After Tonight

The City That Never Sleeps was blanketed in fine, white snow. It sparkled like stars as a fine mist fell from the smoggy sky. I sighed, seeing puffs of my breath cloud in front of my face. My chapped hands were freezing and to top it off, I couldn’t hail a cab.
Almost there Abbey, keep going.
Wintertime in New York was my favorite season, though it had come earlier than expected this year. I was late for work and forgot my gloves on the counter, which made walking in the cold late at night less enjoyable than it already was. The bakery where I worked was right in Greenwich Village, where I also lived, but my co-worker (and sister) Joplin, and I decided to go out for drinks once we closed.
I made cakes for a living. Of course there were the cookies and other pastries, but the cakes were famous in the Village. My sister, Joplin, took over the family bakery while I was stubborn and bounced around from job to job whether it be an art teacher at the community center, or a staff writer for a local paper. After three years of bad luck, I took Jo up on her job offer. I’ve been in starchy, buttery, sugary heaven ever since.
It was definitely a family affair; my younger sister Grace and older brother, Keith, worked at the bakery too—even though they considered it to be a second job or just being generous. We also had a couple of students from NYU and a few of Jo's friends from Culinary School worked there as well. It was a cute place; lemon meringue walls, black and white checked tile floors, a few retro table and chair sets. There were regular customers, some who had asked us to cater weddings or parties and what-not, and then there were the tourists. One of the walls had been decorated with magazine articles we’d been featured in.
My parents opened up the bakery when they moved to New York from Chicago. Having made some good investments, and with a little help from his own father, my dad used his extra money to buy an empty building and make my mom’s dream come true. They named it Delia’s—after my mom of course—and now it’s a local favorite.
As I trudged through the damp snow, in the dark, everything I loved about working late escaped me.
And then I heard the catcalls. Loud and low. I glanced quickly and continued on my path briskly; a group of men lurked by the doorway of some dive-bar. Unfortunately they followed me, shouting chauvinist slurs along the way.
At least I knew where I was going. My mom had been a freak about teaching us to be “aware of our surroundings” when my sisters and I were growing up. I rounded the corner and saw the bright glow of a theatre, a hundred or so people streaming out the doors. A younger man walked to the curb alone, looking to hail a cab.
“There you are!” I shouted excitedly, latching onto his arm and kissing him smack dab on the lips. He jumped unexpectedly, but to my surprise—and relief—caught on to my pleading smile when I nodded at the three men behind us. “How was the show?”
“Fantastic love.” he replied seamlessly in some accent, wrapping an arm around my waist. “It’s a shame you couldn’t make it.” The man winked.
“Yeah well, I’ll catch the next one.” I smiled, watching as the Three Stooges finally walked away.
I turned the handsome stranger I’d shamelessly kissed. “Sorry about that, but thanks.” With that, I continued on my way home.
“So you’re just going to kiss me and leave it at that?” He called after me. “I don’t even get a name?”
I grimaced as I slowly turned to face him, little flakes of snow in his disheveled bronze hair. Kissing strangers wasn’t something I did often (obviously), but desperate times called for desperate measures. But
the guy was incredibly good looking.
“Abbey.” I shouted, debating whether or not I should walk back over to where he stood on the curb.
“Rob.” He took four long strides and was standing in front of me, hands shoved into his pockets. “Do this often?”
“Only when I’m feeling promiscuous.”
“Of course.” He smiled and looked up into the falling snow, definitely debating something. “How about you get a coffee with me?”
Two hours later I was seated in a dimly lit coffee house, Jason Mraz playing low over the speakers. We’d been sitting here talking, going through cup after cup of coffee—decaf of course.
Apparently Rob had gone to the theatre with some friends, who had left early because of a family emergency. As much as I hoped everything was alright, I couldn’t help but think that it was my lucky night.
“Refill please?” I asked the server, a girl a few years younger than myself. She looked absolutely annoyed with us—I’m going to guess it had something to do with the late hour and us being the only customers.
