Deceiving Appearances

Author's Note: Hello, dear readers, and a very happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! I don't have much to say to introduce this story, other than that I'm fond of it and I hope you will be as well. As a disclaimer, I'm neither a software developer nor a graphic artist, so please forgive any mistakes I may have made in describing either profession. As always, all characters engaging in sexual activity are over the age of eighteen.

***

Deceiving Appearances

Growing up, my mother always told me that I should never judge a book by its cover. I'd understood what was meant by the saying, but I'd always thought it was strange advice - wasn't the entire point of a book cover to advertise the contents of the book to would-be readers? I'd never devoted too much brain power to puzzling through that saying, but its meaning became crystal clear to me the moment I met Nash Ellison.

If Nash were a book, his cover would make a person browsing the shelves assume he was some kind of avant-garde horror novel. His dark hair brushed his shoulders and often fell in his hazel eyes. His lean six-foot-one frame was usually clad in dark jeans, a black leather jacket, and a rotating carousel of t-shirts featuring cover art from metal bands like Iron Maiden and Helloween. He had multiple piercings, including rings through the right side of his lower lip and his left eyebrow, and tattoos on both arms.

Imagine my surprise when I opened that book and found a warm and happy children's story about rainbows and fluffy bunnies, since that was the most apt metaphor for Nash's personality I could think of.

I'd met Nash on my first day of work at the tech company I'd joined after graduating with my bachelor's degree in computer science. Being twenty-two and fresh out of school, I'd been pretty nervous as I'd gotten settled at my new desk to begin my career as a software developer. He'd popped his head over the adjoining cubicle wall and flashed me the sweetest and most genuine smile I'd ever seen as he welcomed me to the firm.

I remembered being a bit surprised at first when he'd stepped around into my cubicle and I'd seen his full appearance, but his warmth and friendly demeanor had soon put me at ease. He'd bent over backwards that day to help me get set up and make me feel like I belonged, and we'd been friends ever since.

It had been four years, and he was easily my closest friend in the office. We were close enough that he could tell I was in a funk one Wednesday morning and unilaterally decided that he was taking me down to the coffee shop on the first floor of the building and treating me to my beverage of choice.

"Iced coffee, medium roast, black," he announced, setting the drink in question down on the table in front of me.

I smiled. "You remembered how I take it."

"It's not exactly a complicated order, Lena," he chuckled, sitting down across from me with his latte. "You wanna talk about whatever's bothering you?"

"What makes you think something's bothering me?"

He gave me a look, the expression in his hazel eyes leaving no room for denial.

I sighed. "Fine. Robbie called me last night."

Nash raised his eyebrow, the ring pierced through it jiggling slightly as he did so. "I thought you left him two months ago?"

"I did," I confirmed. "He screamed at my little sister for interrupting our evening together when she came over crying and needing to talk to me about her boyfriend cheating on her. I have no desire to be with someone who lacks basic empathy."

He nodded. "It's an admirable line in the sand."

"Anyway," I continued. "Last night he was drunk off his ass and called me up, basically begging me to take him back."

"Please tell me you're not going to," Nash groaned.

I scoffed. "Of course not, I told him to go pound sand. I don't tolerate his particular brand of toxic douchebagery. We were only together for as long as we were because it took those full three months for him to show his true colors. He seemed so nice when we first got together..."

"Just because someone seems nice doesn't mean they are nice," Nash pointed out.

He wasn't wrong about that. I had a track record of dating nice-seeming, clean-cut, All-American type guys who turned out to be jerks. Since I didn't tolerate jerks, none of my relationships ended up lasting very long. It was becoming a frustrating cycle.

"That frown on your face is bringing me dangerously close to breaking out some of my patented 'groaner' jokes," Nash warned me, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I grinned despite myself. "Honestly, your goofy sense of humor might be just what the doctor ordered."

"Ask and ye shall receive," he pronounced before clearing his throat. "What should you say when your best work friend buys you an iced coffee?"

"I don't know, what should you say?" I took a sip of the beverage in question.

"Cool beans."

I almost choked on the liquid as I burst into laughter. "Dang, Nash. That was a hell of a dad joke there. Are you sure you don't have some kids somewhere that I don't know about?"

