The Build Up (65)

“Very well! I’ll be back shortly with your order, okay?” she said, as she bounced toward the back of the house to put our order in.

Porter pulled down his hoodie. His hair was a mess. His normally tamed, curly fade was fluffy and askew. My instinct was to put my hands through his hair, smoothing it down gently. Instead, I tapped my fingers on the table nervously.

“What’s wrong, Ari? It’s just...two people, friends, having breakfast,” said Porter. He unzipped his hoodie a bit, showing the top of his smooth chest hair. My body quivered.

“I’m not nervous. Just...just thinking about my car,” I lied.

“I know. You loved that car, Ari.”

Porter reached out and took my hands. I looked up at him. His eyes were soft and longing. I knew that look. It was his “please, talk to me” look. I diverted my eyes and pulled my hands away just as the server brought our coffees and food. Thank God for a distraction.

I took a bite into the pillowy madeleine and closed my eyes, savoring the lemon vanilla flavors. It was amazing. When I opened my eyes, Porter was looking at me over his cup, smiling.

“I love when you enjoy something you love,” said Porter, softly. “The look on your face is priceless.”

I took a deep breath. “Porter, let’s not even do this.”

“Do what?”

“We cannot fall back into...whatever that was, Porter. Now, I appreciate you picking me up. Taking me to breakfast, but...”

“There is no but, Ari,” said Porter. “There is no but when you care about someone.” He took his fork and stabbed at his quiche, quickly putting a piece in his mouth.

I adjusted the napkin on my lap. “I appreciate that. Porter, I’ve clarified that we need to just...be friends. And I know the position we’re in at work. So, let’s just be friends. Partners-in-design, remember?”

Porter put his fork down and sat back. He stared out the window. “It’s not that simple. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. I also can’t be near you without wanting to be with you. You can’t expect me to sleep with someone without feelings being involved. I’m sure a lot of men can do that, but that’s not how I work.”

I took a sip of my coffee. “I know. That’s not fair. It also wasn’t fair for me to kiss you Thanksgiving night. That was dangerous territory.”

“Right. But it’s not like I stopped you from kissing me. I could never reject you. Rejection hurts. Rejecting someone you love hurts even more. You...”

“Porter, don’t say that,” I said, interrupting his sentence.

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

“Why not? It’s true. I can’t help it. I’m passionate about you, Ari. About the possibility of an us.”

I folded my arms. “Trust me, I’ve heard this all before. Passion isn’t love. I’m too old for passion. It burns bright and then what? You’ll get bored. You’ll move on.”

Porter wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up. “I don’t get you, Ari. One minute, you’re ready to rip my clothes off. Fuck me into a coma. Kiss me until I can’t breathe without you. Then you want to keep me at arm’s length. You’re so hot and cold. And when we get close to solidifying our feelings, you push me away. How am I supposed to feel? This is unfair. Don’t break my heart this way, Ari.”

“It’s not my intention, Porter. I also don’t want to mess up this project. This feels like my last opportunity to prove myself. Besides, I’d hate to be the reason you don’t get this promotion.”

Porter rubbed the back of his neck. “If I make partner...if I don’t make partner. That has nothing to do with you. Right now, I’m talking about us. What are we doing here?”

I looked out the window. An older couple with gray hair and stooped backs held hands as they walked down the sidewalk. A fleeting thought about Porter and me being that old crossed my mind. Would he have flecks of silver in his curls? Would he hold my hand as I walked beside him, back hunched over with old age? Porter reached across the table, pushing a stray coil of hair back behind my ear. I allowed his warm, gentle hand to cup my cheek gently, until he let go.

As if he could read my mind, Porter whispered, “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is of course.”

I smiled, slightly. “You know what your mother told me at Thanksgiving?”

Porter raised his eyebrow, cocking his head to one side. “Other than Senior’s gumbo recipe? No.”

“Eloise said when she met your father, she knew she wasn’t who people, his people, expected him to marry. But your father knew she was good for him. Your mom said she saw the same thing in me, for you. It’s a new feeling for me. Someone thinking that I’m good for them. Because I know I’m amazing. It’s about time someone else recognized that.”

Porter’s mouth was parted. For a second, he was at a loss for words. “Of course, you’re good for me, Ari. You’re amazing. You’re the woman of my dreams.”

“I am?” I asked, eyes widening with disbelief.

Porter laughed a bit. “Yes, ma’am. One day, you’ll know just how true that is.”

I furrowed my brow, confused.

Porter pushed his coffee cup away, looking into my eyes. “Listen, I know you want to be friends. I’m respecting your wishes. But I need a favor.”