“Black decaf right?” I nodded, shifting my eyes back to Rob.
“Just black, eh?” He asked, sipping his own black coffee. “No frills?”
“No frills.” We smiled at each other, his eyes lingering on my lips. “Tell me five things.”
“Five things, like what?”
“Five things that nobody knows.”
“I sing in the shower…” Rob began, raising his eyebrows. “I smoke because I like it, I’m rubbish at keeping a clean house, Jane Austen novels are fantastic—but don’t tell, and I love an independent bird that has got her head on straight." He held my gaze and I felt my heart flutter.
“Jane Austen huh?”
“My turn.” he grinned slyly.
“OK let’s see. I’m amazing at Guitar Hero, but otherwise lack musical skills—except for rocking a pretty mean tambourine. I only went to pastry school for six months. Um, planes terrify me, I throw a fantastic right-hook and I believe in fate.”
"You're not one of those superstitious girls are you—black cats can't cross your path?"
"No, no!" I laughed. "I just think there is a reason for everything—no coincidences."
"So snogging me in front of the Ambassador wasn't just a ploy?" he smirked, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"You could call it that." Rob smiled, shaking his head.
"Well," he raised his mug to mine. "To fate." We clinked our mugs.
“Favorite color?” Rob asked me, his bluish grey eyes sparkled. The temporary bought of silence had been broken.
“Sea-foam green. Favorite dessert.”
“Ooh, the baker’s test.” he smirked. “I dunno, I guess brownies—when the corners are crisp and they’re gooey. My mum makes the best.”
“Not a bad choice. We’ve got these giant squares.” I told him, making a box with my fingers.
“I’ll have to try them then. It could be your way of paying me back for whatever happened in front of the theatre.” Now I smirked.
How had my horrible day ended with such a bang? There I was, sitting across from a beautiful British man with perfect pale skin, dark brows, sexy bed head hair and a wicked crooked smile and he’s flirting with me.
“You want payback for a kiss?’ I asked, pretending to be hurt. “Was it really that bad?” Rob drained his cup and looked me in the eye.
“I would like to see you again.” He smiled. “Really, this doesn’t happen to me often.”
“What doesn’t?” He didn't respond right away, but his eyes smoldered in the dim room.
“So I guess you do kiss strangers all the time then?” He was talking about fate. I tried to fight back a goofy grin. When that failed, I reached across the table to grab his napkin and proceeded to write my number down.
“You must live around here?” I handed him the napkin, which he accepted graciously with another smile.
“Fairly new actually, around SoHo.”
“Nice.” I reclined in my chair and watched him curiously. “Well you’ll need a tour guide for the city. It’s beautiful this time of year. Especially the tree! And the ice skating. I’m 24 years old and skating at Rockefeller Center still makes my holiday season complete.”
“We’ll have to go then. You and me.” He grinned, getting up from the table and slipping his coat back on. I followed.
“Not so fast.” I shouted above the wind as we were outside once again. “I think I need your number.”
Rob smirked as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Three hours and I was completely infatuated. Something about his little smile made my stomach flip. I wasn’t a serial dater and I was a clueless flirt. I’d only had three boyfriends since high school, the last one being the only serious relationship I’d ever been in.
This just seemed right.
“I’m not going to forget to call you, ya’ know? And besides, I’m walking you home. We don’t want you to run into those wankers do we?” My insides swirled.
“Well I was just making sure...”
Once we were at my apartment, Rob’s hands found their way back into his pockets. A look of uneasiness came across his face as he fumbled for something to say. I loved it when grown men were nervous; I found it to be absolutely charming. I told him goodnight and I thanked him again for inadvertently saving me tonight. I slid my keys into the lock.
“Don’t lose my number.” he called as he went off down the sidewalk. I had never gone to bed so giddy, except when Billy Martin kissed me in the fourth grade after school was let out. But then I learned that Billy still picked his nose.
End of giddiness.