Prologue

A Chapter by Thomas

I was twenty-one and in love once. It was the summer of 2002.

There is a connection between two people, no matter who those two people are, the first time eyes meet. Most call it a first impression; I call it the only chance you'll get. In the first few minutes of this, you get a sense of a person: how they carry themselves, how firm their grip is when you shake their hand, how their voice sounds as they talk, what clothing they've chosen to express themselves. It is a statistic that 94.2% of people trust their first instinct, and of those they have met, 99.2% of first impressions stick throughout a person’s life.

How could mine have turned out so horribly wrong?

The front door at the bakery where I was working chimed, indicating someone had entered.

"I'll be right there!" I absently called through the open office door to whoever had walked in. I was just putting the finishing touches on a chapter from the book I was writing. I had spent well over a week on it. My best friend, Sekoya, was the evening cashier at the bakery we worked at, and I wanted to have it finished by the time she came in. She was a fellow writer and an English major, so she could proof-read and edit accordingly.

I continued to write for another three minutes before a clap of thunder brought me out of my fantasy world and I remembered that there was still someone in the front of the store. I hurried out to the cash register.

He leaned against one of the wrought iron tables and faced the counter. His tousled black hair was dripping wet and clung to the nape of his neck. A red backpack was positioned in the center of the table he was leaning against, and the cell phone that had been extracted from it was attached to his ear. He had a swimmer’s build, but the way his green and grey baseball tee-shirt and blue jeans hung soaking from his small frame, I assumed he hadn't expected to get wet, let alone be caught in the pouring rain. He flashed an apologetic smile my way, turned away for a split second, and then raised his green eyes to meet my brown ones. The two of us locked gazes while the "uh-huh"s and "yeah"s that he gave to the person on the other end of his cell phone conversation became increasingly half-hearted.

After what seemed like an eternity, he broke his stare and was snapped back to his phone conversation by a female voice I could hear from across the bakery.

"Yeah, I'm here."

His voice seemed too deep for his appearance and had an accent that was difficult for me to place at first.

"I didn't catch all of what you said. The reception must be bad because of the storm. I'll be home as soon as the rain lets up. Uh-huh. Later."

He ended the call with a snap of the case, and then turned to me, his apologetic smile lasting longer this time.

"Sorry about that."

"It's alright." I returned the smile.

Watching the way he approached me at the counter swiftly, fluidly, and confidently, my heart started to flutter and I grew suddenly aware of my breathing. My smile never faltered.

"How can I help you?"

"Can I hang out here for a while?" he asked, wiping the rain from his eyebrows. The casual, yet playful, way he flipped his hair back ensnared me. It took me a second to notice that he was gesturing outside, where it was raining cats and dogs. "I got caught out in that on my bike."

"Yeah. That's Florida weather for you," I replied, still not breaking eye contact. I suddenly remembered where I was, and indicated our baked goods. "Did you want anything to snack on? Maybe a drink?"

"No thanks," he responded, "I left my wallet at home and didn't have enough time to run back and get it." He shrugged and peered through the glass case. "Everything looks so good, though. How long has this place been open?"

“A few months now” I said. “The Parisian couple that owns and bakes for it doesn’t speak a drop of English, so I’m their manager."

“Oh, vous parlez français?” he asked.

“Oui,” I returned.

“Français est la langue de l’amour.” And it was true. They say French is the language of love, and he was grabbing my heart fast.

"Yes it is. I'm also their tutor and liaison to this country."

“Did you learn it in school?” he asked.

“Actually, my dad,” I replied. “He’s full Parisian, and refused to speak English at home.” I shrugged. “It was hard for my mom at first, but she caught on. What about you?”

“School,” he responded. “No exciting story there.”

“There’s always an exciting story,” I stated my writing motto. “You just need to know which details to add.”

“Well, my French professor is a little crazy,” he smiled, taking a whack at it. “She has these flowers with French words for love, self-control, patience, silence, things like that. Whenever there is misbehaving in the class, she asks whoever is the cause of the disruption to bring down the flower they’re not being, so they get to finish the lecture facing the rest of the class holding that flower.”