He smiled broadly, his lip ring glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the shop window. "Nope, not yet. I'd like to have kids someday, though. That way I'll actually have someone to embarrass with my dad jokes."

"You'd honestly make a great dad," I told him, resting my chin on my hand thoughtfully. "You have just the right combination of goofiness and patience, and you're about the nicest person I've ever met."

I could've sworn I saw a slight blush rise in his cheeks.

"Thanks, Lena. That actually means a lot to me." A serious look clouded his hazel eyes momentarily before dissipating, leaving only his usual cheerfulness. "Tell you what: I'm going over to the humane society after work tonight to do some volunteering. Why don't you come with me? Playing with fluffy puppies and kittens for a few hours should pull you right out of whatever funk that jackass Robbie put you in. What do you say?"

Nash was a regular volunteer at the local humane society. He had the biggest bleeding heart I'd ever encountered where animals were concerned, and watching him soothe a frightened cat or scrunch his face up with laughter as an overly enthusiastic dog licked it all over was enough to melt even the most frigid of souls. I'd once even seen him lie down on the floor in a room full of puppies and let them climb all over him to their little hearts' content while he giggled like he was having the absolute time of his life.

Nash may have looked intimidating on the outside, but he was a giant teddy bear of a man on the inside.

I smiled at his suggestion. "Sure, why not?"

He positively beamed at my answer.

When we finished up with work that evening, Nash and I walked the six or so blocks to the humane society's facility.

"Good to see you, Nash!" the middle-aged woman working the front desk greeted him. "How are you doing?"

He smiled. "I'm great, thanks, Vera. This is my friend Lena Becker. She's going to volunteer with me tonight."

Vera shook my hand. "That's wonderful! It's nice to meet you, Lena. Any friend of Nash's is always welcome here. Nash, would you mind starting off in the cat room? That litter of kittens could use your attention."

"Sure thing, Vera," he replied, heading down a hallway to the right and motioning for me to follow him. "A litter of five orphaned kittens was brought in while I was volunteering last week," he explained to me. "They seem to think I'm their mother."

"Awwww, that's super cute," I cooed, already feeling my mood lift. "Mama Nash. That has a nice ring to it."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, opening the door to the cat room for me. The walls were lined with large kennels, some of which held napping residents, while the open area in the center was filled with various scratching posts and cat trees. Seven or so cats of various ages wandered around, sniffing each other, rubbing on furniture, and sharpening their claws on the carpeted towers.

Nash went over to one of the kennels and opened it up, extracting a fluffy cat bed with five tiny balls of fur perched on it.

"Hi there, babies," he greeted them in a soft, soothing tone. "Did you miss me?" He carried them over to a part of the room separated from the main area by a low wall and set the bed down on the floor, taking a seat next to it.

"We use this area to socialize younger or shier cats before letting them roam free," he told me. "Socializing is a big part of what I help with. It makes it more likely they'll bond with an adopter."

I sat down next to him. "How can I help?"

He smiled at me. "Just pet them, snuggle them, show them affection. It helps them become more comfortable around people."

A few of the kittens had already ventured off of their bed and begun to climb up Nash's jean-clad legs. One, an orange tabby, mewed loudly at him.

"Why yes, Jonesy, I did bring a friend today," Nash replied as though having a conversation with the tiny creature.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you name him after the cat in Alien?"

He gave me a lopsided grin. "Guilty as charged. He kind of looks like him, doesn't he?"

"Fair enough," I conceded, recalling the time we'd watched the film together and how loudly I'd screamed during the chest-burster scene, much to Nash's amusement. "What did you name the others?"

He pointed at the two still curled up on the bed. "That's Ripley and Jack. This," he gestured to the calico that had settled on his lap, "is Mina. And the one using my shoe to sharpen his claws is Freddy."

"So you named literally all of them after horror movie characters," I laughed.

"Yup. Once I named Jonesy, I decided to stay on theme."

Still chuckling, I gently lifted Freddy up before he completely shredded Nash's black Converse. He mewed in protest before accepting the move when I started stroking his dark fur. Soon enough, he was purring.

