Romance Impossible(12)

The streets beneath my feet were cleaner than I remembered. It put a little bounce in my step, seeing the old place looking so good.

A few blocks down, I spotted a little wine shop that I'd never seen before. With so much to do at the restaurant, I hadn't put any effort into stocking my personal wine fridge. My apartment was still bare and full of boxes, but this seemed as good a place to start as any. What was I going to do, furnish the place sober?

The woman behind the counter smiled and greeted me as I walked in, introducing herself as the owner. I thought she half-recognized me, but wasn't sure enough to say anything. That was fine by me. Whenever possible, I preferred to be treated like a normal person.

She asked me if I wanted any recommendations, but I didn't. Not today. I did, however, ask for an empty box.

The bell on the door jangled merrily, startling me out of my trance as I studied labels. And who should walk in, but little Jillian Brown. My newest hire.

I smiled and nodded at her; her eyes grew wide, then she did the same. She was startled to see me, but she had no right to be, really. I had as much reason to be in this wine shop as anybody else.

Immediately, I found myself completely distracted from my mission. She was standing a few feet away, staring at the Italian section, her fingers resting lightly on the label of a Moscato. Of course, she would drink something so pedestrian.

"Really?" I heard myself mutter.

That's one rumor about me that's completely true - I don't know when the fuck to bite my tongue. That's probably why I love this fucking city so much.

Jillian cleared her throat. "Excuse me?" she said, her eyes fixed on me. A pink blush was spreading across her cheeks, and I immediately felt a little pang of guilt. But I had to stand by my guns now.#p#分页标题#e#

"That's the 7-Up of wines," I said, taking a step towards her. "Surely, you must know that."

"Well, I like it," she said, looking back at the bottle. "And I like 7-Up too. So what?"

"If you want to get smashed on something that tastes like Jolly Ranchers, why don't you just stop at the corner store for some Four Loko?" I'd dug myself deep, but there was nowhere to go but further down. "Here. Try this."

I handed her a bottle of Gewürztraminer. She took it, but didn't look down.

"What I drink in my spare time is none of your business," she said. Her mouth had thinned in irritation, but she didn't look nearly as angry as she had a right to be. She held the wine back out to me. "I think you'd better keep this. I don't have any pairing ideas, but I have a few suggestions of where you can put it."

I let out a bark of laughter. "Goodness - don't be offended, I'm just having a laugh."

"I'm not offended," she said. And, hell - I almost believed her. "Are you?" There was an undertone of real concern in her voice, like she regretted implying that I should shove the bottle where the sun didn't shine.

God. What kind of person did she think I was? I'd never dare punish someone for giving me what I deserved.

"Of course not," I said. "But please, let me get this for you." I raised the bottle of Gewürz. "A peace offering. You don't even have to try it."

"No thank you, Chef," she said, picking up a few bottles of Moscato. "That's perfectly all right."

She paid quickly, and I went back to my browsing. I tried to ignore the owner's stares, but I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my skull. She was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. And she was right to do so.

Me, I'd given up wondering long ago.

Four hundred dollars later, my barren studio was beginning to feel much more like a home. The place was ridiculous, really - too much empty space for far too much money. But the kitchen was too small. Kitchens were always too small.

I lined up my bottles on the counter and thought about the restaurant. I thought about printing menus and folding napkins and screwing in lightbulbs.

But mostly, I thought about Jillian Brown.

The thing about Jillian was that she deserved better. Better than her circumstances. Better than whatever she'd stumble into, if left to her own devices. I realized I was being horribly arrogant, even for me - and arrogance is my trademark. But I couldn't stand idly by. She needed me.

That was the thing about it. About all of this. I refuse to apologize for who I am, because in the end, people always thank me. Maybe not in a few days, or a few months, or even a few years. But one day, they wake up and realize: I wouldn't be here without him.

Nobody likes the person who makes them better. The one who pushes them, and won't stop pushing, and won't let them make excuses. Tough teachers, tough coaches, tough bosses. It's the same story every time. You hate them, and then you respect them. And then you're the better for it. People so often choose what's comfortable, instead of what's really best. Sometimes they need to be led.