Year of Living Blonde (Sweet Life in Seattle, Book 1) (8 page)

“Bitch!” Lena sobs with frustration.

Lena pushes downward and manages to grab hold of Natalie’s hair, jerking her head back. There’s a roar in Natalie’s ears. It hurts like hell and, as she tries to loosen Lena’s grip, the pain brings back memories. She and Lindsay used to fight when they were kids, and when they did, Lindsay fought dirty. Eye poking and nipple twisting weren’t beneath her.

Natalie reaches up and shoves her fingers into Lena’s eyes. Immediately her hair is released as Lena starts howling. Hands are grabbing Natalie. Somebody is pulling them apart.

That’s when she realizes people are yelling. There’s a bunch of strangers standing around them.

“Stop it! Someone help! Do something!”

Finally, they’re separated. Natalie tries to catch her breath. Her hair hurts and her shoulder and butt ache from when she hit the floor, but as far as she can tell there’s no other damage.

“Are you all right?” Blair asks. She and Lindsay are kneeling down beside her. “I can’t believe she jumped you like that!”

“Although I’ll bet she regrets it now,” Lindsay says with a smirk, glaring over at Lena.

“I’m fine.” Natalie tells them.

Lena’s hair is a tangled mess and there are red slap marks on both of her cheeks. She’s rubbing her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” Natalie asks her.

A crowd of people has gathered around, though most of them seem bewildered. This isn’t exactly the kind of scene you expect to find in a yoga studio.

Lena gives Natalie a nasty look. “Just go away. I never want to see you again!”

“That works for me.” Natalie pushes herself up and straightens her clothes. Lindsay and Blair join her. After a quick search, she finds the sunglasses that were knocked off her head and puts them back on again. Just before she leaves, she goes over to where Lena is leaning against the wall, still breathing hard. “You know what? You were right about what you said earlier. I think I do feel a sense of closure.”

And then Natalie turns and heads toward the door.

Taking her posse with her.

THE RIDE BACK
over to La Dolce Vita is a quiet one. Natalie doesn’t feel like talking, and sensing this, Lindsay and Blair keep their thoughts to themselves.

When they get to the bakery it’s nearly closing time, though the place is still busy, filled with students and people chatting over coffee and working on their laptops. Luckily, a corner table opens up and Natalie immediately heads for it. It has a small red love seat on one side and she collapses onto it.

Lindsay and Blair take a seat, too. No one says a word.

The familiar sounds and smells of the bakery settle around Natalie like a comforting blanket. Finally, she breaks the silence.

“I guess it was a mistake confronting Lena.”

Lindsay scowls. “That woman is a lunatic and here she was calling
me
a wacko!”

“I agree,” Blair says. “She’s nuts. I still can’t believe the way she jumped you. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Natalie just shakes her head. “It’s my fault, though. I started it.”

“How?” Lindsay asks.

“By slapping her.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Blair says. ”It sounds to me like Lena started it. She started it months ago by sleeping with Peter.”

“And now she’s talking about taking Chloe to Europe?” Lindsay scoffs. “That’s going to happen over my dead body, I can tell you that.”

“I hated even hearing her say Chloe’s name. My God, what did I ever do to this woman? She stole my husband and now she wants to steal my daughter, too?”

Lindsay shakes her head. “Not going to happen. Not in a million years. Chloe would never go with her anywhere.”

“Lena has Peter, though.”

They’re all silent again and the mood is somber.

Finally, Blair speaks up. “Okay, it’s probably inappropriate, but I have to ask. What did it feel like to let her have it?”

Natalie thinks about how satisfying it was giving Lena a taste of pain. She bites her lip. “It felt good, but it was still wrong.”

“You took her by surprise, that’s for sure. She definitely didn’t see it coming.”

Lindsay looks at Natalie admiringly. “I’m sure she never dreamed you were going to give her an ass-kicking. We would have jumped in to help, but you didn’t look like you needed it at all.”

Blair nods in agreement. “You definitely had it under control.”

Natalie considers this. “Do you guys really think I kicked her ass?”

“Are you kidding?” Lindsay says. “You slapped the slut right out of her!”

Natalie and Blair’s eyes meet and they both burst out laughing.

“Hey, it’s true!” Lindsay says, laughing with them.

While they’re still laughing, Carlos comes up to the table. “I don’t mean to interrupt your pow-wow, ladies, but would you like anything?”

Natalie tries to get herself under control. She nods at Carlos. “Would you mind getting me a latte?”

“No problem, anyone else?”

Blair and Lindsay say they’ll take one, too, along with a piece of caramel cake for Lindsay.

As Carlos turns to walk away, Natalie stops him. “Can you make my latte with two percent instead of whole milk?”

Carlos eyes her. “Are you sure?” Natalie is notoriously picky about her coffee.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

Natalie sighs and lets her eyes wander around the bakery. The place is still buzzing even though it’s almost closing.

“I wonder if we should consider staying open late again,” she muses. It’s something she and Blair have discussed a few times.

“I’d love to, but I think we need to wait until we can get the space next door,” Blair says.