I chuckled a little and smiled flirtatiously.

“Bad story, I know” he explained to my response.

“It was funny,” I managed. “So, have you ever had to bring down one of the flowers?”

“Only once, and I’ll never do it again,” he laughed, allowing me my first glimpse of perfection.

“Which flower?”

“The flower of love,” he confided. “There are some guys I don’t get along with too well.”

“Ouch” I said, noticing how he didn’t want to touch the subject further. “So what’ll it be?”

“I told you, I don’t have any money” he repeated.

“It’s on the house.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I’ll tell you what. If I can guess what your favorite dessert is, you’ll have to take it.” I put my hands on the counter and shifted my weight onto one foot, trying to give my daring look.

He smiled, blushed, and rolled his eyes all in one go. “Alright.”

They say people are what they eat. I found this to be true when I worked in an old fashioned soda shoppe. Two regulars of mine, an old couple that had been married for fifty years or so, always came in and ordered two of the same burger with the same toppings and all. I thought it was just a cute coincidence, until I realized that those who ordered tomatoes with no onions did not get along well with those who ordered onions with no tomatoes. I could tell a doomed couple when one ordered lettuce, tomato, mayo and ketchup and the other was pickle, onion, relish, and mustard.

Baked goods are no different. I sized up my guy and took in different parts of his personality. He was nice and good natured, but not enough for a fruit-filled pastry. He looked more like a meat and potatoes guy, but brownies would be too traditional.

“Hmm.” I ruminated aloud. “I’d have to say good old fashioned chocolate chip...Wait, no. Peanut butter cup cookies.”

“Ooh. So close,” he said. “I was actually thinking of cupcakes.” He tilted his head sympathetically and sighed. “It’s a good trick, though. You should keep working on it.”

I laughed at him. “Cupcake isn’t specific enough. Which one in particular were you thinking about?”

He thought about it for a minute. “Well, I would have chosen that one with the peanut butter cup on the top, but...” I started to pull it out of the case before he amiably said, “Whoa. Hey, hey, hey. You lost. The deal was I got it if you guessed it right.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see the sense in punishing you because of it.” I smiled at my unbeatable logic.

“Be that as it may, I can’t accept it.” He shrugged and turned to walk to the table his backpack was sitting on. “I’ve always been told not to accept food from strangers.” He turned his head back around and flashed his perfect set of pearly-whites.

Swaying my head playfully while a huge grin erupted on my face, I rose to the challenge. Placing the cupcake he chose on a serving plate and pouring a tall glass of milk, I rushed over to his table, put the goodies in front of him, and said, “Hello. My name is Lan. Now I’m not a stranger.”

“Are you allowed to sit with me? I don’t want to get you in trouble” he asked cautiously.

Looking around the empty store, I smiled. “I think the owners would admire me for going above and beyond for our only patron of the day so far.”

“Lan, huh? Like the computer term?” he chuckled.

“Nah. It’s short for Orlando.”

“Parisian with an Italian name?” he asked.

“And an Italian mother” I confirmed.

“Best of both worlds,” my new friend responded. “The difference between both cultures could have been enough to give you split personalities.”

“My parents worked well together" I replied.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Lan. My name is Derek." He smiled as he picked at his cupcake. "Are you enrolled at the college?"

"No," I replied. "I might start in the fall, but I’ve got to save some money up. Do you go there?"

"Yeah," he said. "I was actually on my way home right now from there."

"What do you study?" I asked.

"My major is music, but I minor in English."

"English is going to be my major," I laughed.

"If you could choose, what would you want to be for the rest of your life?" he asked me, casually.

"An author," I sighed. "I can still make my dream come true without college, but it’ll be nice to get the extra skills."

The front door chimed again as my co-worker and best friend in the entire world, Sekoya, or Ko, as I called her, came walking in.

"Hey, Lan. You're never going to believe who I ran into today. Remember zebra-stripe-spandex from the gym? Well, she and kick-boxing-perv hooked up and they..."

