The Romance Novel Cure (17 page)

Spring weather in New Mexico can be unpredictable. I looked at the horizon, and saw some clouds hovering. With any luck, they’d stay put, and we’d have clear skies. I looked around at the gathering of people, at the paint and paint brushes, but most of all, I looked at Ben. Wearing his oldest cargo pants and a baggy tee shirt, he was opening cans of paints and handing out brushes. We were at the preschool where we had met, ready to give the old mural a makeover. Teachers and families from the preschool I worked at now, plus families and teachers from this preschool, as well as people from the community, had come today to make a party out of art and supporting the school.

My smile grew even bigger as I saw Patrick, Scott, Meemaw and the kids arrive. Scott was pushing Meemaw in a wheelchair. I went over to greet them, helped them get set up with art supplies.

“Well now, isn’t this nice,” sighed Meemaw, lifting her face to the sun.

I smiled at Patrick.

“She thinks Scott and I are
brothers
,” he mouthed. We made horrified, amused faces at one another.

Someone started playing music, someone started setting out tamales. The sun was high overhead, dappled by the cottonwood trees. I felt such a sense of well-being, such a sense of being right where I needed to be. I turned and there he was: Ben. He had stood up, and was looking at me. He dropped his paint brush and with several quick strides he was in front of me, holding my head, and kissing me. I reached my hands up to stroke his face, hold him close, and kiss him back, lost for this one moment in time, while the day seemed to hold its breath around us.

Acknowledgements:

Great big chocolate covered
thank you
to Nerika Parke for her above and beyond beta reading help!

If you wondered about what happens to Alma, please turn the page toread on for her story i
n
The Cure for the Common Crus
h
:

Cure for the Common Crush

by Nina Ceves

Copyright
©
2014 Nina Ceves; 2015, edited, revised.

All rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.  Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, or events is purely coincidental.

Alma has a problem. She has a crush on someone who is perfect for her in every way except one: he is not available. Struggling with feelings of shame and sorrow, she embarks on a plan to rid herself of the crush once and for all. Cure for the Common Crush. A mission. A blog. A series of steps.

But could the cure also include the adorable, tattooed, single dad she keeps running into?

Alma stepped back and considered the wall in front her, the paintbrush hanging from her hand. It definitely would need another coat. Or three. She wanted the red to be really vivid. She tilted her head, took a step back.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Looking down in dismay, she saw her paintbrush colliding

with a man’s arm. She had painted a streak of red paint on some stranger’s arm.

“It’s okay.”

Alma looked up from the man’s arm into blue eyes in a smiling face, framed by the bright blue Albuquerque sky. She looked around for a paper towel, a rag, anything, while apologizing again. Grabbing a bandana, she rubbed at the paint on the stranger’s arm.

“Making it worse,” she sang out in distress, spreading the red color further on the man’s forearm. At that he burst out laughing, still holding his arm out steadily. Alma noticed that the paint was partially obscuring some color already on the man’s forearm and bicep. She tilted her head, looking curiously at his tattoos, the cloth forgotten in her hand.

They were at a community gathering, helping to restore a mural at a preschool that had been covered with graffiti. She was there with her co-workers.

“You’ve already got art on your arms, you don’t need any addition from me,” she laughed in embarrassment. She looked up from his arm into his face again, this time for more than a split second.

“Hey, I expected to get paint on me today, it’s no problem.” He spoke gently and smiled down at her. Those blue eyes, shiny, light golden brown hair, cleft chin: she ducked her head and his arms came into view. Muscular, covered with tattoos. His short sleeves broke her wandering gaze and she wondered how much more of his shoulders and beyond were inked.

“Did you design these? How did you choose the images?” She hadn’t intended to ask, the questions just popped out. Anything related to art or design made her instantaneously fascinated.

“I just got one at a time, yeah, they were my ideas. They just seemed to work together. I didn’t know what I was doing. Started when I was eighteen. Haven’t added any in a long while.” He held out his arms, looking a little bashfully at Alma. His voice was a low rasp, as though he was a friendly lion. She looked at the interlocking images of tree branches, sunrays, and roots with fascination. He turned his arms slightly so that she could see how the lines and shapes connected.

“The colors are so bright,” she murmured.

“The red is starting to fade here, and here,” he said. “But, that happens.”

“Well, again, sorry I added a fresh coat of red, unintentionally,” said Alma, shaking her head, stepping back. She had gotten lost for a moment, looking at the colorful, beautiful designs that seemed so evocative. Flustered that she had been standing so close she was suddenly aware that the man by her side was looking down at her, smiling a little. He smelled like warm, clean cotton.

