We let the family and the elderly brigade go ahead of us, and then I take the narrow steps that lead to the top of the bus.
“The top? Are you sure? It’s a little cold.” But he follows me anyway.
“Oh c’mon, Karl can keep us warm with his bushy beard.” I gesture to the air.
I pick a seat near the front and he plops down next to me, sitting close enough that our shoulders press together. The only other people brave enough to withstand the chill are an elderly couple from the tour group, but they sit near the middle, huddling with each other and giggling, holding hands.
It makes me grin.
Alex glances around and then hunches down, pressing closer to me. “This is not a warm beard, it’s like a frozen cold beard.”
“It’s not that bad,” I insist. Then the bus lurches into motion and the frigid wind whips around us. “Okay, maybe it is.”
He laughs and, after a slight hesitation, wraps an arm around my shoulders. “We should share warmth.”
“I’m not complaining.” I snuggle in closer.
His brows lift in surprise, mouth popping open. “Um. Do you want to talk about what happened this morning?”
“Not really.” I shrug. “Not because I’m upset or anything. I’m not.”
“I can see that.”
“I guess I’m not upset because I never really fit in there anyway.”
“That’s not true. You were great on my team. We worked so well together.”
I hesitate, watching him. “We did, but then you had me moved from your team.”
He blows out a breath. “Speaking of that, I wanted to talk to you about—”
“Alex, no. Let me save you some time. I know why you did it and I understand. It’s fine. I get it. There was an imbalance of power and you were right to set me aside. It wasn’t fair to either of us to start something if we worked together and with you being a client. You were protecting me. But after that . . .” I shake my head. “Well, so we’re on the same page about everything, Mark and I were never together. He just said that because he’s . . . he has some issues.”
He stares, mouth agape.
I laugh at his dumbstruck expression. “Let’s not talk about any of that now. Let’s talk about something else.” I’ve already had this conversation hundreds of times.
He shakes his head, still processing my avalanche of words and then he swallows. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Have you ever been fired from a job?”
He chuckles. “Actually, I have.”
I widen my eyes. “Tell me everything.”
“I was working in an ice cream store.”
“What? Where was this? And when? I need details.”
“I was in high school. It was my first job. I didn’t show up one day and,” he makes a slashing motion across his neck, “fired.”
“Why did you miss work?”
“Um.” He scratches his chin. “It’s not something I share often, but I had some medical issues when I was a kid.”
I take the opportunity to put my hand on his knee. I might be growing as a person, but I’m still human. And insanely attracted to Alex. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine now. Wow your hand is cold. I can feel it through my jeans.”
“Oh, sorry.” I remove my hand.
“No. It’s fine.” He reaches for me, taking my fingers in his.
He has one arm around my shoulders and the other hand holding mine, our sides pressed together. I’m still cold, but I could stay here forever. Flutters fill my belly—proper butterflies this time, not crows or crabs or pterodactyls. I love being close to him. I inhale his scent: clean soap, detergent, and Alex. “I’m glad you’re healthy now. But that still changes a person.”
“It did. But I think for the better. And getting fired was good for me. You know how I feel about failure.”
The bus stops and some people down below exit and more passengers get on. A trio of teenagers braves the top, sitting behind the elderly couple.
I grin at Alex. “You love failure. You want to marry it.”
He nods. “Failure is awesome.”
I laugh. “Right. So you’ve said.”
“It is. My failures are a part of me. They are me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’ve always learned more from failure than from success. Success isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Oh yeah, Mr. Millionaire? Tell me how hard it is while you’re crying into your crisp fifty-dollar bills.”
He laughs. “It’s true. Success can be worse than failure in some ways.”
“That does not feel accurate.”
“When we launched our first app and had initial success, I really thought I had made it. But then it stopped selling and my next three ideas were complete flops. The failures forced me to step back and take a harder look at things, something I wouldn’t have done if they had all done well. Success can be scary. Once you have notoriety, you have critics. You have something to live up to. Failure can force you to learn. There’s a certain measure of freedom when you’re a nobody and no one else is watching.”
“That’s true.” I’m free. No job, no responsibilities. Not really. I tilt my head back as the bus starts up again, the wind whipping my hair around my face.
“Are you really okay with what happened this morning?”
I shrug. “It’s fine.” And it won’t matter tomorrow. “I didn’t fit in there anyway. I have a hard time talking to people.” And I’m always terrified. Scared of rejection, scared my parents are right and I’m nothing but mediocre and everyone can tell. Alex loves his failures because they’re a part of him. I hate my failures . . . for the same reason?
I don’t have time to contemplate that line of thought.
“You seem like you’re doing fine with me.”
I smile. “That’s different.” The bus stops and I glance around. We’re in the shopping district on Fillmore. “Are you hungry?”
He smiles. “I could eat. And I know exactly where we should go.”
“Ta da!” He holds two hands up to the sign above
