Gathered Up Read online

  “Appreciated,” I said. He wasn’t looking at me, and I had a feeling I knew what the answer would be, but I had to ask anyway. “So, a beer?”

  “Thanks, but…no.” That pained expression was back. He glanced over at Audrey, who was cleaning the machines behind the bar.

  Hell. “I’m not…” I moved my hands restlessly. “I’m not involved with anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. And the invitation was totally open as friends, too.”

  “You were involved, though?” Evren kept his voice low. “You and the female barista?”

  “We…collided a few months back.” That was the best description of it really. We’d been working late together, she’d been flirting heavily, and I’d been almost a year without touch from either gender. She was vivacious and knew exactly what she wanted—something I found hard to resist in either gender. But she’d caught me at an exceptionally weak moment, as I’d left my random hookup days far behind, or so I’d thought. “Nothing repeated. Nothing serious.”

  Evren’s frown deepened. “I do not usually do casual. Or bisexual.”

  “You don’t do bi?” I gaped at him, my jaw seriously hanging open. I could get not doing casual—more power to him. If my life had any room in it, which it most certainly did not, I wouldn’t do casual anymore either. But bi? What the fuck? Bi erasure was so five years ago. Ev needed to join this decade.

  “Let’s just say I have my reasons. And I don’t mean to be rude—”

  “But you are.” I shoved a chair in with more force than strictly necessary. “It was just a beer, man.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Evren shook his head sadly. “Good night, Brady.”

  Fuck this. I finished the rest of the closing with a lot of stomping around and minimal talk with Audrey. I was being ridiculous. I really had no time for someone like Evren, especially not someone with bizarre prejudices, but damn if I wasn’t more than a little put out.

  Chapter 3

  My friends, you keep asking for an update on how I like being back in Portland, and if I miss Brooklyn. I do miss Brooklyn, and adjustments are…complicated, but my focus now is on my dear Hala Mira’s health. And to that end, I share with you the restorative silk and merino shawl I’ve designed for her for the drafty treatment rooms at the hospital. —Evren’s Yarnings

  Not surprisingly, Evren dropped his near-daily coffee habit, which shouldn’t have depressed me, but it did. It meant he had been coming around to see me, and my mouth filled with a sour tang that he was rejecting me for something over which I had no control. But after a few days of silence, Mira came over by herself.

  Even if the lack of Evren made me grind my teeth a bit, seeing her out and about with a good appetite for our soup and bread and a chai tea brightened my day. Because she seemed so small and frail, I took advantage of the fact that we were a little slow to carry her food to her table for her.

  “Thank you, dear. My Evren cooks such nice food for me, but I just had a craving for your split pea today.”

  “You should get whatever you crave,” I said. She shivered and pulled her lilac shawl closer around her. “You warm enough?”

  “Yes, dear. You’re as bad as Evren with your hovering. Get back to work.” She made a little shooing motion and I went back to the counter, but I kept an eye on her.

  Her shivering got worse, not better, and her hand trembled holding the soup spoon. She brushed the tails of her head scarf off her neck, and there was sweat along her brow line. Her color wasn’t looking so good either—the usual dusky olive skin tone that Evren shared had been replaced with a pale, sickly gray.

  “Mira, are you all right?” I hurried over to her.

  “I’m fine. Perhaps I should be getting back to the shop, though.” She started to rise, then wobbled and sat down fast. “Or maybe not.” She gave me a shaky smile.

  “Let me call Evren for you.”

  “I don’t think that’s…” she trailed off, rubbing her neck.

  “Mira. Give me your phone.” Being bossy didn’t come naturally to me, but I used the voice that always got the twins to comply with my orders.

  “I really don’t want to bother him,” she demurred as she dug out her phone from her knitted bag with trembling fingers. She tried to dial, but her fingers were shaking, so I took the phone.

  “He’s speed-dial number three,” she said in a weak voice.

  I hit the number without hesitation. Any issues I had with Evren were secondary to getting her help.

  “Mira?” Evren’s voice came on the line with the second ring.

