“I can handle it,” I tell him. I can’t help but snipe at him, aware that I’m being a bit of a bitch.
He doesn’t seem to notice and before I can ask him if he knows what he’s doing, he’s opening the back door to the vehicle and strapping the seat in like a pro.
I’m almost impressed. “You always give rides to moms?”
He raises his brow. “None as beautiful as you.” He looks at Ava and crouches down to her level. “What’s your name, little one?”
“I’m not, little one,” she says, frowning. “I’m Ava. And I’m a big girl.”
He nods, his face sincere. Now looking at him in the waning daylight, he looks different than I remember six months ago. Older, I guess, though I know he has to be around thirty-five. Maybe the suit and the way it cuts to his body perfectly is making him look more mature. Maybe it’s the car. Maybe it’s the few strands of grey I can see at the temple of his thick head of dark hair. Maybe it’s because I’m sober and so is he. At least, I hope so.
“So, are you the designated driver for the night?” I ask him, picking up Ava and placing her in the booster seat. “Or did you lose a bet?”
“I never lose bets,” he says smoothly as he stands behind me. I quickly look over my shoulder and catch him checking out my ass.
“Get a good look?” I straighten up and turn around.
“Of your arse?” he asks, sticking his hands into his pockets in a boyish gesture. “Yes. But only because I know it bugs you so much. You know, anything that’s remotely sexual.”
My eyes widen and I look down at Ava. She’s completely oblivious and I carefully shut the door. “Look,” I quickly say, pointing at him. “You may think you know me from our little…meeting, but you don’t.”
He reaches out and grasps my finger in his hand. His skin is warm and surprisingly soft, but then again, even though he may have the body for it, I’m sure Bram didn’t get his money from chopping trees all day or doing hard labor.
“Hey,” he says, voice gruff, still holding onto my finger. “I know we don’t really know each other and when we last, erm, talked, well, I may have been a few sheets to the wind. But how about we start again? I’m Bram McGregor.”
He turns my hand over so that he’s now holding it in a handshake. I’m not sure I can do this as easily as he can, but I find myself saying, “Okay. I’m Nicola. Price.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Nicola Price. Can I give you a ride?”
I nod. “That would be nice.” I know my voice sounds stiff, but I guess it’s a start. The problem with my pride, though, is that it rarely lets me forget when it’s been burned.
Luckily Bram is completely genial during the drive to Linden’s apartment in Nob Hill. He spends most of it talking to Ava in the rearview mirror, asking her questions and treating her like she’s an adult. I can tell Ava adores it and by the time we’re close to Steph and Linden’s, she’s all googly-eyed over him. This is not good. Can’t she be like her mom and be suspicious of the men who smile too brightly and say all the right things?
Though I guess with Bram, he has a habit of saying all the wrong things.
“So, Nicola,” he says slowly as we wind through traffic. “You know, I don’t know much about you. Linden says you work in fashion like Stephanie.”
I did, I think bitterly but I manage to say, “Uh-huh.”
“So what’s your job?”
“What’s your job?” I ask, deflecting it back to him. Besides, I’m curious. In the past, Linden only described Bram as a playboy (or “bloody manwhore” I believe were his exact words) who didn’t do much but party it up in New York City. He moved to San Francisco a year ago, I guess to be close to Linden who had a frightful helicopter crash at the time, but I don’t know what he really does except flash those perfect teeth at people.
“I’m an apartment manager,” he says and when he sees the disbelieving look in my eyes, he goes on. “I’m serious. Well, to be more correct, I own an apartment complex in SOMA. Folsom and twelfth beside a Thai restaurant.”
He’s looking at me like I’ll know, like most newbies to the Bay Area do, like we know every Thai restaurant in town and every person called Dan.
“That couldn’t be cheap,” I say, looking back out the window as we crawl past the cars. There are so many gorgeous buildings in this city, places to die for, and over and over again I can’t help but wonder who can afford to live here. I once met an Uber driver who used to drive trucks across the country, who grew up in the city. He said back then, San Francisco was full of children. Now, you rarely see them. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better for Ava. and for me, to just move to a small town where she can have a different kind of life. Then I think about my dreams for my future, my career, and wonder if it’s okay for me to give up on them. I know it’s selfish of me not to, but I still can’t quite let go.