"Aw, Freddy likes you!" Nash crooned.

I scratched behind the kitten's ears. "Well, the feeling's mutual. I honestly don't know how you can come here every week and not take literally every single animal home with you."

"Believe me, I wish I could," he chuckled. "But my building only allows two pets per tenant and I already have Eddie and Ace."

I nodded in understanding, having made friends with Nash's two rescue cats while over at his apartment for a party the year prior.

"I'm just happy I can come here and help them until they find their forever homes." He pressed a soft kiss to Jonesy's head at that and my heart melted a bit.

Jonesy, on the other hand, apparently saw this as a golden opportunity to play with a previously out-of-reach shiny object and pawed at Nash's lip ring.

"Careful there, buddy," Nash chuckled when one of the kitten's claws hooked around the metal and gave it a tug.

I smiled to myself, still stroking Freddy's tiny head. Nash was quite possibly the world's sweetest man, and I considered myself extremely fortunate to be able to count him among my friends.

After an hour or so, we moved to the dog room to give some of the residents their baths. I zoned out as we soaped and rinsed a friendly terrier mix, my mind wandering back to the phone call from Robbie and how utterly stupid I'd been to date him for as long as I had.

"Hey." Nash nudged me with his shoulder, seeming to sense that I was slipping back into realms of self-doubt. "You okay?"

I shook off the thoughts that had been swirling. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Knock, knock."

I rolled my eyes but smiled, knowing and appreciating that he was trying to make me laugh. "Who's there?" I asked, deciding to play along.

"John."

"John who?"

Smirking, Nash suddenly squirted me with the hose he'd been using on the dog.

"John the Baptist."

"Gah!" I shrieked as the cold water dripped down my face. "You little shit! If I weren't absolutely positive this dog would narc on me, I'd smack you silly."

He let out a jovial laugh. "I'd pay good money to see you try. I could just put my hand on your forehead and hold my arm out straight, and you wouldn't be able to reach me."

I was about to comment that he was twenty-eight going on twelve when Vera entered the room.

"Nash, there's a family here interested in adopting a dog. We've met with them a couple of times and did a home check, and we think they'd be a good fit for Ziggy. They came by to meet him. I was hoping you could introduce them and tell them a bit about him."

He smiled brightly at that. "Absolutely. Send them my way."

As Vera left to go get the family, Nash turned to me excitedly. "I'm so happy we might finally have a family for Ziggy. He's been here for a long time."

I toweled off the terrier we'd been bathing as he walked over to one of the kennels along the wall and opened it. A large black fuzz ball came trotting out. He seemed to be a mix of different breeds, and I noticed he had a scar running down the side of his face.

"Hey, Zigs!" Nash greeted the dog, bending down to pet him. "There's some people here to see you."

Ziggy licked his face.

The door to the room opened and Vera led in a family of three - two parents and a young girl of about seven.

"Hi there!" Nash greeted them brightly, walking over to them with Ziggy following obediently at his side. "My name's Nash and I'm one of the volunteers here."

Both parents shook his hand before he bent down to greet the girl.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Sarah," she replied shyly. "Why do you have metal in your face? You look scary."

"Sarah," her mother chastised her quietly. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

Nash laughed it off. "It's alright, I promise I've heard far worse." He turned his attention back to the girl. "Sarah's a pretty name. I'm sorry I look scary to you. Would I still be scary if I did this?"

The little girl nearly doubled over with laughter as he crossed his eyes puffed out his cheeks like a bullfrog.

"No," she giggled. "You're not scary. You're silly."

He grinned and nodded at her. "I am indeed very, very silly. Sometimes, things that look scary are actually really nice, like my friend Ziggy here."

Well played, Nash, I thought to myself, marveling at his ability to turn a seven-year-old's brutal appraisal of his appearance into advocacy for the dog he was hoping she'd adopt.

"Ziggy's one of the sweetest dogs I've ever known, even if he looks tough with that scar on his face," he explained to the family.

"What happened to him?" the father asked, letting Ziggy sniff his hand.

