Sun & Moon

Despite her calm and collected posture and expression, Catalina was nervous. Patrick made her nervous and she couldn’t pinpoint why. It was like seeing him in her office again, feeling a jittery electricity flowing in her body but doing everything she could to remain cool, her mouth pressed together and her hand movements steady.

Patrick and Catalina were sat opposite one another in a small booth at Lou Mitchell’s, which, according to Patrick, was one of the best places to have breakfast. Catalina had to assume that he was right as she watched huge steaming plates of breakfast being brought to tables, as well as smelling the stacks of pancakes being carried by her.

The pair were situated by the window, the traffic on West Jackson Boulevard moving slowly as the city began to wake up. Catalina herself felt like she was still asleep, ordering a glass of water and a large, black coffee. She normally liked flavored coffee but she knew that if she was going to survive the rest of the day, she needed as much as she could get.

Sliding the water towards her, Catalina glanced at Patrick. She had been busy with taking the wrapper off of her straw. He was adding creamer and sugar to his own coffee, fingers moving with delicate precision. Even the way his broad frame filled the booth made Catalina fight the urge to fidget. He didn’t look too large for the booth but rather like he fit in well. He still had on the shirt from the night before but he had rolled up the sleeves to the elbow and fixed the buttons. He also had wet his hair and brushed it back, making him look much better than he had that morning.

Catalina couldn’t say the same.

“You’re staring.” Catalina blinked rapidly, realizing that Patrick had turned away from his coffee and was looking right at her, blue-irises bright, and pupils completely zeroed in on her. Instead of blushing and looking away, she smirked and stared right back. “Am I allowed to blink or is this a contest?”

“Well it is now.”

Patrick blinked. “You can win.”

“That doesn’t make it a contest, then.”

Patrick grinned lopsidedly at her. Catalina’s stomach flipped. So to distract herself, she picked up the warm cup of coffee, sipping it. The diner was only slightly full, a few people inside of it tending to their breakfast. Their waitress came back to take their orders, allowing her to collect herself. This meant that she needed to try and not focus on the veins in his forearms or the way the fabric strained against his shoulders.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself that made Catalina nervous. He smiled at her like they were sharing some inside joke that no one else was in on. He often looked at his surroundings like he was on the cusp of getting lost in them, barely paying attention to the real world. And how he just oozed confidence, like he knew that so many things were in the palm of his hand. He didn’t seem to squeeze his hand shut, though.

But that couldn’t be it. Catalina knew plenty of men, athletes and actors and normal men alike who all carried themselves like Patrick did. It was something else that struck her from the moment he had began talking in the ER to now, when he shared a secret smile over the table.

“Why are you smiling at me?”

“Because you’re kind of confusing?”

Despite mostly trying to keep her expressions blank, Catalina’s eyebrows knit together. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Confusing? What exactly have I done to merit such an honor?”

“You’re so different the minute you step out of that office.” Patrick was stirring his coffee. His eyes were fixated on Catalina. She knew that though he was watching her and keeping eye contact, the movement of his hands signaled nervousness. Somehow, it eased hers. “You don’t look like you want to break my neck when you’re outside of the office, and your voice is much softer.”

“I don’t want to break your neck in the office either. But being at work and being outside are two completely different settings.” Catalina pulled her feet up onto the booth seat, folding them. She was trying to get comfortable to ignore the headache. “When I’m working I have to get things done and to do that, I’ve got to be strict. I can’t be lenient. Outside I don’t feel the need to push people or to intimidate them.”

“I guess it’s understandable.”

He hesitated and licked his lips. Catalina’s tracing stopped, her light-eyes completely transfixed on the movement. She had noticed him doing it before and each time it hit her below the waist, unable to look away from the movement. She doubted he even knew it was appealing. “Go on,” she prompted, sipping her coffee. Her throat felt tightened at watching him. “You were saying?”

“Do you always have to lie, in your line of work?”

