Last night he’d stared at his phone wanting to call her, but Marc had slipped in a splinter of truth, and it irritated Antony—got under his skin and wouldn’t let him rest.
Good fuck charm.
Antony had wanted to punch him in the face for that, but as much as he wanted to play dumb, he knew that Marc was partly right; Maxine was his good luck charm.
Maxine.
At once there was a pull deep inside as his pulse picked up speed. Antony opened his eyes and watched people come down the sidewalk, bundled up against the weather. Florida would be a nice change. He sat in a daze, watching the snow flurries. The crystal flakes swirled in the air, spiraling down until the wind changed direction, sweeping them up again. Antony felt like he was caught in the same breeze.
“Damn,” he picked up the phone and called her again.
“Hello?” she sounded out of breath.
He pictured her running from the shower with only a short towel wrapped around her. Every cell had woken up at the sound of her voice, sending a disorienting buzz across his nerve endings. He cleared his throat. “Bonjour, Maxine. Comment allez-vous?”
There was a pause and he was almost certain she’d given him a fake number. Then she said, “Um…it’s nice to hear your voice.”
He chuckled, hoping it hid the tremor in his voice. “I’m not working,” he said. “No towing today.” He rolled his eyes at how stupid he sounded.
“Oh?” Her tone was vaguely despondent.
He felt like he was on a sinking ship. Then Antony said, “I’m going to Florida tomorrow.”
“You’re lucky,” she said. “Is it vacation?”
“Non, um…towing convention. For a few days. I’ll be back Friday.” He licked his dry lips and sent up a quick silent prayer. “And I very much want to see you before I go.”
There was the muffled creak in the background, and he thought he could hear someone else talking. He glanced up at her apartment building. Antony considered telling her he was out front, but that sounded too much like a stalker.
“I’m on my way to Carmine’s,” she finally said. “I’ll be there all afternoon if you want to drop by.” Then she gave him the address and hung up.
Antony repeated the address until he punched it into his phone. Then he pulled into traffic and looked for the closest coffee shop. She sounded upset, like she was mad and trying not to get angry over the phone.
Maybe she Googled his name. Oh shit. He should have called her last night.
By the time Antony pulled up outside the shop on Kincourt Street, he was sure she had given him the wrong address, intent on sending him on a wild chase across downtown to get back at not calling. It looked nothing like the Italian restaurant he was picturing.
He stepped over the snow bank and stomped his boots on the salted sidewalk. The sign to Carmine’s swung in the bitter wind, squeaking on its rusty hinge. Some of the paint had worn off.
With the small paper shopping bag from the coffee shop in one hand, he pushed through the glass door. A brass bell above his head announced his arrival. He
blinked a few times, taking in the area. There were props of beaded handbags and fur stoles along the shelves and on top of the circular racks. The walls were decorated with vintage posters of pin up girls and Broadway musicals.
His eyes lingered on a particular cigarette ad with a voluptuous redhead in a cropped blouse and short shorts. There was a stirring in his chest as a memory from long ago surfaced. It felt like a puzzle piece clinking into place.
In the middle of the floor space, between racks of clothing, Maxine stood by a pile of boxes, staring at him with large eyes. A dress covered in red cherries reached the top of her thighs. She’d paired it with a black leggings and a green cardigan. He was beginning to appreciate her unique fashion sense. An elderly man wearing a silk scarf and a tweed jacket was beside her, also looking at Antony as if he had two heads.
“Bonjour,” Antony said, uncertain. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark waves off his forehead.
The elderly man dropped something. It hit the floor with a metallic clang. Maxine retrieved it and passed it to him, but he kept staring at Antony. There were a few more seconds of silence.
He knows who I am. A jolt went through him. This was another complication he hadn’t counted on. He was so intent on seeing Maxine again, he never considered someone would recognize him.
The old man’s gaze went back to Maxine. “I think you can handle the store for the rest of the day,” he told her.
“Wait…what?” Maxine sounded alarmed.
The man came up to Antony, holding out his wrinkled hand. In the other, he clutched an electric cigarette. “You must be Antony,” he wheezed. “I’m Carmine, Max told me all about you.”
Antony shook his hand gently; the man’s fingers seemed so brittle.
“But she left out the part about you being the size of a monument.”
“Carmine!” Maxine blushed.
Antony laughed as the old man continued to stare up at him. “You look familiar,” he said, now a little more reserved.
His pulse moved up to his throat. Antony shrugged. “Maybe a monument you saw.”
The man laughed, then he turned to Maxine and winked. “Lock up whenever you feel the urge,” he told her. “Don’t forget to turn the lamp off in the back room. I was reading on the couch earlier.” He turned back to Antony, “It’s a very long and sturdy, well made piece of furniture that can withstand—”
“See you tomorrow,” Maxine interrupted, her cheeks were a bright crimson now. She was by his side, opening the door for him.
He held up the cigarette. “Not if I die from electrocution,” he said.
“Yes, you say that every time. Goodbye, Carmine.” Maxine closed the door and watched as he made his way to a side door.
She turned to Antony. “He…um, Carmine lives above the store.”
Antony stood there among the racks of dresses, skirts, and sweater sets, smiling at her. “He’s funny guy.”
“Yeah, my ribs ache some days I’m laughing so hard.” But she said all of this with a rushed annoyance.
Antony frowned at her.
“You’re right,” she resigned. “He’s a really special friend. He’s in remission from lung cancer. He made a full recovery. Shocked everyone. Especially his doctor.” Her words kept coming in short bursts of quick sentences. “He’s Italian. He told me he was part of a biker gang when he was younger. The good kind…I think. And also a former drag queen.”
“And now he owns this?” Antony looked around the store again, pausing at the vintage ad of the redhead in the shorts.
“Yes.” Maxine pushed off the door and made her way back to the tower of boxes beside the long glass counter. “I like it here,” she said. “I feel like I’m at a perpetual slumber party from the past.”
Antony followed her, taking in the eclectic store. “It suits you,” he smiled, noticing her cherry earrings. Then he handed her the shopping bag.
She peeked inside, then a grin of surprise played on her lips. “You brought me Madeleine cookies and tea!” She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled the fragrant scent.
“Mint,” he said, pointing to the cup. “My new favorite. I already drank mine.”
“It’s hot,” she whispered, the steam seeping upward from the opening, curling and disappearing between their noses.
He leaned closer, the heady scent of mint swirled between their breaths.
“I thought you’d call last night,” she said, taking a sip of tea, her eyes never leaving his face.
Antony imagined running into a brick wall. He paused, but then reached forward and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”