Chapter 6 - Same Time Next New Year's

My heart sinks and I’m quickly overcome with panic and tipsiness. I look around, as if I’m going to find answers or help from the inanimate objects around me. I re-read his words and decide to just be honest. What do I have to lose?

Nothing.

Joanna: Not going to lie, I’m freaking out a little.

Leo: Because I asked if I can call you?

Joanna: Yes.

Leo: Why?

Joanna: Not everyone is so sure of everything, you know…

Leo: You seem like you’re sure of everything.

Joanna: Texts can be misleading.

Leo: That’s why I think we should talk on the phone.

I swallow nervously. What if his voice sounds weird? What if he thinks my voice sounds weird? I always hate the way my voice sounds on recordings—it’s so different from how I hear it in my own head. And then sometimes I have the tendency to ramble if I’m nervous.

I run through many different possible outcomes and each one seems to be worse than the last. Greg used to jokingly pinch my side at social gatherings if I ever started to talk more than I should have been. Sometimes he would say, “Let someone else have a turn, honey,” which always got a few laughs from the crowd. That turned into me developing a tendency to just shut down and not say anything at all. I’d rather say nothing than embarrass him. I scoff at myself. God, I hate the way I made myself smaller to make him more comfortable. I take a deep breath and hear Liz’s words in my mind: “When does this sort of thing ever happen? That’s why you can’t waste this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

You can do this. I think. I’m taking my confidence back. I’m finding my voice again.

Joanna: Okay.

It only takes a few seconds after the text reads ‘delivered’ before I’m getting a phone call. From him.

Leo.

I count to three, take a deep breath, and clear my throat before pressing the green button and bringing my phone up to my ear.

“Hello?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“Joanna,” a semi deep and smooth voice says on the other line. Chills shoot down my arms and into my toes. His voice matches his face perfectly. It’s just as warm as his smile is.

“Just Jo,” I say with a small smile.

“Jo,” Leo says again with a sigh. “Your voice is better than I imagined.”

“Oh really?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

“This is crazy,” I admit.

“I know,” he says, surprising me. “Believe it or not, this has never happened to me before.”

“You mean you’ve never texted the wrong number and kept talking to a stranger all day before?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he says seriously. And for some reason, it makes me laugh. Because somehow I can tell he’s joking. “I love your laugh.”

“That was barely a laugh.” My cheeks grow hot. “Maybe a chuckle.”

“Your chuckle then.” His voice sounds like he’s smiling. “I guess I have to work harder to get you to laugh for real.”

I bite on my lip. “I guess so.”

“So it’s a one-woman party for you tonight, huh?” he asks.

I let out a breath. “Yes. I live quite the life.”

“I can see that,” he says with his own chuckle—and God I love how it sounds.

“You must be getting ready to meet the owner of the right number, huh?” I say, even though the words taste sour on my tongue.

He breathes a laugh. “No. I called Ben as soon as we stopped texting this morning and told him to call it off.”

My mouth parts. “Wh-why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Didn’t have any desire to meet anyone tonight.”

“No?” I ask in a whisper.

“No,” he confirms, and the weight in my chest melts into what feels like a dozen damn butterflies.

“Oh,” I say. I put him on speaker phone and place my phone on the arm rest next to me. “So you hadn’t met her before?”

“No,” he confirms. “I knew what she looked like, but Ben wouldn’t give me any details. He’s dramatic like that.”

“He sounds fun.” My finger runs up and down the length of my pajama pants seam. My mind starts to race as I think of things to say. I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this?

“He is. He’s a punk, but he’s a good friend.” We sit in silence for a minute. And just as I feel myself start to spiral, he says, “So what are you watching? I couldn’t make it out from the photo,” he says.

I smile at the thought of him zooming into the photo I sent him. “Bridgerton.”

“I’ve never heard of it. What’s it about?” he asks.

“It’s a historical romance TV show,” I say, a little embarrassed. “I was feeling sappy.”

“Historical romance?” he questions. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You said you had brothers, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice amused.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of it.” The timer for my oven goes off. I scoot myself to the edge of the couch and stand up.

“Is it time for bed?” he asks.

“Ha.” My sarcastic response makes him laugh. The sound skates down my body. “My pizza is done.”

“What kind of pizza?”

“Just pepperoni.” I put my phone on the counter before grabbing oven mitts and taking the pizza out. I place the tray on top of the stove and then open one of my drawers to get the pizza cutter.

“A frozen pizza by yourself on New Year’s Eve. Jo, you’re making me sad.”

I chuckle, cutting the pizza slowly as I try not to drag all of the cheese with the blade. “Eh, I’m fine.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you want to tell me the long story now?”

I freeze, somehow knowing exactly what he’s talking about. I place the pizza cutter in the sink and wash my hands, buying time.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks softly.

I think, and decide to answer honestly. Why not? “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says quickly. “I don’t know why I have this incessant need to learn everything I can about you.”