"Hey, Ko. I'll be right there to hear the story." I interrupted. Knowing that I'd never before denied her the right to tell me whatever story she wanted to when she immediately came in, she finally noticed there was another person in the shop. Derek looked over his shoulder and smiled at her.

"Hello," he greeted her before turning back to his cupcake.

"Hey, there" she said to the back of his head before silently making a "score" gesture to me and mouthing the words "He's adorable."

I motioned back to her by putting both of my hands on the opposite elbows and raising the top hand, an inside joke that had become a signal between the two of us to rate sexuality and looks. One of the perks of having a best friend like Ko is that our time together is never boring, so we come up with new gestures and phrases only the two of us would know.

Her motions confirmed that he was gay and a 9 on a scale of 1 to 10. Very good for her standards, as she's never rated any interest of mine over a 6.

"I'll see you in the back in a few minutes” I said aloud. “I've almost got that chapter for you."

"Great" she said, nodding her head while she headed for the office.

Derek laughed as he watched Ko depart. "Chapter, huh? What's that code for?"

"She's reading my book, and it's an actual chapter. No code."

"And the arm thing?" he asked.

“You noticed that?”

“Yeah.”

"Now, that's code."

"What does it mean?"

He cupped his chin in his hand.

Looking to the office door, I said, "If I told you, she'd kill me."

"It's a couple thing. I understand."

Ko burst out in laughter from the office, which told me that she was eavesdropping on us. Both of us looked quizzically in her direction. She recovered well.

"Lan, this part of your chapter is hilarious" she called.

"Thanks," I shouted back. Returning to the conversation with Derek, I explained. "She's my best friend. We're not romantically involved."

"Oh," he said in a surprised tone laced with hope. "You're a good looking guy. I'm surprised no woman has come to snatch you up yet." It was my turn to look away and blush.

"Lan, could you come here for a minute?" Ko called from the office again.

Rolling my eyes and sighing, I shook my head and laughed. "I'll be right back," I told Derek.

"Not a problem," he smiled back. The way he shook his head indicated he knew what the topic of conversation was going to be between Ko and me.

I made my way dreamily into the office. I found Ko leaning on the desk, anticipating my arrival. She was a woman of pleasure, always dressing in the hippest clothing, having the most off-the-wall but fitting hair styles. Her caramel color came from having interracial parents, but it only made her that much more beautiful. Standing taller than me by a few inches, she was often intimidating.

"What are you still doing here?" she whispered, slamming her hand on the desk. Ko could, by all means, bring you to float in your dreams most times, but she had the uncanny ability to snap someone into reality so quick. "He's cute! Get out of here with him."

"Where is this coming from?" I joked, miming a remote in my hand as I'm flipping stations. "I've never seen this channel before. It must be new."

"Oh, come on, Lan. Don't joke. We both know you've been desperately waiting for something like this to happen. Go get him."

"I need to finish my chapter. I'm not quite done tweaking it." I motioned towards the computer.

She grinned daringly and slowly shook her head. "Don't change the subject. I'm being serious. If you're not gone in 5 minutes, I'll never let you live it down." Sekoya looked at me with an expression that told me she'd make my life a hell if I didn't do what she said.

"Hey, hey, hey! Alright." I held up my hands in surrender and backed up. "I'll be gone."

Returning to the store front, I got my keys and cell phone from under the counter. Derek looked my way, smiled, and asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah" I replied. A burst of courage shot me when he smiled again. "Hey, I'm going to be heading out. Do you want a ride home?"

"Are you sure? I don't want you to have to go out of your way for me."

"No sweat," I smiled. "I'll pull my truck around front. We can load up your bike in it."

After taking care of some last minute things behind the counter, I headed towards the back door, where I heard Ko call from the office door as I passed by "Three minutes and forty-two seconds." I just shook my head and laughed.

I pulled my truck to where Derek had everything packed up and motioned to him that I was ready. Together, we bungeed the bike down, and he ran in to grab his backpack. I waited outside, standing beneath my red umbrella. When he came out, he saw it and laughed.