  “Evren? This is Brady from the People’s Cup. Mira’s not feeling very well.” I spoke fast so that I could convey that the situation wasn’t dire but still get his attention.

  “Oh, thank you for calling, Brady. I’ll be right there.”

  I sat with Mira, and Evren popped in five minutes later, all out of breath. “Mira! I told you to wait for me to take your lunch break.” He crouched next to her chair.

  “Yes, aşkim. But you turned down People’s Cup and I so wanted their soup.”

  I looked away. I knew exactly why he’d wanted to avoid us, and it made my stomach bubble like the nasty kombucha health-food drink we kept on tap. “Well, I’ll let you take it from here. Let me know if I can help.” I pushed up from the table.

  Evren grabbed my sleeve as I rose. “Thank you for calling me, Brady. Very much.” His voice was more uncertain than I’d heard it, and a faint pink blush stained his cheeks.

  “Any time,” I said and meant it. I should have taken pleasure in his discomfort, but I couldn’t. I shared his concern over Mira and watched as he shepherded her out of the store, letting her lean heavily on his arm.

  * * * *

  About an hour later, as I was finishing up my shift, a customer came to the counter and held out of a bundle of knitted fabric. “I found this under one of the tables,” she said.

  Mira’s shawl. “Thanks. I know whose it is. I’ll see it gets returned.” I’d opened that morning, so it was only a little before two when I got off work. Audrey had the evening shift, so I signed out and headed up the street. I had time before the kids got out of school, and I wanted to check on Mira anyway, see how she was doing.

  Iplik was two blocks down from People’s Cup, past the garden store that sold no plants, the pet store with the bulk organic “cookie” bins that looked tastier than the snacks I had for the kids, and the neighboring gift stores. Whatever awkwardness currently existed between Evren and me was nothing compared to those two competing store owners. Mira had been threatening to make them hug it out, which was something I’d pay good money to see.

  When I entered Iplik, a young woman was working the counter and I couldn’t see either Evren or Mira. My stomach dropped like one of the heavy balls of wool in the plate glass window. Maybe my motives were less pure than I’d thought. I shoved aside my irrational disappointment and surveyed the store because I’d never actually been inside, despite walking by almost daily. Iplik was less industrial than the building that housed the People’s Cup and more like an oversize teal-colored house with little Craftsman details on the exterior and homey print curtains waving on the upstairs windows.

  The store portion was bright and airy, three or four interconnected rooms displaying various fiber types and sample projects. I slowed down my trek to the counter to try to spot which sweaters and scarves might be Evren’s handiwork. A thick one-piece scarf adorned a mannequin. It was a maze of heavy cables and interlocking knots. Attached to it was a copy of a magazine article: “Trendsetting Designer Evren Demir Wows at Knit Expo.” A quick glance showed that Evren was indeed a Big Deal in the world of knitting designers. Yeah, no way would he be sticking around if Mira got well. Or if she…

  Not going there. I quickened my steps and continued toward the front of the store. The young woman brushed her heavy dreadlocks out of her fac
e as she helped a trio of women I recognized from Knit Night. As I waited for her to finish, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs to the left of the counter. Evren appeared just as the customers departed.

  “Brady! What are you doing here?” He greeted me with surprise and a bit of nervous suspicion, as evidenced by his narrowed eyes and fluttering hands, but not outright hostility, which I took as a good sign.

  “Mira left her shawl behind.” I held it out. “I knew she’d want it back. It’s too pretty to lose.”

  “Ah. You are too kind. Would you like to give it to her? She is resting quietly with her TV, but she is embarrassed about earlier. I think a quick word from you might be just the thing.”

  “Of course.” I followed him up the stairs to a heavy wooden door with a “Private Residence” sign hanging on the front. Evren entered and motioned for me to follow. After a short entry hallway, we came to a living room, where tiny Mira was almost swallowed up by a giant recliner, a knitted afghan draped over her, and one of those tables like they have in hospitals across her with a remote and a big glass of ice water.

  “Hala, Brady has come by with your shawl.” Evren went and knelt down to her.