“Incessant need?” I chuckle. “Over the last several hours?”

“Yes,” he answers calmly and evenly. “I haven’t been very productive today.”

I lick my lips, and my fingers tap the counter lightly. I breathe in deeply and then blow it out.

“What the hell.” I run my hands through my hair. “I caught my husband in bed with our friend from work. Threw him out. I guess they had been having an affair for a while. Fun. We obviously separated and just finalized our divorce last month. I moved to a new city, not too far away, but far enough. I started a new job that I really don’t like, and I’m living in a studio apartment by myself at thirty-three years old, and I feel like I have no idea what to do with my life—all over again,” I spit out. And then I add sarcastically, “Happy New Year to me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and I lean down over the counter and put my face in my hands, mentally berating myself.

“What’s his name?”

I pick my head up, glancing over to the phone. “Huh?”

“You ex-husbands name,” he repeats, his voice steady and even.

“Uh, Greg,” I say. “Why?”

“I need more information. I’m going to find him and beat the shit out of him.”

I stare at the phone in surprise before I let out a huge laugh.

He says, “There it is.”

“There what is?” I ask, wiping the tiny laugh tears that are falling from my eyes.

“Your laugh.”

I pause, smiling. “There it is,” I say in confirmation.

“Jo, I’m so sorry that that happened to you,” he says sincerely.

“Thanks,” I say quietly. “It sucked.”

“So what you meant by ‘it’s been a tough few weeks’ was that you’ve been dealing with hell for a huge part of this past year?”

“Yeah,” I answer.

“I’m really sorry.” His voice feels gentle. “So there’s no way you’re close enough to New York that I can drive to Greg right now and beat him up?”

I laugh again, not as hard. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Unfortunately,” he repeats, and I smile again. We don’t talk for a few moments, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It almost feels…natural. I carefully put a couple of pizza slices on a plate, trying not to burn myself because they’re still really hot. I pick up the plate in one hand and my phone in the other and make my way back to the couch.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks.

I chuckle. “Purple.”

“Mine too,” he says, and I laugh again.

“You’re lying,” I accuse.

“Okay, honestly it wasn’t my favorite color, but I think it is now.”

I grin. “Why?”

“No reason,” he answers, and once again I can hear the amusement in his voice.

“What’s your favorite food to cook?” I ask him, blowing on my pizza before taking a small bite.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Pasta alla Norma, my ultimate comfort dish. It’s pasta with tomato sauce, eggplant, ricotta—all the good stuff.”

I groan while I chew and swallow my bite. “That sounds so much better than my pizza, right now.”

He laughs. “Maybe I’ll make it for you one day.”

I sip some wine. “Maybe?” I ask.

“Hopefully,” he says.

I smile, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the couch. What is life right now?

“Are you blushing?” he asks.

I let out a small scoff. “How did you know?”

“Just guessed,” he says. I hear the amusement in his voice.

I clear my throat. “So what are you doing tonight instead of meeting someone at a phone booth on 32nd? Also, I didn’t know that phone booths were still even a thing.”

His responding laugh makes me grin. “They’re really not used too often. But you can still find some here and there. But there’s this really cool one on 32nd. Might be the last of its kind.”

“Is that where you meet all of your dates?” I tease, even though there’s a pinch in my stomach.

He sighs. “No, Joanna,” he jokingly scolds before he clears his throat. “I actually got out of a long term relationship this year also. Tonight was going to be the result of months of my friend Ben asking me if he can set me up. He’s been begging me to ‘get me back out there.’”

“Sounds like my sister.” I pick a piece of cheese off my pizza and pop it into my mouth.

“You have a sister?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “She’s three years younger than me. Drives me crazy, but she’s my best friend.”

He chuckles. “Sounds like Ben.”

“But you canceled your date tonight?” I ask. Biting my lip.

“I did,” he answers.

“That’s unfortunate,” I offer.

“Not really.”

I smile. “Yeah, not really.” We’re quiet for a moment. “Are you eating frozen pizza too?”

“I’m actually eating ice cream from the container,” he tells me. “Cookie dough, of course.”

“Well you’re living the dream, aren’t you?” My teasing comes so naturally. I wonder if it feels the same for him. Is he actively trying to keep our conversation going? Or is he just as at ease as I am? I find myself hoping that this feels just as good and natural to him as it does to me.

He laughs. “I really am. Okay, instead of me asking all of the questions I want to ask you that will probably scare you away, how about you tell me about yourself?”

“Myself?”

“Yes, anything and everything you’re willing to share.”

“I’m pretty boring,” I warn him.

“I doubt that,” he counters. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve never met me,” I challenge.

“Not yet. But I still want to get to know you,” he says and my cheeks warm as I turn to hide my face in my shoulder.

“I live in the same state I was born in and grew up in,” I start. “The state name is redacted for now until I know for sure you’re not a real creep or pervert.”

“Understandable.” He sounds unfazed. “Glad you’re being careful.”

