Chapter 3
I walked along through the near sleep of a gray Portland afternoon, narrowly avoiding being pelted by rain as I stuck close to the awnings of the buildings. The unrelenting rain has a kind of postdiluvian bleakness to it, washing away all the work I’d done to be positive about the move.
Of the four schools I’d toured only one had been what I wanted, and it had a considerable waiting list. Still, I’d filled out the forms and could only wait. And wait. There was nothing to do in the hotel room, with hours until Scott decided to stop interviewing people and deign me with his presence.
At home taking a walk would always clear my head, but that was usually because I’d find a new restaurant or food cart that I could rant or rave about in the paper. Which only served to remind me that when we moved, I’d have no job.
It had taken me three years to earn a byline as a restaurant critic in the Post. No foodie in their right mind walked away from a gig like that. But then, no one walked away from a three bedroom on the second floor, or babysitting available on call.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on what grated me most about the move; giving up the job I loved, changing the kids schools, moving away from my parents who were my sanity whenever Scott traveled, finding a new home, or leaving my friends. Everything swirled together like the dingy muck flowing down the Portland storm drains. I liked my life in New York, and I wasn’t sure that I would here.
A town with half-sized city blocks and coffee shops on every single corner. These people were serious about their caffeine. I recognized the national chains, but some of the places seemed foreign. When I crossed one with ‘family owned and operated since 1900’ in the window, I decided to take a break from sulking in the rain.
A bell on the door jingled when I pulled it open and stepped inside, the smell of coffee hitting me like a warm wind. Perhaps all I needed was a mainline of caffeine and a heated place to sit to raise my spirits.
Immediately my mind was running like I was working, taking in the orange drapes hanging from amazingly high ceilings, accentuating the sheer size of the place and the half walls separating a few of the tables from the main grouping for privacy. A nice touch, but the glass case at the counter impressed me the most. Not just the normal display of danishes and bagels; this had sandwiches and yogurt, fruit and salads, and an amazing array of chocolate truffles.
The urge to order a bit of everything came on strong, but I wasn’t reviewing the place and I didn’t have three friends in tow to let me have a taste and then kindly finish the rest. Add that to the list of things to do. I had to make new friends.
“Don’t get the bagels.” The deep, resonant voice made me look up from pining over the collection of chocolates.
The man standing behind me had an infectious smile and eyes as blue as jays wings. It didn’t hurt that he wore a t-shirt showcasing arm definition worthy of a gymnast.
I grinned back. “Are the bagels tainted with something horrible, like wheat? I know Oregon is supposed to be afraid of processed food.”
He laughed, low and throaty. “Honey, I’m from New York, and believe me, they process everything here. Don’t let the advertising fool you.”
“That’s all I have to go on. I only got here this morning. From New York.”
“Then do yourself a favor, and listen to me about the bagels. The house coffee is actually good here. You don’t have to pretend you know how to order.”
I knew how to order, but took his advice on the house coffee and settled into a table by the window to people watch. He was right. It was fabulous.
“Mind if I join you?” He was back.
“Go ahead.” I motioned to the chair opposite me with my left hand. My wedding ring wasn’t huge, but it sparkled like crazy. I was on the market for new friends; I might as well be friendly.
He nodded at my truffles. “Afternoon sugar rush?”
“I’m trying to find reasons to move here. Chocolate is a big motivator.”
He flashed me a bone melting smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I could give you a few reasons.”
I’d just bet. Warmth radiated down my spine. A scene of one of the reasons he probably wanted to give me played in my mind. Usually when men flirted I thought it was fun. Given my current state of mind, it seemed a bit dangerous.
The room seemed to have jumped ten degrees, so I shimmied out of my coat, hoping that would make it seem cooler. But in only the shirtdress that Scott had so quickly removed last night, I felt naked. It had to be my coat making me hot. I cleared my throat against it being anything else.
“Here’s hoping chocolate is enough incentive.” I bit into a dark chocolate truffle. It wasn’t enough.
“Two blocks north of here is a chocolate café. They have a chili truffle that will make you weep.”
“I’m not big on crying, but thank you.” My soft chuckle might be flirting. But it was harmless. “How long have you been in Portland?”
“Three years. I promise, once you get used to the slower pace, you will like it.”
I sighed and cast a glance outside. “Don’t you find the rain depressing?”
“It doesn’t rain half as much as you’d think. Besides, it hardly ever snows. Unless you head up to the mountain.”
“The mountain?”
“Mt Hood.