Catalina had to admit it wasn’t an unwarranted question. She had been waiting for him to bring up the meeting, which he had brought upon himself. Her irritation from before brushed against her but she chose her words carefully, knowing that she needed get serious and demanding. They weren’t working right now, and she could speak somewhat freely.

“It wasn’t a lie. You must understand that a lot of the time, things have to be presented in a delicate matter in order to spare the least amount of damage. I try very, very hard to avoid lying. Embellishment is something that is required.”

“And you enjoy that?”

“It isn’t about enjoying twisting the truth.”

He shook his head, very confused. He leaned back in the booth, loping one arm along the top of it. He was causal and at ease, his posture radiating comfort. “Then why would you take a job like that, if you don’t enjoy it? For the paycheck?”

She raised a brow. “Nice guess, but no. I like this particular part of public relations because despite having to make things appear one way when they’re probably another, it does more good than it does bad. People make a lot of mistakes in their lives. If I can prevent those mistakes from ruining their careers, then I’m going to. That is what I enjoy doing.”

A stop came to the conversation as the waiter came. He set down numerous plates. Catalina had gotten pancakes, hashbrowns and strips of bacon. Patrick had gotten enough food to feed a commune and she wasn’t sure where he was going to put all of it, or even if he was supposed to be eating all of it, being a healthy athlete and all. Regardless, she said nothing, popping bacon into her mouth.

After Patrick and Catalina both had gotten a few bites into their breakfast, Catalina began to feel slightly better. The headache was going away with the water and coffee and her stomach was no longer demanding to be refilled. The pancakes sat heavy in her stomach but they made her feel like she wasn’t completely empty on the inside and dying for food.

“I just guess,” Patrick said, pausing to swallow. “That I never really thought about it that way. It just seems odd that someone would want to be good at that kind of thing.”

“No one should be crucified for a mistake.”

“But you’re going to let that Nathan guy take the fall?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “He doesn’t pay me to take care of him.”

Catalina was unaware of what about her words made him grin. It was a quick upturn of his lips as he leaned back, looking quite smug. She slowed her movements, watching him and licking the syrup from her mouth, giving him a questioning look. “So you take care of me, huh?”

With a dry expression and her nose flaring in light-annoyance, she grabbed another piece of bacon. “Funny the way the world works, right? You take me out with your fancy car and I clean up your mess.”

“Like you don’t drive a fancy car.”

“How do you even know what I drive?”

“I don’t, but you were in designer clothes the day of our accident and the day that I met you in the office. I’m sure you’ve got a pretty little car to go with your pretty little outfits.”

“How observant of you. Should I call the police now or later?”

“Why, are you intending to turn yourself in?”

It was Catalina’s turn to sit back in her booth, smiling slightly as she shook her head at him. “If you’re about to say being arrested for something to do with some degree of attraction, I will seriously get up.”

“Alright,” he laughed, holding his hands up. “You know the game, I’ll give you that.” He gestured to Catalina’s pancakes then, adding, “How are your pancakes?”

“Amazing, honestly.” She looked over her food that she was still devouring. Everything was good. The pancakes were fluffy and the syrup was the perfect amount of sweet. And the hash browns were to die for, crispy but juicy at the right parts, the seasoning something unfamiliar but to die for. “I’ll admit that breakfast was a good call. I needed the coffee.”

“You looked like you were thoroughly enjoying yourself last night, being that your boyfriend had to carry you out.”

Catalina wiped her hands, crossing them over her chest and giving him a disbelieving look. He widened his eyes in faux-confusion, his smirk giving him away. He didn’t think that Heath was her boyfriend at all. He was poking her relationship status without asking.

“Is anything you do original or does this kind of approach work on girls?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was doing it wholly for your amusement?”

“Maybe, because I hardly think that someone like you gets girls with that usual bullshit. Que pena.”

Even Patrick’s frown wasn’t displeasing to the eye. Catalina could not discover one thing about him that was unfortunate. Even the small gap in his front teeth was endearing, especially when his tongue pressed against the inside of his upper teeth when fighting a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“Sorry, it’s an expression for ‘what a shame’ or something roughly of that connotation. It’s sometimes difficult to control the Spanish. Everyone speaks it in Miami and sometimes I just…”

“Freudian slip?”

