineapple, and cherry.”

“So you want all the flavors? That’s our clusterfuck.”

“Right, but what if we don’t want the blue raspberry?” Levi leans into Thessaly and whispers, “If the shaved ice ends up being the color of your dress, then you have to kiss me.”

Laughing, Thessaly agrees. “Can we add cream? And gummi worms?”

“Now you’re livin’, Tess.” Slapping the counter to the beat of the churning ice machine, Levi beckons, “Dude, add some cream. And gummi worms. And two umbrella straws.”

The young man in the food truck shakes his head and rolls his eyes, clearly at his daily limit with the random demands of the Seaport yuccies (young urban creatives.) Before buying a used food truck, Kirk Diamond was a bartender. Not a very good one – often dropping bottles of top shelf tequila while performing the iconic scene from
Cocktail
. When he stumbled upon a funky truck at a decent price, he cashed in his savings and set up seasonal rotations in the Seaport. Summer is Kirk’s biggest season, followed by the hard cider frozen treats during the fall.

As Kirk packs the massive mound of delicate ice into a Chinese food container, people in line start to clap – prompting him to do a few tricks. He drizzles every hue of red, orange, and yellow syrup over the ice while busting a few dance moves from the nineties. The addition of the cream comes last – the grand finale. Kirk cups his hand to his ear, begging for more applause. Once he’s satisfied with the gratitude, he flips the plastic bottle of cream syrup in the air, spins around in a full rotation, and then catches the bottle behind his back.

The line forming at the truck goes wild and demands more. Kirk simply smiles and places a huge tip jar on the counter. Returning to the icy clusterfuck, Kirk adds the final garnishes – a wedge of pineapple, two gummi worms, two umbrellas, one straw, and one spoon. “Ten bucks,” Kirk announces.

With a cocky smile and the expression of a victor, Levi takes the carton and passes it to Thessaly. He gives Kirk a ten, and then drops a five in the jar of singles. “Thanks, man.”

As Levi and Thessaly walk off in the other direction, Levi grabs her waist and spins her in front of him. “Lemme see,” he demands.

“See what?” she asks.

Using the plastic spoon, Thessaly scoops the delicate yellow-orange ice into a small bite. She slowly brings the spoon toward Levi, watching as he licks his lips and opens his mouth. Levi leans forward and eats from the spoon, allowing the ice to melt on his tongue while the drops of orange sugar dissolve inside his mouth. “I’d say the color is your perfect match,” Levi whispers.

“Oh really?” Thessaly teases, parting her lips for a kiss.

Raising his eyebrows, Levi leans in and kisses Thessaly’s cheek. He takes the carton of ice and moves ahead of Thessaly, dangling a gummi worm above his mouth before ripping it from his fingers.

Trailing behind him with an annoyed grin, Thessaly shouts, “Hey, Jones, I don’t normally like to follow!”

Slowing his pace with his elbows out and his chest puffed, Levi smirks. “Oh?” He stops abruptly and pulls Thessaly close to him, one hand on her waist and the other hand holding the carton of shaved ice above her head.

She smiles and asks, “Can I have some?”

Nodding his head, Levi lowers the carton to feed Thessaly the wedge of fresh pineapple. He places the yellow tip between her parted lips, quietly groaning as her red mouth pinches the fruity flesh. Staring into each other’s eyes while crowds of people move around them, they smile – a secret smile dedicated to the sensual foreplay of sweet, juicy fruit.

As they continue their stroll along Front Street, the conversation spans from a television series on Netflix, to the recipe of IKEA’s Swedish meatballs. There’s no stammering or awkward silence – the dialogue seems to flow as if it were written just for them. Thunder rumbles over the river, and the humidity spikes uncomfortably, but the two are so engaged in each other that they fail to realize the scene is changing. Because Thessaly and Levi are simply characters within the bigger story – passing figures on crowded streets, assimilated residents of a vibrant city, and specks of color on a gray canvas.

Squeezing through a crowd of young New Yorkers, Levi takes Thessaly’s hand and leads her to a row of registration tents. Once a month during the summer, the Seaport sets up an outdoor game night – complete with
Pictionary
, shuffleboard,
Jeopardy!
and a free movie. Tonight’s viewing features the witty dynamic duo of Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson in
White Men Can’t Jump
, but the organic popcorn and hand-crafted root beer cost ten dollars.

Levi picks the middle tent without a line. “We’d like to play shuffleboard,” he declares, adding his name and cell phone number to a clipboard.

“There’s a thirty-minute wait for a court.” Standing behind one of three podiums designed like the set of
Jeopardy!
is a young woman wearing rhinestone glasses and a ‘50s diner uniform. She takes the clipboard from Levi and says, “You can walk around or sit in the outdoor waiting room over there. You’ll get a text when the court is available.”

Levi tosses the shaved ice carton in the garbage and leads Thessaly to the outdoor living room. They grab an empty plastic loveseat facing one of the Seaport’s original boat slips. Thessaly removes her shoes and as gracefully as possible, sits on her leg. Tugging at the hem of her knee-length dress, she catches Levi staring at her legs.