The Anomaly Page 6

  Todd calls me repeatedly during the night when he comes to the apartment and can’t get in.

  “You’ve changed the lock? I can’t believe you did that, Leigh. I thought I was at the wrong front door,” Todd says sarcastically in one of his messages. I hear the anger in his voice. He rambles on then abruptly hangs up midsentence. I mull over calling him back after listening, but instead, I refuse his calls and delete him from my Facebook and Twitter accounts. It’s time to move on and I’m ready for a clean slate.

  Chapter 3

  Emotions are funny things. As much I don’t want to be with Todd, I miss having someone around when I get home. My apartment’s so noiseless that I’m sure I could hear a pin if it dropped on my bathroom tile. I walk around the rooms and realize how quiet it is without Todd, who always had the TV or radio on.

  “Don’t waste time on that bum,” Amanda tells me over the phone. “You should sign up for a class or something...anything to get you out of the house and take your mind off this guy. I mean...it is summer, and all you have going on is your part-time gig.”

  Amanda’s right. I need something else to do. I’m almost positive I don’t want to get back with Todd, but still―I need something to take my mind off the whole unpleasant ordeal.

  The sign reads Yoga for Beginners.

  It’s taped to the window of the small café in the building where I work. I’m an assistant to the administrative coordinator at a small printing company. I started as a part-time receptionist the summer before college, and even though my duties and responsibilities have increased lately, I’m not sure if I’m interested enough to continue working here after graduation.

  I sign up for yoga.

  The class takes place in the studio of a private gym. The gym’s owner greets me at the main entrance. I know he’s the owner because he’s telling another man that it’s taken him three years to get the place up and running. I hear him say that he wasn’t willing to “franchise his dreams,” and the other man nods his head eagerly.

  The number of mirrors hanging on the walls makes the room sparkle. I tell the girl behind the desk my name, having paid the fee earlier during one of my lunch breaks. It’s kind of pricey—$150 for a three-week class held three times a week—but it’ll be worth it if my stress level’s down at the end of the session.

  This should be interesting. I’ve never tried yoga before. Amanda once described it as “the good feeling you get after drinking really strong peppermint tea, versus the lethargic feeling you sometimes get after a cup of coffee,” and I’m excited to see if she’s right.

  I’ve pulled my hair up, off my face, in a loose bun. I’m holding my pink yoga mat tucked under my left arm, and my car keys and a bottle of water in my right hand.

  Soft, instrumental mood music plays in the studio, and I automatically feel relaxed. My shoulders even feel a little less tense.

  I set up my space in the middle of the studio by rolling the yoga mat out on the floor. Being a beginner, I don’t want to be up front, or lost in the back. Nervousness takes over because I hope the class isn’t a mistake. I can feel the tension snaking up through my neck, so I bend my head to rub the achiest spot.

  “Hello, everyone, I’m Carter, the instructor.”

  I look up and I’m in awe. My eyes open widely as I try to take in every bit of the man. I sigh from a burst of desire before involuntarily shaking my head. Put yourself in check, Leigh, I tell myself. I look down, and my eyelids droop downward until my eyes are closed―again an involuntarily thing. But I’ve never seen a guy who has struck me so intensely nor immediately, like a thunderbolt. I want to capture the image of him.

  His eyes are an intense green, like those lush trees you find deep in the Amazon. His dark hair’s slightly longer than it should be. And there’s something about the way he pronounces his words—clear and with authority—when introducing himself to the class. I instantly know this man’s different from anyone I’ve ever met, and on top of that, he’s young enough for me.

  I open up my eyes for another look. He’s in his late twenties, maybe four or five years older than I am. But how old? I’m not too sure. I peek at his hands for a wedding ring, my heart beating wildly against any possibilities that my chances might be dashed to the ground. There’s no ring. Yippee.

  I sit up taller and a small smile escapes my lips just as he spots me. We lock eyes, and I’m not sure if I’m imaging that he smiles back at me before he looks over the entire room.