“Any time. It’s an improvement. I’ll have to keep it this way.”

She laughed, stepped back further, and began to paint again, frustrated at the slight tremor in her hand, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach. She concentrated on painting carefully between the lines.

Hearing laughter from across the play area, she bit her lip. She would know that laugh anywhere. Ben. She tried to tell herself to feel happy, hearing him laugh, telling herself that she was glad that he was happy. Her heart didn’t listen, though, and it sank. She took a deep breath, and focused on painting her small section of the mural.

Laura, her co-worker from Graphite, the local graphic design company where she worked, came to stand by her side.

“How’s it going?” Laura asked lightly, pushing up her glasses with her wrist to avoid getting paint on them. Alma heard a weight of concern and caring in Laura’s brief question. Asked in such a nonchalant tone so as not to hint at anything heavy, beneath the words conveyed a wealth of empathy and support. Alma’s memory hurtled back into last week.

* * *

Ben, their co-worker, had arrived at work, and she, Laura, and their art director Scott all stopped, and stared at him. After more than a year of looking stressed out and sad, Ben was lit up like a
farolito
on Christmas eve. He stood taller, had a bounce in his steps, and radiated satisfaction, confidence, and hope. After a year and more of struggling with problems in his marriage, it was clear to all of them that he and his wife Greta were back on track, reunited, and more in love than ever.

And that’s when Alma knew: she had a crush on Ben.

Looking back, she couldn’t believe it took her that long to figure it out.

But in that moment, the force of her crush had hit her like a ton of bricks, and she reeled, unable to catch her breath. She had turned to her computer screen, and stared at it blindly. A kaleidoscope of images flooded her memory: Ben helping her on her first day of work. She had completed her internship program at Graphite, and was thrilled to be hired at the place she loved so much. Ben looking troubled during a staff meeting, finally alluding to stress at home. Ben looking lost, his eyes so big and sad, and Alma feeling worried about him, just as her colleagues did. She hadn’t realized that feeling was morphing into something more. She should have been guarding against it. But how could she have prevented the infatuation? He was such a special person. He was also: gorgeous. Lean and muscular, with dark hair and eyes, full lips, he had an expressive face that showed his every thought and feeling. His humor, compassion, and intelligence. His talent, his sense of community, and deep down, his shyness. It all spelled trouble for Alma and she never saw the writing on the wall until it was too late, and her heart felt broken into pieces with longing and shame.

That day at the office, she had finally had to get up, leave her desk, and hide in the supply room. She placed her hands on a box of paper clips and tried to breathe in and out slowly. It didn’t work. Tears had flooded her eyes and she shook with silent sobs. Just then, the door opened and Scott came in. His eyes had widened in horror.

“Oh my God, honey, what is it, sweetheart, what’s wrong. Oh, my God. I’m going to get Laura, okay?” He literally wrung his hands and left, returning swiftly with Laura, who was at twice Alma’s age, not just a best friend, but an older sister type of friend as well. Alma was trying valiantly to stop her tears, but having Scott and Laura look at her so sympathetically was not making it easier. Finally, her sobs got further and further apart, she wiped her face with handfuls of tissues from a box that Laura had handed her, from a stack of them on a shelf.

“Can you tell us what’s up?” asked Laura calmly, but with worry in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Alma said shakily. “It’s going to sound crazy after this meltdown here, but nothing is wrong. I’m fine, really.”

“This does not look like fine to me,” said Scott, patting her back in soothing circles. “Can I just do a little energy cleansing here?”

“Of course, thank you,” she said, mustering a smile.

“So, I think I know what’s going on, and I just don’t know if you want to pretend it’s not happening, or if having our support will help you,” said Laura, thoughtfully.

“Oh no,” moaned Alma. “Please, please tell me it hasn’t been obvious all along! I’m so embarrassed.
I
just realized it.”

“What? What?” Scott sounded alarmed, and stopped waving his hands over Alma’s head. He looked back and forth from Alma to Laura.

Laura and Alma looked at one another for one long moment.

“Oh, we have no boundaries at all in this office,” said Alma crossly.

“Right?” Laura nodded wryly.

“What are these boundaries of which you speak?” Scott pretended to look mystified, which made Alma and Laura smile, although Alma’s smile wobbled and broke as tears flooded her eyes once more.

“You can’t tell Ben,” Alma said, tears filling her eyes again and again, spilling down her cheeks.