"We're not sure exactly," Nash told him. "He was rescued from the streets a while back, so it's possible another animal attacked him. He's actually very smart; I helped train him. Never seen him so much as growl at a person, either. He seems to like everybody, especially kids."

Sarah had begun to pet Ziggy, who panted happily at the attention. "I like him," she pronounced, hugging the dog around the middle.

Her mother beamed. "That's good enough for me."

And just like that, Ziggy had found his forever home. Once all the paperwork was complete, Nash gave him a goodbye pet and watched wistfully as he left with his new family.

"I'm gonna miss him," he told me.

I patted his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. But you helped save his life. Thanks to you, he's getting his happily ever after."

He smiled at that.

***

I was in a great mood when I got back to my apartment that evening. It quickly dissipated, however, when I noticed a piece of paper that had been shoved under my door and unfolded it to find a note from my idiot ex-boyfriend. Robbie had apparently decided to make good use of his training as a trial lawyer and had attempted to lay out an argument for why I should take him back. He'd even included a bulleted list of "desirable" traits he supposedly possessed, none of which were things I even remotely cared about.

He had a high salary? I made my own money.

He had connections to powerful people in politics? I thought politicians were slimy.

He was "assertive" and decisive? I just viewed him as a bossy asshole.

Wanting to put a definitive stop to his decidedly unromantic attempts to woo me back, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted him:

I'm not taking you back, Robbie. Lose my number.

Once I'd hit send, I blocked him.

His note was ridiculous, but it did get me thinking. When grappling with a difficult choice or situation, I often made lists of my own to externalize my thoughts and sift through them objectively. I'd had no luck whatsoever finding Mr. Right going by gut feeling alone, and I wondered if it were time for me to sit down and really think through what I wanted in a partner.

Deciding such an approach couldn't hurt, I grabbed a notebook and pen from the desk in my living room and flopped onto my couch. Recalling the event that had led me to dump Robbie along with the smorgasbord of negative experiences I'd had with men over the years, I started writing my list of traits I wanted in a man:

Empathy

Kindness

Intelligence

Positivity

A sense of humor

A functional moral compass

Authentic

Helps others

Considerate of my needs

Respects me as a person

None of that seemed like too much to ask. It shouldn't have felt like searching for the Holy Grail. As I read my list over, I considered what each trait would look like in another person and a realization slowly dawned on me:

Every single example my brain had generated was of Nash.

I had essentially written a list of things I liked about Nash.

I dropped the notebook on my coffee table like it had burned me, pondering whether I'd allowed recency bias to disrupt my objectivity. I had just spent the evening with Nash, after all, so his personality traits were fresh in my mind. That had to be it.

I'd have been lying if I said I'd never noticed that Nash was an attractive man. He was. His hazel eyes sparkled when he laughed, he kept himself in good shape, and his signature lopsided grin was downright adorable.

But he was Nash. The same Nash who surreptitiously counted how many f-bombs our Bronx-raised head of sales dropped during meetings and conspiratorially texted me the tally. The same Nash who listened to speed metal on his desk headphones and headbanged when he thought no one was watching. The same Nash who sometimes tossed crumpled-up doodles he'd drawn at me over the cube wall when he was bored, knowing they'd make me giggle.

I was unable to shake the intrusive thoughts about Nash from my mind as I got ready for bed and tried in vain to rest. Nash was my friend, and even if he were a viable romantic prospect, I'd risk disrupting the bond we'd formed over four years if he didn't see me that way. I'd never dated anyone like him. I had no idea if he'd ever dated anyone like me, or if I were even remotely his type. I knew I was decent-looking, but I was best described as "slightly-nerdy girl-next-door" while Nash was... well, Nash. It took me until three in the morning to get my brain to shut up and let me fall asleep.

I spent the following weeks wrestling with how I viewed Nash. I noticed little things I hadn't before, like how patient and nurturing of a mentor he was to the newer graphic designers in our firm. He would bring them onto projects he was working on to help them gain experience and gently guide them as they embarked on projects of their own. I also noticed that he went out of his way to care for the team's mental and emotional wellbeing with little gestures, like bringing in snacks for the group or acting as a sounding board when someone needed to vent.