  “Let’s begin,” he says.

  This is a beginning that I don’t want to end. I slap my forehead and tell myself not to be so cheesy. The instructor is looking at me. I can sense his eyes. I shake my head as if it’s nothing ―I don’t want him to ask why I just slapped my forehead.

  “I’d like everyone to sit on their mats with their legs stretched out in front of them,” Carter says. He flips down the light switch on the wall and the music cuts off.

  “The next three weeks will be fun. My hope is that everyone will get in a good workout yet still feel energized.” He swings his arms and balls his hands into fists as he says this. “And hopefully, everyone will look forward to coming to each session.” He smiles again―his teeth are white and perfectly straight―and I believe every word he says.

  After the class ends, I wait until most of the other students leave. It’s a mixed class of twenty students, a decent percentage of them men. I watch as a student chats with the instructor before she leaves, then I go up to him. I’m not a pushy girl, but the least I can do is properly introduce myself. A smile sweeps over my lips and I stretch out my right arm.

  “I’m Leigh.”

  The instructor stretches out his arm and we shake hands.

  “It’s Carter, though you already know that.”

  “Yeah.” There’s a slight amount of sweat on Carter’s skin and the temptation’s there to run my palm across his forehead to wipe it off. I quickly peek at myself in the mirror behind him. And I brush back the front of my hair with the palm of my hands, though a dark blue bandana holds every possible stray strand in place.

  “Did you enjoy the class?” Carter asks.

  I nod. “Yes, I did.”

  “Is this your first time?”

  “At yoga?”

  “Yeah.”

  I nod and try not to blush. That was a stupid reply.

  “How did you find it?”

  “The class?”

  Carter nods. “Yes, the class.”

  I suddenly just want to run out of the studio. What’s wrong with me all of a sudden? So far, I sound silly. I laugh it off. Relax, Leigh, I tell myself.

  “The class is great. It doesn’t even feel like I’m exercising, though I can feel the stretch in my muscles.” I rub at my right shoulder.

  “Well, I can see that you’re already toned, so the class should be a piece of cake for you. Do you exercise regularly?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and feel the slight dampness under my armpits. I’m not sure if it’s yoga or my tendency to sweat when I get nervous. “I do, I run two times a week. There’s a trail behind my apartment.”

  Carter nods. “Oh, okay.”

  A cell phone goes off. I glance at the black duffle bag on the ground. The ringing is coming from inside it. Carter goes to the bag and bends down. I get a good look at his thighs; they look strong. In a matter of seconds, the cell phone is in his hand.

  “Hello.” He listens to the caller and nods then raises his index finger. “One second,” he tells the caller. He looks up at me. “Pardon me.”

  That’s when I realize that his accent’s faintly British. Except maybe he grew up here in Connecticut or some other state.

  “Oh, no problem.” I fan my hand dismissively. “Have a good evening,” I say, taking a few awkward steps backward.

  “Alright,” Carter says. He smiles and I bump into a mirror. I take a step forward before turning around and moving to the right to get my things. Because I’m now truly embarrassed, I don’t t
urn back to look at him but head to my car instead.

  I drive home, slowly, thinking that I don’t want to drive further away from this guy I’ve just met.

  Chapter 4

  I have a couple of weeks before the semester begins, but since I’m taking an extra class, for a total of fifteen credits, I want to get a head start reading a history book for the European History class I’m registered to take. One of my friends, who took the class before, tells me that the professor always assigns it as required reading. And it’ll be nice to read and highlight the important passages ahead of time. Having four other classes in the upcoming semester and a part-time job, any leap ahead of the race is good for me.

  But instead of reading, I’m lying on the couch. The first of two loads of laundry is spinning, and I’m contemplating going to Bar Code. A few of my friends are meeting there around seven o’ clock. It’s a small bar wedged at the corner of a group of businesses, but it’s a popular hangout spot for the younger working crowd. I’ve only managed to see a few students from university there, maybe because it’s a good half hour away from the main campus.

