Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,28

perhaps no one’s fault but her own. Maybe it had always been inevitable that she would pay for the naive choice to walk away from the financial security of her family. It had been a decision one would make only when very young or madly in love, and she had been both.

She had met Leonard during her first year at Barnard. Her parents had only allowed her to apply to women’s colleges, and when she was accepted to Barnard, they insisted she live at home, not in the dorm. She was serious about her studies, and between her parents’ strictness and her desire to get high marks, she rarely socialized. The night she met Leonard, she’d been dining with her parents at a fancy steak house on Lexington Avenue just blocks from the family’s department store. She hadn’t wanted to go out that night, but her parents said she was “moping” and insisted. It was true that she’d been in a bit of a funk; when your entire life has been planned for you, when it seems clear that there will be no surprises, a numbing stillness sets in that is as terrifying as rootless uncertainty.

The maître d’ knew her family; he called her Miss Freudenberg. They were seated at a prime table near the window. While her parents sipped martinis, she stared dreamily out at the foot traffic on Lexington. A young man with dark good looks walked past, focused on a slip of paper. She wondered who he was, where he was going—and idly had the thought that it was sad she would never see him again. Minutes later, while she picked through the bread basket, he walked into the room. The paper he’d been staring at must have been the address; he’d been searching for the restaurant.

He was tall and lean, with dark hair. He had prominent brows, and his nose was slightly too wide to afford him a classically handsome face. But there was an energy about him, a surefooted confidence.

The man turned in her direction, catching her eye. She was embarrassed to have been caught staring but couldn’t look away. He smiled, and her insides fluttered. Those bedroom eyes! The sight of him was almost embarrassing. His date was a very lucky woman. But then, there didn’t seem to be any date; he sat at the long wooden bar and began animatedly chatting up the bartender until he was joined by the sharply dressed restaurant manager.

Midway through the meal, Vivian excused herself to go downstairs to the ladies’ lounge. The restroom was a large suite with its own coatroom, sitting area, and white-gloved attendants. Her father handed her a few bills for tips. When she crossed the room, she again made eye contact with the stranger. Closer now, she could see his eyes were as dark as his velvety hair.

Her heart pounded as she walked down the stairs. She said a silent thank-you to whatever god in heaven had given her the thrill of this man, a hint that maybe she would someday meet someone who changed things after all.

The ladies’ lounge had a counter filled with supplies: combs, hair spray, face powder, cotton balls, and breath mints. She spent some time fixing her already pristine ponytail, humming to herself. When she climbed the stairs to return to the table, feeling fortified to withstand the rest of the dull meal with her parents, she had to step aside to let someone else descend into the lounge.

It was him.

They faced each other in the dim light of the corridor, the music from upstairs providing a backdrop to the moment.

“I don’t make a habit of visiting the ladies’ lounge,” he said, smiling.

“I should hope not.” She could feel herself blushing.

“I’m Leonard Hollander,” he said, his expression changing to a more serious set of his jaw, his eyes bright with something that made her feel like she was glowing. He held out his hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, she placed hers in it. His touch was cool, and his fingers closed around hers firmly. She wanted to press herself against him, to breathe in the wool of his jacket, to reach her hand behind his neck and feel the feathery touch of his hair. It was overwhelming.

“I’m Vivian,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I should get back to my table.”

“Wait—before you go: I don’t live in the city, but I’m here for work a lot.”

“What do you do, Leonard Hollander?”

“I’m in the wine business,” he said.