Just Another Tuesday
March 15, 2011
It was just another Tuesday—except Mother Nature forgot to take her meds.
Yesterday, the sun was out with warm temps hinting at spring being right around the corner. Today? Well, today felt like Mr. Snow Miser had rolled into town with his snow balls in a twist. He was spitting out snow and sub-Arctic wind chills that were as blue as the string of curse words swirling through Ari’s mind – because, of course, she needed to go out into this delightful winter wonderland.
It was her last day in Montreal for a few weeks, and she’d given Max the morning off, so payroll and invoices were waiting for her at Petit Soho. While Cliff generously offered to come get her and Lily, she’d declined and promised to call if it got worse. Right now the snow was light and barely sticking, so she bundled up her baby sidekick and left Meatball pouting at the door.
“You’re the lucky one here, buddy,” she told him before venturing out to strap Lily into the car seat and make the short journey.
Because her employees were saints, by the time she arrived at the bar, a parking spot had been saved for her right in front of the building. She and Lily barely had time to get cold before pushing into the cozy warmth inside. What little chill remained melted between the front door and the kitchen doors she pushed through to get to her office – where a large mug of decaf coffee awaited, courtesy the saint called Gabriel.
“Mon petit papillon,” he greeted, putting aside the vegetables he was chopping to reach for Lily. “Et la petite Lily… viens ici.” (And little Lily… come here.)
“Be careful,” Ari warned while transferring custody of her mini me. “She’s moody today.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “Comme sa mère?” (Like her mother?)
“Ha. Exactly like her mother,” she agreed, putting her bag down. “Can you watch her for a bit?”
“Oui,” Gabriel agreed, his smiling eyes never leaving Lily’s adorably grumpy face. “Va. Fais ce que t’as à faire.” (Go. Do what you have to do.)
With a small nod of thanks, Ari slipped into her office, sank into the chair and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. Lily softly protested her mother’s pleasure but was quickly soothed by Gabriel’s singing.
Warmed both inside and out with her daughter in good hands, it was time to get to work. Her inbox held two flagged invoices, one approval, and one she knew would turn into a chase – a chase she wasn’t ready for yet, so she opted to tackle payroll first.
She’d barely gotten started when her phone buzzed with a text.
[10:00 am] Kennedy: The A-team has arrived safely in San Antonio. Heading to AT&T for walk through.
[10:02 am] Ari: Great. Keep me posted. What time will Gaga be out?
[10:06 am] Kennedy: Hopefully by 2 am. When do you get in?
[10:10 am] Ari: 10 am Wednesday. I’ll head straight to you.
[10:16 am] Kennedy: Copy that. I’ll keep you updated.
[10:20 am] Ari: Thanks. Tell Lefty to behave.
Ari set the phone down and let her hand linger, her thumb resting again on the edge like she might pick it back up, but she didn’t. There would be more messages later. The bar’s work came first for now.
Payroll wasn’t complicated. Leaning in, her eyes moved steadily across the screen, checking each line against what she knew by memory: hours, overtime, adjustments. It all had to be right the first time. People depended on that—not just for the money, but for the quiet reassurance that things were handled.
A small discrepancy caught her eye in the kitchen staff log. Nothing serious, just a missed entry that hadn’t carried over properly. Ari corrected it without hesitation, rounding the discrepancy in their favor before moving on. Not generosity. Principle. If anyone was going to benefit from the margin, it wouldn’t be the house.
When she reached the staff allocations, she slowed—not out of uncertainty, but because this part mattered more than the rest. The numbers shifted slightly under her direction, quiet increases distributed across the board. It wasn’t dramatic, nothing that would draw attention to itself, but it would be felt.
She couldn’t do any of this without them. Not while she’d been on the road most of the last two years. The place worked because of the people who showed up every day and treated it like their own.