  I decide to go to meet them; I need a little break.

  It’s a Sunday night, and I don’t really feel like dressing to impress. I’m not a believer in the whole notion that a girl can meet a nice guy in the bar anyway. I take off the gray sweat pants and matching gray tank top that I’ve been lounging around in all weekend and head to the shower. After toweling off, I get dressed, putting on a pair of faded blue jeans, a white tank top, and black heels, then some black mascara and light-colored lip gloss.

  I’m with my friends forty minutes later, eating cocktail peanuts from a small bowl in the center of the table.

  When I look across the room, I see him. It’s not possible for me to miss this man. It’s Carter. He’s wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He stands by the bar, looking tall, his dark hair cut a bit shorter than during the first week of yoga. If I’d known about him being here tonight, I would’ve made more of an effort in getting ready. Still, I’m happy to see him a day earlier than expected.

  I stand up and casually make my way to the bar and grab a toothpick from a cup, not wanting to be too obvious. Within a minute, Carter and I are having a conversation. He says he’s been so busy this summer, that the yoga class, though work, is a good outlet to relieve some stress.

  I take Carter in and glance at my friends, who are enjoying themselves. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think that I have to get home early enough to finish the laundry. Tomorrow’s Monday and I have to work. An hour passes then an hour and a half, and I just want to keep talking to Carter. It doesn’t matter where we are.

  He tells me of his family’s move from London to Connecticut when he was eleven. His dad’s company transferred him, and his parents thought living in another country would be a good experience for their two young boys.

  His parents had since moved back to England, choosing the farming country town of Kent, to settle down in. But America’s now his and his brother’s home; they grew up here, so they chose to stay behind.

  I tell him about my sister and brother and our ideal childhood in the suburbs.

  “My older sister didn’t really yell at me when I went through her closet. I’m just a bit hard-headed once I want to do something, so maybe I just thought ‘Stay out of my closet!’ was part of the older sister-younger sister routine,” I tell Carter. He gives me a face of mock surprise and laughs, and I then add, “And my little brother’s always been well behaved, plus my parents have been together forever.” I rub the heel of my palm over my right eye, an eyelash or something’s irritating it. “So, I can’t really complain.”

  “You’re a lucky one. Most people just don’t have that kind of upbringing.”

  I nod in agreement.

  Then Carter says he has to go. He’s promised his brother he’ll drop off some tools that are in his trunk tonight; he’d borrowed them yesterday.

  “Bye, Leigh,” Carter says with a genuine smile. And a minute later, he’s out the door. I go home anticipating the next day and dream of Carter throughout the night. It’s like I’ve been struck by cupid’s arrow.

  After yoga on Monday, Carter asks me out. Of course I tell him yes, and we exchange phone numbers.

  I take extra time to get ready for my date, super-psyched to learn more about this

  man. We talked about the basics last night, but I’m eager to see if my intuition is correct.

  I head into town to where we’ve agreed to meet up.

  Carter says he’d like to learn how to cook, so he signed the two of us up for a cooking lesson at a popular cookware chain store. I must admit that I think of myself as a decent cook, especially living off campus, but hopefully it’ll be fun to learn something new.

  Carter’s already at the store when I get there. I’ve got on my favorite blue jeans and a purple baby doll top. My hair blows with the gust of wind that comes in when the entrance door opens up behind me. There are about eight other people around the cooking station. The chef for the cooking course tells us we’ll be making fontina risotto with chicken. Wow, I think.

  I curl my lips and open my eyes wide. Is this an intermediate class? It didn’t sound like something a beginner can cook.

  Carter nudges my arm with his elbow. “You’re looking sort of nervous there,” he teases.

  I take the opportunity to inch a little closer to him. He smells sexy of aftershave and cologne.

  I giggle. “I was just expecting a simpler recipe.”

  “Oh, my dear, but you’ll see how absolutely easy this dish is,” says the chef.