“You’re right. It all hinges on that, doesn’t it?”

Both Natalie and Blair turn and stare with frustration at the brick wall that connects them to the empty shop that sits on the other side.

Lindsay looks confused. “This place is always hopping. Why can’t you guys stay open later?”

“Because it’s more expensive,” Blair explains. “We’ll have to hire more people and we need more space to pay for that.”

“Plus, we’re still in a bind with our ovens, so it’ll be impossible to make enough food to sell,” Natalie continues.

Carlos comes over and brings them their lattes, along with the caramel cake.

Blair glances down at Lindsay’s caramel cake. “That reminds me! I’ll be right back.” She gets up and runs into the kitchen.

“What’s up with her?” Lindsay asks, stuffing cake in her mouth.

Natalie shrugs. She takes a sip from her two percent latte. It’s surprisingly good. Not as good as whole milk, but she thinks she can live with it.

When Blair comes back, she has a mischievous grin on her face. “I forgot to tell you who came in the other day to order a cake. Espresso Breve!”

“Is that right?” Natalie keeps her voice neutral, pretending to be surprised.

“Yes, and I found out his real name.”

“Wait a minute,” says Lindsay. “Who’s Espresso Breve?”

“He’s this totally hot guy who comes in a few times a week. Natalie’s never told you about him?”

“No.”

“Well, he came in the other day and ordered a birthday cake for someone named Serena.”

“Probably his girlfriend,” Natalie muses. They’d already decided Espresso Breve wasn’t married, since he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

“Probably,” Blair agrees. “Lucky woman, that’s for sure.”

Natalie tries to imagine the kind of woman Espresso Breve would be with. She pictures some hot blonde with a great body. Yuck. With disgust, she suddenly realizes she’s imagining Lena.

“So, what’s his name?” Natalie can’t resist asking.

Blair smiles. “Anthony Novello. It suits him, don’t you think?”

“Novello? That name sounds familiar.”

“He must be Italian.” Lindsay finishes her cake, licking the back of her fork. “There’s a lot of really hot Italian guys.”

Natalie is still thinking about the name, when it suddenly comes to her. “Wait a minute, Novello—that’s the name of our jerk landlord.”

“Really?” Blair says. “Well, it must be a coincidence.”

Natalie thinks about it. “Yeah, it must be. He does look kind of young to own this building. I pictured someone older and more stern. ”

“I’m sure it isn’t him. That would be too weird. He comes in here all the time. Why wouldn’t he want us to expand?”

After Lindsay leaves and Blair goes back into the kitchen, Natalie sits by herself for a moment, finishing her latte. She wiggles her shoulder around. It’s still sore.

What a crazy day.

She can’t believe any of it. Most of all, she can’t believe she acted just like her mom, something she never thought she’d do in a million years.
Though at least I’m not making excuses for Peter’s infidelity.
Her mom slapped more than a few of her father’s floozies, but she always placed the blame solely on them. Her father was a womanizer, but in her eyes he was a prince. Even after he died, predictably, in bed with someone, she wouldn’t let either her or Lindsay say a word against him.
She loved him too much.
That’s the conclusion Natalie always came to as a child. It frightened her. She never wanted to love a man like that.

I’m nothing like her,
Natalie reminds herself.
Peter is not a womanizer and I don’t only blame Lena. I blame them both. In fact, Peter is the betrayer here.
She sucks in her breath as the familiar hurt and anger wash over her.

Trying to push it out of her mind, she gets up and grabs her mug along with the plate that Lindsay left behind. She sees another empty table that has a few dirty dishes on it and busses those, too.

Juggling an armful, she turns toward the kitchen and nearly bumps into someone.

“Excuse me,” she says to some guy, but her pulse jumps when she looks up and sees it’s Espresso Breve. Anthony, she corrects herself.

He glances at her, and then stops in recognition. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Natalie looks down at the cake box he’s holding and he follows her gaze. “Yeah, I came back and spoke to the owner. She helped me order the cake.”

“That’s . . . great.” It occurs to Natalie that this would be the perfect time to fix the false impression she gave him the other day and explain that she’s one of the owners herself. “Listen, I wanted to tell—”

To her surprise the cell phone in his hand starts blasting the
Star Wars
theme music. “Hang on.” He transfers the cake box to his left side and answers it. “Yeah, I’ve got it right here. No worries,
bambina.
I’ll be there soon. Okay, I love you, too.”

Anthony fumbles a little with the cell as he turns it off and Natalie is mesmerized by his hands. His fingers are tan and masculine. His nails clean and short. She feels a peculiar breathlessness staring at his hands, as if she wants something from them.

“Good luck,” he tells her, with a quick boyish grin that does something funny to her insides. “You’ll get the hang of things around here before you know it.”

“I . . . uh.”

In frustration, she watches him leave with the wrong idea. Again.

Natalie heads home with plans to put the whole ugly mess with Lena behind her.

“Oh, no,” Natalie groans as she heads down the street toward her house.

Peter’s Lexus is sitting in the driveway—big, black, and foreboding as a hearse.