  “Oh, Brady dear. I’m so sorry. I left in such a rush…left my dishes out.” She sounded very forlorn and I went to stand next to Evren so that she didn’t have to stretch to see me.

  “It’s no problem,” I said. My throat felt thick. “You’re my favorite customer. I’ll bus your dishes any day.”

  “I’m so embarrassed…thought I could handle a little outing.”

  “You’ll get stronger again, Hala,” Evren said firmly. “But next time, maybe I will go with you for the soup.”

  The look he gave me was difficult to decipher. There was apology there for sure, but also something else.

  “Evren, offer Brady a piece of the revani cake you made.” Mira’s voice was thin but insistent.

  “Oh, no, I’m good.” I held up my hands. “I just wanted to return your shawl. I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

  “I insist. Besides…there is something I’ve been wanting you to try.” Evren’s voice was a bit uncertain, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the barest hint of a blush colored his cheeks.

  “Oh?” I was intrigued enough to follow him to a galley-style kitchen.

  “Have you ever had Turkish coffee?” Evren asked as he picked up a curiously shaped silver pot from the stove. “I just made some, but Mira was not in the mood.”

  “I haven’t actually.” I’d tried just about every other coffee variant out there.

  “Come. Sit.” He indicated a small table at one end of the kitchen with two wooden chairs. After fetching two small cups roughly the size of espresso cups, he poured the surprisingly thick brew from the pot. He added two small slices of a very moist-looking cake to two plates and brought them to the table. “Here. Enjoy. Sip slowly. Like brandy.”

  “Thank you.” I was grateful for the advice as it was scorching hot and overpoweringly sweet and strong. “Wow, that’s different.”

  “It’s not just the taste. It’s an experience. A ritual, if you will.” Evren’s elegant hands moved as he talked. I could have watched them for hours. Not to mention the things I wanted to have done by them. I was more than a little obsessed with his hands.

  He paused for a few sips before he spoke again. “And in this case, a chance to apologize.”

  “Apologize?”

  “I was…harsh the other night. Not kind.” He looked down at the white wooden tabletop, tracing a crack in its surface with a broad fingertip.

  I shrugged. “At least you’re honest. But seriously, what do you have against bi guys?” I kept my voice at a near whisper.

  Evren’s lips quirked. “It is okay. Mira knows I’m gay. You don’t have to whisper. And it is not so easy to explain.”

  “Try me.” I took another little sip of coffee. Evren was right—there was something to the experience of a small sip of thick coffee in between bits of conversation and bites of cake.

  “I’ve had two serious relationships. Both men were bisexual, and I knew it upfront. And both had…indiscretions. And one left me for a woman and the other for someone ‘open-minded’ enough to accept…dalliances.” His fingers drummed against the white wooden tabletop.

  “And so all bisexuals are now off-limits?” I shook my head. “Look, I’ve never had a real relationship for…reasons.” I wasn’t ready to tell him about my situation with the kids. “But whether it was with a girl or a guy, I’d have no issue with monogamy. Bisexual doesn’t mean you have to be poly or something to be happy.”

  “Ah. You say that, Brady, but it is not that easy.” He shook his head sadly. “Regardless, though, I squelched your kind offer of friendship. And for that I am truly sorry.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “So you’re saying you’re willing to be friends with the bisexual guy?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

  He frowned. “Willing is the wrong word. I know I am…overgeneralizing, maybe. My biases are…silly. But I see you being all casual about it.” He waved his hand as if to indicate me flitting about. “And I remember someone else, equally blasé. And I am not such a thing, no matter how much I should be. And I am trying to work on that really. I don’t know many people in Portland yet, but you are a true friend to Mira. I think I would be honored to make your acquaintance as well.”

  “But not hook up?” I just wanted to clarify what we were talking about. Friends were in fairly short supply for me as well, but that didn’t negate the fact that I really wanted into Evren’s designer skinny jeans.

  “I hate that word: hook up. I can’t promise not to…forget myself, but I think we are better suited as friends, yes?” he asked.