“I’m a terrible cook,” I admit.

“Oh no,” his voice sounds pained—disappointed. My heart drops and before I can apologize for being a terrible cook he lets out a breath and says, “I guess I’ll have to do all the cooking.”

My mouth parts as warmth spreads across my cheeks and then down to my toes. My toes curl and I can’t wipe this smile off of my face. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.” He sounds confident. “Or I’ll just have to teach you.”

He has to be feeling this too. He has to. Unless he’s just the smoothest, most confident man in the world—which could be the case, I wouldn’t know. His boldness must be rubbing off on me because I say, “You’re a pretty confident guy, huh?”

His rumbling chuckle makes me beam. “Usually. But you actually make me pretty nervous.”

His admission surprises me. Not just because I wouldn’t have guessed that he is nervous, but at the small bit of vulnerability he shared with me. Greg would have never admitted to something like that. He would’ve seen it as embarrassing—a weakness. I swallow. “I make you nervous?”

“Nervous as hell, Jo.” His voice makes it sound like he’s amused, but there’s an honesty in it that I can hear so clearly. “But the nervousness is nothing compared to the giddiness.”

I let out a small cackle. “The giddiness?”

“So giddy.” His confirmation fills me with satisfaction. “My brothers would be roasting me right now, but I honestly wouldn’t care.”

“Well you make me nervous too,” I tell him. “But…”

“But…” he echoes with amusement.

“But it pales in comparison to the giddiness.” I cover my face with my hand, and even though he can’t see me I feel the need to hide.

He lets out a really long breath before he whispers something that sounds like, “Oh my God.” But before I’m able to ask him what he said, he speaks again. “Please keep telling me everything about yourself.”

I grin, saying the first thing I can think of. “I would love to get a dog one day. I’ve been wanting one for years. I can’t have one in my apartment now, and Greg was allergic.”

“They make hypoallergenic dogs,” he tells me.

I smirk at the way he phrased that. “They do,” I confirm. “But Greg didn’t want to risk it.”

“Stupid, Greg,” Leo mumbles under his breath, and I chuckle.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Uh, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“What’s your favorite childhood memory?”

I flush before I make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Uh, God. Um…” I try to think. “I guess it was my twelfth birthday. My parents got me and my sister tickets to see NSYNC in concert.”

He lets out a huge laugh. “That’s amazing!”

I laugh with him. “It was amazing. I think I cried for several straight days.”

“Because you were sad that it was over?”

“Oh, I cried for days before the concert from excitement,” I explain. “But then I also cried for days afterward from the devastating realization that it was all over.”

Amused, he asks, “Did you cry at the concert?”

“Of course not,” I joke. “I had to hold myself together in case JC saw me and fell in love with me.”

His laugh deepens. “I’m guessing that didn’t happen?”

“Yeah, turns out you can’t really see people in the nosebleed seats too well.” I sigh.

“If only he had seen you,” he says.

“If only,” I echo, and he laughs again. I feel myself growing more and more comfortable in our dialogue, as if I’m talking to an old friend that I haven’t seen in awhile. “What about you? Tell me about yourself.”

“I’ve never had a dog, but I would definitely be open to it if the time came,” he tells me.

“Did you ever have any other animals?” I take a bite of my pizza, which has cooled off now.

“No, my mom has never been a huge fan. My brother had a snake once. He didn’t tell my mom about it though.”

“Oh no,” I breathe. “How did he hide it from her?”

“He made a little set up in his closet. One day he tried to bring it to school for show and tell.”

I cackle. “Oh my God, how old was he?”

His deep voice chuckles, “He was nine.”

“Oh geesh.” I place my plate next to me and bring my knees up to my chest, repositioning myself so that I’m more comfortable. “I take it she found out eventually?”

“So, my brother went to show it to his class—but found an empty container.” I let out a gasp which earns me a rumbling chuckle. “Yep. Turns out it escaped in the car on the way to school.”

I gasp and say again, “Oh no!”

“She found it in the car. Let’s just say, we never had any kind of creature for the rest of our childhood.”

I laugh loudly. “Your poor mother.” I can’t help the fondness I feel while listening to him speak. His voice is smooth and his words sound effortless.

“She was traumatized. She refused to go into the car for weeks even though my dad found it and got it out.”

“I wouldn’t drive in that car again either,” I joke.

“My brother was on his best behavior for a long time after that,” he says fondly.

I take a sip of my wine. “Has New York always been home for you?”

“I was also born and raised here. But I won’t tell you which borough I live in in case you turn out to be a real creep and a pervert.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. Glad you’re being careful,” I repeat his words to him.

“I went to culinary school. Then I worked in a few different restaurants before I opened my own,” he continues. “We’ve been open for four—no, five—years now.”

“That’s incredible,” I tell him.

“Thanks, Jo,” he says, and I smile again. “The real test will be if we can survive in two locations.”

“I think you can,” I encourage.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”