The invoices came next, clean as expected. Minus the two she flagged earlier. Max and their vendors knew better than to let things slip. A quick scan confirmed the invoices anyway, each one meeting expectations. A few precise clicks sent payments on their way. By the time she finished, the hum of the restaurant worked its way back into her awareness.
Looking at the time, she exhaled lightly. A little past lunch.
Pushing herself up from the desk, she gave the office one last glance before stepping back out into the warmth of the kitchen. Lily was happily tucked into her highchair, her earlier mood long forgotten.
“Enfin fini? (finally done?)” Gabriel asked.
“Yes,” Ari replied, pressing a quick kiss to Lily’s head. “I’m starving.”
He huffed softly, already moving toward the stove. “J’me doutais. Assieds-toi, ma belle. (I figured. Sit down, my dear.)”
Lunch was simple, warm, and gone before she had to think about anything else. For a while, she let herself just be there, enjoying the low hum of conversation and clatter of the kitchen, Lily’s sweet babbling beside her acting as an added bonus.
It was a few more hours before she stood to leave. Gabriel was already handing her a neatly packed take-out bag.
“Pour plus tard (for later),” he said, like it wasn’t up for discussion.
Ari gave him a look, but there was no real argument behind it. “You spoil me. Tu le sais, hein? (You know that?)”
“Faut bien que quelqu’un le fasse (someone has to do it),” he shot back easily.
The cold hit sharper on the way out, the unrelenting snow still coming down as she settled Lily into the car.
The engine turned over with a low hum, heat already pushing through the vents as the windshield began to fog along the edges. For a moment, it was just that—warmth creeping back in, the storm muffled beyond the glass.
Once home, the garage door rolled shut behind her with a heavy, final sound, cutting off the cold like it had never followed them in the first place. As she cut the engine, her phone rang—sharp in the quiet.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” Jon’s familiar voice greeted. “I’m running a little behind, Matt and Gloria decided to hitch a ride, so everything shifted.”
“Makes sense. Cliff still grabbing you?”
“Yeah. We’ll drop them off at the hotel, then I’ll be home.”
“Alright, bundle up,” she said. “It’s snowing and colder than a witch’s tit.”
He laughed. “And what about your tits?”
“Getting bigger every day. Text me when you are wheels up.”
“I will.”
They exchanged quiet “love yous” and ended the call, leaving Ari to gather the baby and go check on the big dog baby.
When she turned toward the interior stairs, Meatball was already circling her legs. His nails tapped an impatient rhythm against the tile as if he had opinions about how long she’d been gone and was ready to present them.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, nudging him gently with her boot. “We’re home. Relax.”
Meatball did not relax. He shot past her instead, skidding toward the stairs like the concept of calm was purely theoretical.
Ari followed as Lily made small, contented noises that didn’t yet qualify as sentences but definitely qualified as opinions. The loft opened around them as they climbed—wide and airy, filled with light that never quite seemed to choose a time of day.
Meatball bounded to the top step and immediately began his customary inspection, padding the perimeter with quiet purpose as if making certain nothing had dared change in the few hours they'd been gone. Only after satisfying himself did he return to Lily, his tail thumping against the couch while Ari shrugged out of her coat and eased the little girl onto the cushions.
The tiny coat earned the usual protest. Lily kicked, squealed, and twisted away from Ari's hands with all the theatrical indignation of someone convinced every transition was an unnecessary inconvenience. Ari only laughed.
"Alright," she murmured, securing the baby gate across the stairs.
No sooner had Lily been settled into her walker than she set off exploring, steering with the confidence of someone who'd been driving the thing her whole life. She made lazy circles through the loft, clipping chair legs, bouncing harmlessly off the coffee table, and occasionally running straight into Meatball whenever he forgot to move. He never seemed to mind. Every burst of baby babble earned an attentive tilt of his head, as though she were letting him in on the day's most important secrets.