"What?" I asked, mock defensively.

"Nothing," he laughed.

"Please tell me" I requested, as we both made our way to my truck under the umbrella.

"Your umbrella just looks familiar."

I unlocked and opened the truck door for him. "Is that a good thing or bad thing?"

"Good" he said, hopping in. Now my curiosity had been prodded.

"Oh, come on. You can tell me," I pleaded as I got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I tossed the wet umbrella in the back seat, where I pulled a clean towel from my truck’s not-so-emergency kit.

I handed it to Derek, who took it. "Thank you. How convenient that you had a towel. Is this all planned?" he joked.

"Nope," I said. "My not-so-emergency kit. It's actually an idea Ko had given me that's helped me in so many predicaments."

            "What else do you have back there?"
            "Blanket, pillow, flashlight, portable DVD player with a few movies, umbrella, snacks, travel board games, things like that." I shrugged. "I've used almost everything in it, so I recommend it to anyone who has a car."
            "I'll have to remember to do that when I get home," Derek said.

"If you've got a car, why are you riding your bike around?" I asked.

"Today looked like a nice day to get some fresh air" he replied. "Rain wasn't in the forecast."

"Oh," was all I could think of to say. "So where do you live?"

He gave me the address. "Are you familiar with that area?"

I laughed. "I should be."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I only live a few blocks from you."

"You're kidding!" he responded incredulously.

"Nope," I smiled and told him my street.

"I must pass your house everyday."

"Yeah, you do. Now, my turn for a question. What does the red umbrella mean?"

"It's common knowledge" he said. "Do you watch music videos?"

"Very rarely. I don't really watch much TV."

"Daniel Powter has a music video to his song 'Bad Day.'"

"Never saw it," I answered.

He explained the video to me. “In the music video, a man and a woman, both artists, go through life without each other in seemingly endless bad days. But through a course of three days, they have almost chance encounters, leading up to the point at the end where they meet while she's trying to hail a cab in the rain, and he shows up with a red umbrella."

"Fitting circumstances.”

He looked out the window to prevent having to explain his huge grin.

“Your turn to ask a question,” I prompted.

"Any pets?" he asked.

"My roommate, Sekoya, won't let me have any right now because of her dog allergies’. But when I move out, I'm getting a golden retriever."

"Very cool. My parent's have my Boston Terrier in Brooklyn," he said. "When I get through with college, I’ll get to see him more."

"That would explain the accent I couldn’t place." I looked at the house numbers on his street, trying to find his house. "So who do you live with now?"

"Some friends from school. Mine is the one with the yellow jeep that should have been keeping me dry," he joked.

"I don't mean it to sound mean or anything, but I'm kind of glad you got rained into the bakery today." I grinned and shrugged.

"In a way I am, too," he said. "But I would have liked to meet you dry even better. It would have made for a better first impression."

"You don't have to worry about that." I pulled into his driveway. The rain let up suddenly, allowing the sun to shine down, almost symbolically, on this moment.

"Thanks for the ride" he said, pulling his backpack from the back seat.

"Any time" I replied. "Let's get your bike."

We both worked on getting his bike out of the back of the truck. "So will I have to wait until it rains again to see you again?"

After blushing, he asked, "What are you doing Saturday night?"

"Nothing."

"Let's get dinner then," he suggested.

"Sounds like a plan." I put his bike on the ground and put the kickstand up.

He handed me a slip of paper. "This is my number. Just give me a call and we'll work out the details."
"Great. I'll see you Saturday, then."

"See you," he said, grinning and turning to go inside. Watching him go pulled at the strings in my heart. I was just getting into my truck when he turned around and set my heart back into flight again. "Oh, I have to mention. You were right. I was thinking of the peanut butter cup cookies."

"I know," I responded. "That's why I packed some in the front pocket of your backpack when you weren’t looking."

I drove off waving as he pulled out the paper sack from his backpack in awe.

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