I’m finally revisiting the characters from The River City Chronicles nine years after their original timeline. I’ll be running the series weekly here on my blog, and then will release it in book form at the end of the run. Hope you enjoy catching up with all your faves and all their new secrets!
Today, Today, Ben finally goes for what he wants and brings Loralei dinner, but all doesn’t go as planned…
< Read Chapter Twenty-Four
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Chapter Twenty-Five
“I’m a Vegan.”
Ben climbed the stairs. The old wooden steps of the Victorian house groaned in protest under his feet. He hardly ever went upstairs as the flat he’d shared with Ella was on the ground floor. It was easier on her that way.
He carried the feast he’d brought home with him from Zocalo in his arms in a large paper bag—a huge steak burrito, an order of chicken enchiladas Guanajuato, and sides of beans, rice and chips and salsa. It was all cold now, but would warm up fast enough in the microwave.
He wasn’t sure exactly what it was about Loralei that had caught his attention, but it had latched onto him immediately. His memories of Ella, though far from banished, had receded into the background, leaving him thinking almost constantly of the beautiful brunette in the wheelchair who lived above him.
There was something real about her, something authentic. She wasn’t some fantasy girl. She was here, nearby, and she had seemed open and friendly with him. At least, the one time we met.
This is stupid. She’s not expecting you. What was he thinking, showing up unexpected like this? She might be in the middle of a bath, or cooking dinner or… with other company. He paused in the dim light of the stairway. In truth, he almost turned around and headed back down the stairs.
She’d mentioned that her kids were with her on weekends, which suggested a divorced ex. What if he’d come over with a bottle of wine, ready to rekindle their old romance?
If you don’t go up and knock, you’ll never know. Besides, Chester—Miz Fortune—had told him Loralei was the right one for him. But how much stock should be put into a psychic drag queen’s word?
It won’t be an easy path. But happiness awaits you, if you’re brave enough to try.
The opportunity had seemed almost perfect. He’d been off early that evening, and someone had neglected to pick up their phone-in order, and Miz Fortune had all but told him to go for it…
You always do this. Ella’s voice whispered in his ear. If she’d told him once, she’d told him a thousand times. He needed to believe in himself.
Ben closed his eyes. Do I always do this? Question things to death? The worst she can say is no.
Loralei was in a wheelchair. Did it matter? He was transgender. Everyone had a thing.
“Ella’s right, you know. You do always do this.”
Ben blinked.
A man with short brown hair, wearing a white button-down shirt, blue tie, and gray slacks was looking down at him from the landing above, silhouetted by the yellow light of the single lightbulb screwed into the ceiling behind him..
He knew that voice. “Brad?” It can’t be. Brad’s dead.
The man grinned. “In the… well, not exactly flesh. Let’s just call it ‘making my final rounds.’”
Ben rubbed his eyes with his free hand. I must be more tired than I thought. I’m seeing things.
Still, the man staring at him refused to go away. “Well, are you going to let your nerves get the better of you? Or are you going to go knock on this nice woman’s door and woo her with slightly cold Mexican food?” Brad indicated Loralei’s door on the landing at the top of the stairs.
“It’s… you’re not… I must be…” Ben felt faint. He grasped at the old, scarred wooden railing and took a ragged breath. When he looked up again, Brad was gone. I’m losing my everlasting mind.
Still, the voices in his head were right. He needed to try something different. It’s time.
Steeling himself, he pushed ahead to the top of the stairs, crossed the short intervening space to her door, and knocked.
“Who is it?” The voice was a little muffled by the thick wooden door.
His heart thudded a little faster. It’s her voice. “It’s me. Um, Ben, from downstairs?”
A short pause. “Just a second.”
He swore he heard that old elephant thumping sound. Was someone else walking around in her apartment? Maybe hiding in the closet, before she let him in? It was a ridiculous idea, but there it was. Once he thought it, he couldn’t unthink it.
The door creaked open at last. “Hi Ben. What can I do for you?” She looked much more put together than she had the week before. Less frazzled—her hair brushed and tied in a ponytail, her brow unlined.