  I interpreted forget myself to mean flirting, and I liked that he was honest about it because that’s exactly what we’d both been doing from the first—him in his subtle, more refined way and me in my eager Oregonian obviousness.

  No. “I’m not promising not to flirt either.” I grinned at him. “But I’ll take being friends. Maybe show you around a bit if we both have time?”

  My vast, vast amounts of spare time consisted of the occasional uninterrupted long shower, but a guy could dream. As if laughing at me, my phone buzzed. My alarm for picking up the kids. “Oops. I gotta head out, Evren. Thanks for the coffee. And the friendship.” I stood and held out my hand.

  He shook it, and a most unfriendlike jolt slid up my arm. I was right. His hand felt amazing—solid and strong and warm. No matter what each of us said, we had some freaky chemistry.

  “My friends usually call me Ev. You can as well.” He said this solemnly, like granting me some privilege. And dang if I didn’t feel a little warm to be given it. Ev. I liked it. It suited him. And he suited me far, far more than I wanted to admit, but I still smiled all the way to the school to get the kids.

  * * * *

  Ev resumed his Americano habit, and most days if I wasn’t swamped, we chatted a bit. I told him about parks near where Mira was getting her treatments where he could walk and places to get cheap takeout when they were both too tired for cooking, and I tried to send him home with soup and cookies for Mira as often as he’d let me. For my part, over the last few years my life had narrowed down to only the kids and the job. And I loved both, don’t get me wrong, but it was blissful to get some adult conversation that didn’t involve child-care schedules or coffee orders.

  My shoulders seemed to be lifted by invisible strings when he reported getting a sandwich at the new little joint I knew about near the hospital or when he asked for a florist near there and I pointed him at an open-air market on Wednesdays. Playing tour guide by proxy for Ev gave me a weird sense of satisfaction—like I got to uncork a useful side of myself that hadn’t seen very much air lately.

  After about three weeks of this, one Friday I was working the ta
il end of lunch when Ev came in. He changed things up a bit, got a large chai for himself and a small one for Mira.

  “So, are you on mornings or evenings today?” he asked as I worked on Mira’s drink.

  “Morning. I’m off around two.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled widely, the hand that wasn’t holding his chai fiddling with the keys in his pocket. “Do you have dinner plans?”

  “Dinner?” Fuck. Fuck. I did indeed have plans. Renee had a friend’s birthday party. That left me with the kids and no babysitter.

  “Violet and some of the Knit Night ladies are taking Mira for a ‘girls night.’” He made air quotes around the term. “I hope she is up for a little dinner and fun, but it leaves me at a bit of loose ends because no men are allowed. So I thought—as friends—we could get that beer. Maybe you could show me a brewery with decent food and good local ale?”

  I knew exactly which brewery I’d love to take him to. And I also knew it wasn’t happening. “Sorry, Ev. I’ve got plans.”

  “Ah. Well, it was an idea.” He shrugged, but a shadow passed in his dark eyes, and I had a sinking feeling the offer wouldn’t be repeated any time soon. He turned to leave.

  “Wait. Ev.” I took a deep breath. I’d been enjoying being Brady the fun barista with Ev, but he deserved to know the truth about my situation. “I don’t have a date—not those kinds of plans. My sister does, however, and I’ve got to watch my younger brother and twin sisters.”

  “Ah.” He brightened a bit. “Your parents must be grateful for your help.”

  I made a hacking sound that wasn’t sure whether to be a laugh or a cough. “Nope. It’s just me. I’m raising the kids. My mom and stepfather died in a car accident.”

  “Oh, Brady,” he started, and I braced for the expression of pity sure to follow. “That is so sad of a loss, but how wonderful of a thing you are doing. You are keeping the family together, yes?”

  “Trying,” I said and looked at my shoes. “So that’s why I can’t go out. It’s hard for me to get away.” Try impossible. And nice as Ev was, I wasn’t sure about subjecting him to the chaos of the kids until our tenuous friendship was a bit firmer. Most guys our age saw kids as a huge drag, and I didn’t want to scare him away quite yet.