Smiling to herself, Ari headed for the kitchen. Dinner required almost no effort, thanks to Gabriel. The containers he'd packed still released little wisps of steam each time she lifted a lid despite the cold outside. She placed a couple of meatballs, half a grilled chicken breast, and a handful of fries on a single plate, grabbed Lily's sippy cup and a bottle of water for herself, then carried everything back into the living room while Lily continued her slow patrol of the loft.
The jukebox clicked over to auto as Ari set the food down. She caught Lily before the walker could make another lap, locked the wheels, and settled cross-legged on the floor beside her. Meatball wasted no time claiming his place on Lily’s other side, content to wait there, hopeful as ever that dinner might eventually find its way to him and that he could catch it before it hit the floor.
Lily made a sharp little sound of recognition and reached out right away.
“I know,” Ari said, sliding a small piece of meatball onto her tray. “You’re so predictable.”
Her tiny hands closed around it, treating the morsel as though nothing else in the world mattered.
Meatball watched, deeply offended.
After dinner, the night fell into its familiar rhythm. Bath time meant warmth filling the nursery bathroom, towels stacked and ready on the counter. Lily protested in half-serious sounds that dissolved the moment she hit the water. Meatball stationed himself between the bathroom and the nursery, waiting for what came next.
Kneeling against the tub, she rolled her sleeves and kept one hand steady on Lily’s back while the other moved automatically—soap, rinse, splash, repeat.
Lily kicked once, delighted.
“Silly, girl,” Ari said.
Lily responded by splashing harder.
By the time she was dried and wrapped, Lily had already started fading in the sudden, irreversible way babies did. The nursery dimmed at a push of a button, everything exactly where she’d left it that morning.
Ari sat in the rocker and began to hum, like she always did. Low and steady, the familiar tune Sal used to sing. Lily stilled slightly at the sound, eyes drifting, lashes heavy with sleep.
She resisted for exactly thirty seconds – and then she didn’t.
Ari eased her into the crib, one hand still resting lightly on the rail as she watched her breathing even out into sleep. Meatball nestled half under the crib.
Both her babies, tucked in for the night.
The nursery door clicked softly behind her as she crossed the hall into their room, the laundry basket on the bed waiting where she’d left it. She started folding, one piece at a time, letting the repetition pull the day out of her hands.
By the time the basket was empty, she drifted into the ensuite, trading the day for something softer, easier. Pieces of clothing fell into a loose pile on the floor, her bra next—unhooked, pulled it free with a quiet exhale before she tossed it aside. It wouldn’t be long before she couldn’t do that.
Gathering her hair up into a messy bun, she stepped into the clothes she’d left on the floor that morning.
The house was quiet when she came back downstairs in that after-everything-was-done-way. She lit the fire first, then turned up the jukebox. Lily might look like Jon, but she slept like her mother. The volume could rise, and that kid wouldn’t stir.
She sank into the couch, the only thing missing was a nightcap. Maybe she could get Jon to play a round or two of Tequila Kisses—this time with Jack Daniels. Reaching for her phone, she checked the time. Jon should be landing soon.
Standing, she padded across the floor to the wet bar, reaching for one shot glass and a bottle of Jack. She nudged them onto the side table near the couch, lining them up without thinking.
The music carried through the house, loud enough to fill the space he hadn’t stepped into yet.
The fire snapped softly in the background, and now there was nothing left to do but wait for the sound of Jon's key in the door.
♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱
Jon reached the top of the stairs and stopped, one hand still resting on the rail.
He didn't call out. Didn't move.
He just watched.
Bare feet glided over the hardwood as she swayed in front of the jukebox, his old gray shorts hanging low beneath the curve of her belly. They were threadbare now, stretched beyond their intended life. She'd never asked if she could have them. She'd simply claimed them somewhere along the way, until seeing her in them felt more natural than seeing himself.
His gaze lingered. Something had softened while he'd been gone. Not dramatically. Just enough that only someone who knew every inch of her would notice.
Only a day apart.