“I got off work at Zocalo a bit early tonight. I brought over a few things… I thought you might be hungry?” He looked over her head at the apartment for any signs that someone else was there.
She laughed. “Oh, that’s lovely. I didn’t know you worked there. What did you bring?”
His heart, which had slowed to almost normal-human levels, accelerated again at the brightness of her smile. “Um, a steak burrito, chicken enchiladas… some chips and stuff…”
Her smile disappeared. “Ben, I’m a vegan.”
Crap. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. Stupid stupid stupid. “Well… there’s still the beans. And rice. Though I’d have to check and see if the beans have any—”
Her impish grin stopped him in his tracks. “I’m just joking with you. Oh, the look on your face…” She chuckled. “I love steak. And chicken.” She wheeled back a bit. “Come on in. You can put it on the kitchen table.”
He stepped inside. “I’ve never been in this unit before. It’s nice.” The walls were painted a soothing avocado green, The furniture, although a bit mismatched, was all in good shape, and there were paintings on every wall, all in a similar style.
“Make a right into the kitchen.” She rolled after him. “And thanks. I moved in two years ago, after the divorce. How long have you been here?”
“About eight years. My fiancée and I moved in together.” He passed through the galley kitchen into a dining nook and put the bag down on the square wooden table that was scooted up against the far wall, under a painting of a bright red vase filled with sunflowers.
“What’s her name?” There was just enough room for her to scoot into the nook beside him. He stepped aside to give her a little space.
“Ella. It was. She passed away a couple years ago.” All my fault. He couldn’t seem to think of her without mentally appending those three words.
Loralei frowned. “I’m so sorry. Losing someone… it’s hard. Even when it’s just a divorce.”
He gestured toward the painting. “That’s lovely. Where did you get it?”
“I painted it. Art keeps me busy now that I…” She trailed off, gesturing to the chair.
He had questions—how had she gotten injured? How long had she been in the chair? Was that why her husband had divorced her? None of them were appropriate for asking someone you’d only briefly met twice. “Ah. I see.”
She leaned toward the paper bag and took a deep breath. “That smells heavenly. Thank you so much for bringing me dinner—I was getting hungry. I’ll have to save some of it for the kids this weekend. They love Mexican.”
“Oh. Yes. I thought… of course. Happy to help.” He’d planned to have that dinner with her, but he couldn’t come out and say that. Especially after she had basically just shown him the door with her words. “Just throw it in the microwave for a minute…” His gaze strayed to the kitchen. The appliance in question was one of those hood-mounted ones.
“I will. Thanks again. Let me know if I can return the favor somehow.”
“Do you need any help?” He glanced at her chair, and back up at the microwave. Perhaps he could salvage the evening with a little assistance, which might lead to an offer to stay…
She must have seen his confusion. “Oh no, I’ve figured out all the tricks. Thank you for offering, though!” She edged the chair forward a couple inches.
Ben took the hint. “Perfect. Have a great night, then.”
“Oh and Ben?”
He hovered at the doorway, hopeful she’d changed her mind. “Yes?”
“Have a great night.”
“You too.” He fled as quickly as he was able to without looking like a fool. At least he hoped he didn’t. Down the stairs, back to the safe confines of his own apartment.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ella, Miz Fortune, and the ghost of Brad had been wrong, after all. I’m better off here in my safe place, by myself.
He threw a frozen Thai green curry meal from Trader Joe’s into his own microwave—strange that she didn’t need help with that. In fact, very little seemed to be set at wheelchair height in her apartment, now that he thought about it.
He turned on the TV, looking for some comfort streaming. Heartstopper, or maybe Emily in Paris?
Paris it is. He frowned when he thought he heard footsteps upstairs, through the ceiling. He paused the show, ear cocked. Nothing.
Then the microwave went off, beeping insistently for his attention, and he forgot all about it.
< Read Chapter Twenty-Four
Like what you read? if you haven’t tried it yet, check out book one, The River City Chronicles, here.