  I guess she overheard us because we’re at the first station up front. Brightly colored bowls and cooking utensils are set up at each station. I wash my hands at the sink and pat them on the kitchen towel next to it. I can’t help myself and I pick up a fork, clanging it lightly against one of the bowls. “I hope it’s bon appetite for us after this meal’s done,” I tell Carter. “Do you cook at all?”

  Carter shakes his head. “It’s mainly take-out for me. I do know how to boil a mean rice, though.” He makes a chopping gesture with his hands. “Add a variety of steamed veggies and mix it up.” He chuckles. “I just buy different proteins―fish, chicken, beef―to go with the rice, or I cook up some pasta dish.”

  “Who doesn’t know how to boil pasta, eh?” Where did that come from? Suddenly, I’m Italian? Only I sound more like a cartoon character. Relax...so I don’t make a fool of myself on our very first date. I mean, I’d like for us to go out more than this one time.

  Carter laughs. “You sound like a cartoon character.”

  I gasp and fix my face sternly. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing.”

  Carter’s laugh gets louder.

  The chef clears her throat. She’s ready to give us the steps to the recipe. “This is a go-to dish...,” she says, as she makes a kissing motion against her clenched fingers, “a healthy yet decadent basic that can be eaten alone or can go with anything.”

  Carter and I take turns adding the ingredients. I pour the chicken stock into the pot, and then add Arborio rice, the thyme and the ground pepper. Carter chops a medium-sized onion, grates a cup of fontina cheese, and dices the smoked chicken breast. I watch how good he is with his hands and smile. Hopefully, there’ll be plenty of opportunities for us to feed each other in the future.

  We prep our ingredients, add it to the pot, stir, stand and wait, talk, stir some more, until it’s time to taste our dish.

  “Here, Leigh, let me serve you,” Carter says, picking up a silver serving spoon. He takes a plate and heaps two large servings of the food on top. Then he places the plate on the counter and dishes out his serving. The chef hands everyone a complimentary glass of wine.

  “Cheers.” Carter holds up his glass and I toast with him. “To many more meals, I hope,” he says. My legs become gooier than the cheese used in our recipe and a love song goes off in my head.

  I don’t say any
thing, but I give Carter a smile that I hope conveys volumes.

  We tell each other goodnight out in the parking lot.

  “See you in two days,” Carter says.

  Ahhh. Two days was way too long. “Okay,” I say.

  Carter shakes his head. “Or maybe we can do something tomorrow.”

  I smile. “Sure.”

  “Goodnight, then.” He leans in and kisses me at a point between my lips and cheek. I want to tilt my neck enough for him to land directly on my lips, right where I want his lips to be.

  Carter eases back. “I’ll watch you off before I go.”

  “Okay.” I smile at him, then walk to my car, put on my seatbelt, start the engine, and wave bye to him before I drive off. While I’m driving, I shake my head a little in disbelief at how comfortable yet somewhat nervous I am around Carter. The butterflies in my stomach constantly flutter whenever I see him, and truthfully, I don’t want them to go away.

  He calls me after I reach home.

  “Just want to hear your voice and check that you’ve reached home safely.”

  “Yep, I’m here.”

  “Well, I’d like to take you out tomorrow, if that’s alright with you.”

  “Of course. I’m off tomorrow.”

  Carter tells me he’ll call me.

  I go to bed, anxious for the sun to come up. It’s such a different feeling than when I was with Todd. Heck, I can’t remember the last time I anticipated doing anything with Todd.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I’ve made the right decision by ending that relationship.

  Leigh Baker's finally gotten rid of her mooching, long-term boyfriend. But one is turning out to be a lonely number.

  A new hobby, her good friends, a sexy man...that's what Leigh needs. When Leigh meets Carter Malone, the attraction’s immediate. But as quickly as the romance heats up, it cools off. The thing is, Leigh can't figure out why.

  When Carter pops back into Leigh's life, it turns out he's the new English professor. According to Carter, getting involved with her would bring risks he doesn't need. But something keeps drawing them together.