“Of course not,” said Laura gently.

“Tell Ben what?” Scott whispered. “Oh. Oh, sweetheart. Of course. My God.”

“Why does it hurt so much?” Alma’s voice shook as she wiped her face with more tissues.

“That’s why they call it a crush,” said Laura, her expression rueful.

“They’re crushing.” Scott nodded wisely.

“How do I stop it? I need it to stop,” Alma whispered frantically.

“Just give it time.” Laura shrugged sympathetically.

“Get a boyfriend,” suggested Scott.

“I have to get back to work.” Alma had straightened her shoulders. “Thanks, really. Thank you so much for being so kind to me.”

For the rest of the day, Alma had tried to be on autopilot. She had kept her head down and tried to get some work done. But here’s what she found: once she admitted to herself how she felt about Ben, the floodgates were open. Her feelings were like water, released. All that pressure built up and:
crash
. Crush. She felt as though she were drowning, engulfed by a combination of attraction, tenderness, affection, and awareness of Ben’s every move, across the office.

All those times they had laughed at similar things they found funny, all the times she had worried about him, all those times she admired him for his strength, the crush had been constructed behind the scenes, ready and waiting. Why couldn’t she go back to being in denial, she wondered desperately. It had happened so fast, and she was miserable.

“I’ll just act as if I don’t have this crush, and eventually, I’ll get over it,” she had told herself.

She got through the day, very glad it was Friday. But on Saturday, she got a text from Scott asking if she’d like to meet him and his husband, Patrick, and Laura, and Ben and Greta, to meet for drinks and dancing. Her first instinct was to say no. It would have been easy, she could say she already had plans and skip the impromptu night out. But she thought she should act normally, and get over this crush as quickly as possible, so she simply said yes, and made plans to meet Laura and then meet up with the others at the club. Her stomach was in knots getting ready, and she kept hoping that seeing Ben in the context of the group, and more importantly, alongside his wife, would help her see him as a friend again.

She thought the worst part of all of this might be the shame she felt. He was married. He shouldn’t be available even in the realm of her feelings or imagination. While putting on mascara, she had tried to analytically trace the trajectory of the crush in her memory’s timeline. She thought the tipping point may have been when Ben arrived at work one morning not too long ago last fall, looking so despondent. He showed such vulnerability in asking for help, wanting their assistance in giving him a makeover, so he could be more attractive to his wife. She had melted. For a guy to just put himself on the line like that, for love. It made her want to help him. He had dressed like a college student, and let a long time go between haircuts. But, he was a handsome man. They took him out for a makeover night, and they all had a blast. Alma got to see Ben transform. He went from this casual, youthful looking guy, slightly scruffy, to a more polished, grown up version of himself. It seemed to make him hold himself taller, more confidently. He seemed a little more serious. She guessed it was that night, when she was home by herself, well, she admitted that she thought Greta was so lucky. She admitted that she felt a little… jealous of her. She didn’t begrudge Greta for having Ben as a husband. She felt no ill will toward Greta. She just wished… well, she just
wished
. That was all. In some alternate universe, she would have wished that Ben belonged to her. She realized that going from her initial feelings of friendship to more involved emotions was as, in retrospect, as horribly simple as connecting the dots:
she’s so lucky, and I’m a little jealous, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have someone love me like Ben loves her, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Ben was available, just in some fantasy, and he loved… me.

It was a slippery slope and she had landed hard on her ass before she even looked down.

Going out had made it worse. Seeing Ben and Greta on the dance floor, so in love with one another, it hurt her. She could see the charge between them, the attraction that they had for one another. It would have been obvious to anyone. He was looking at Greta as though he wanted to get her alone. His eyes just ate her up. And Greta was looking up at him as though she was falling in love with the man she loved, all over again. She was looking at him as though she would never stop seeing him for the man he truly was. Alma told herself to be happy for him, and for her. It was a happy ending, and the beginning of more happiness. But for her, it felt like the death of a hope that had just been woken up, a hope that she believed was a betrayal of her morals to even have. She had made her excuses, and left early, feeling self-conscious and devastated. Ben had been so concerned and thoughtful, thinking she was feeling ill. Walking with Scott to her car, she realized that she also had a horrible sense of loss. She found it impossible to think of Ben as merely a friend now, so she regretted she had lost that special, comfortable connection she had had with him.

It seemed like an uncontrollable mess, a disaster. As much as she tried to downplay it, it felt disastrous. She couldn’t stop thinking of him. It was like some horrible sickness.