Catalina’s eyes found him. Someone walked in the door behind her, making the wind catch her hair, blowing the hair in her pony across her face. Before she raised her hand to move it, Patrick had stretched his arm across the table, pulling the dark strands from her mouth. His arm returned to its place along the back of the booth like he hadn’t just brushed his fingers across her skin.

But he knew it. Catalina saw him work his jaw to stop from giving her a smirk. He had moved the hair on purpose, to initiate a small and meaningless brush of contact. So she tried not to skip a beat or make a strange pitch in her voice as she asked, “You know Sigmund Freud?”

“Barely,” he answered. His eyes had narrowed a fraction, perhaps at not getting her to completely fall off the rail with his touch. “I think it was mentioned in high school.”

“It’s been a long time since high school.”

“Something must have stuck.”

“Or you’re smarter than you let on.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I spend my off time reading books on psychology and science.”

Catalina chuckled. “No, you just spend it harassing one of your public relations reps to go to coffee and then turn it into breakfast.” She finished her last piece of bacon. She played her lip between her teeth for a moment. The traffic outside had thickened despite the Saturday morning and the wind had picked up outside, though the sun was shining. “Why did you ask me to go to breakfast? Real answer.”

“You make me curious- and don’t say that curiosity killed the cat.”

“I was actually going to ask if your curiosity was sated.”

“Why?” He leaned forward, elbow on the table to support his head. Despite Patrick’s quick commentary, he looked tired. Catalina felt just as tired has he looked, her bones crying for a nap and her system begging to rest. “Worried you won’t keep me on my toes?”

For a long few seconds she watched him. She studied his face. He had stubble on his chin, and a small scar on his lip, perhaps from taking a puck in the mouth. Despite how still she was, Catalina wanted to reach out and trace the scar, wondering if it was different from the rest of his mouth.

As the waiter walked by, Catalina abruptly turned, catching his attention. “Can you bring the check? Sorry, I’m in a hurry.” He pulled out the paper from his apron. Patrick was shifting but Catalina was quicker, flicking the black plastic towards him. Patrick was blurting words of argument but Catalina spoke over him. “Please ignore him. I’m his sponsor for addiction and he gets nervous when I do nice things for him after he’s had a rough night.”

Not wanting to stick around longer and looking awkward, the waiter rushed off. Catalina grinned, looking at Patrick. He did look like he had a rough night- then again, Catalina probably didn’t look much like a sponsor.

Patrick glared at her, mouth slightly open. “Consider this a warning for future fuck ups, Patrick. I really don’t want to have to come in early in the morning again to fix problems. Now you know that I don’t like twisting things, so don’t make me do it.”

The waiter was back with the paid bill. She scribbled a tip and signed her name at the bottom in fluid script. Patrick still hadn’t said anything, too caught off guard by her grabbing the check and then flicking back to work as a topic.

“I wanted to pay, that isn’t-"

“You said it wasn’t a date…”

“It wasn’t, but I did fuck up your morning. It was an apology.”

She shrugged. “No need to say sorry. Just another day at work, right?” Catalina got up from the table. He fumbled after her, off of his game. She grinned as he hurried up from the booth, almost knocking over a young waitress. Catalina was halfway out the door when he caught up. “You don’t move too well on your toes, do you, Double Eight?”

“Okay, I guess I deserve that.”

“A little bit.” She waved for a cab. The yellow cab pulled over towards her. Patrick opened the door for her, despite her attempts to get to it herself. She gave him a smile and deciding to keep him further on his toes, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Have fun on those toes.”

On the other side of the cab door, Catalina let out a shaky breath, droning out her address. Patrick watched her for a moment, lifting his chin in a head-nod before turning and walking the other way, waving for his own cab. Leaning back into her seat, Catalina closed her eyes and remembered how bad her hangover was, momentarily washing out the image of Patrick Kane licking his lips.