Still, there it was.
Life, quietly doing what life does.
Firelight chased across her skin as she moved, loose and unselfconscious, every shift of her hips finding the rhythm as though the music lived somewhere beneath them. Her shirt had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth line of skin beneath, and whether she hadn't noticed or simply didn't care, he couldn't tell.
She sang without restraint, loud and wonderfully off-key in places, completely unaware he'd come home.
Jon let himself steal another moment before finally descending the stairs. He took them one at a time, unhurried, stretching the distance because once he closed it, this quiet little slice of life would be over.
By the time he reached the floor, he was standing just behind her.
He still didn't announce himself.
He was simply...there.
One hand slid around her waist, spanning the curve of her stomach before slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, his palm settling warm against her skin as he drew her back against him. The other wandered just beneath the waistband of the shorts she'd stolen from him long ago, enough to make her pulse skip.
She went still for the briefest heartbeat.
Then she melted into him.
Her hips found his without needing to look, her head tipping back against his shoulder, exposing the line of her throat as her breath caught—just enough to tell him she'd missed him every bit as much as he'd missed her.
Not startled.
Just answering.
His mouth brushed the shell of her ear.
"Those still mine?"
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You gonna take 'em back?" she murmured, pressing into him until she found the firm line of him beneath his jeans.
The question hung between them, swallowed by the room and the slow pulse of *Animals* drifting from the jukebox, neither of them in any hurry to disturb the moment by saying anything else.
His voice dropped rough against her ear as he sang into her instead of the room—
“…got my hands between your knees…”
The rhythm took it, slow at first, not separate from touch anymore—just part of it—
“…you control how fast we go…”
Then it tightened. Not a shift in sound, but in him. In pressure. In how he held her there.
Pulling her under with it.
“Jon….” Her voice broke—half plea.
He pulled back slightly, letting the pause stretch, anchoring her with his gaze over her shoulder. “Tell me, Crash.”
“Don’t stop,” she breathed, raw and desperate.
A slow smile pulled at his mouth, something sharper settling in his eyes.
“Good girl.”
The rhythm picked up again—firmer now, more assured.
Her breath hitched, a whimper slipping free. The music, the room—everything else dropped away. Only him.
Her hips moved again, instinctive now, grinding against his hand, chasing it without thought.
Then he slowed.
Not gone. Not away. Just enough to break her rhythm.
“Jon—” A warning, barely there.
“Stay with it.”
The pressure changed again—firmer, steadier, unrelenting.
“Almost there,” he murmured against her hair. “Let it go.”
Her body went tight—unbearable now, trembling as it built to the edge.
She went tight—too tight, trembling at the edge of it.
“Oh… God…” The sound broke out of her, raw.
And then she did.
Everything collapsed at once—breath, balance, thought—pulled straight into him as it hit. He caught her without breaking rhythm, arms locking around her as she melted back against him.
For a second, neither of them moved.
“Someone missed me.”
She let out a weak laugh and elbowed him lightly. “Nothing I couldn’t have handled myself.”
His mouth twitched.
“Says the bottle of Jack on the table. Were you planning on seducing me with your little game again?”
“I was,” she murmured. “But yours was more fun.”
“You’re trouble.”
“And you like it.”
Jon huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, finally loosening his hold enough for her to turn in his arms.
“Take me to bed or—”
“Don’t you dare finish that line. I will punish you.”
Her grin widened. “Promises, promises.”
She kissed the tip of his nose before slipping out of his arms long enough to grab the remote off the table. The music cut mid-guitar riff, leaving the house suddenly quieter except for the crackle of the fire.
Jon crossed to the fireplace, knocking the flames down until only low embers glowed behind the screen.
By the time he turned back, she was already halfway to the stairs in his shorts and nothing else, glancing over her shoulder like she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Trouble,” he muttered.
Her laugh carried softly up the staircase as he followed her upstairs to bed.