by Noelle Adams
“You’re doing better than okay,” I say, trying to clear the emotion from my throat. “I’m so glad you still decided to... to...”
“To be better. To be the man you saw in me. I’m going to keep trying to be him even if you never want to talk to me again.” The words linger in the air, surrounding me, filling me. Then he dispels the tension with a little quirk of a smile. “But I hope you’ll talk to me again. If you like your coffee, you should come to get another one someday.”
“I will. I work in coffee shops sometime. I could work here occasionally.”
“I would love that. And I wouldn’t even talk to you if you don’t want me to. I might look at you occasionally, but I’m not sure I could help that.” He twitches his eyebrows, making what I’m sure is a real sentiment into something easy, almost playful.
I laugh and reach out to touch his sleeve. “I will. I feel better about things now. Better than I have since London.”
“Me too.”
“Okay.” I take a sip of my drink and then stand up. “I’m going to go now. Only because I still feel like I might burst into tears. But I’ll come back. I’ve got to go out of town for work on Monday, but I should be back before the end of the week. I might come by next Saturday if it works out.”
“I hope you do.”
“Maybe we could... we could be... friends... or something.” I end what was supposed to be an appropriate conclusion rather lamely.
He doesn’t seem to mind. He inclines his head in an attempt to see my face behind the curtain of hair I’ve let drop. “Being friends with you would be a miracle.”
I give him a rather soggy smile. Then I make a hasty retreat. But I’m smiling as I leave.
Things are okay. I can go back to see him next weekend. We can try to be friendly. I have time to figure everything else out. He’s not expecting anything from me.
I don’t have to have everything worked out right now.
I DO GO BACK THE FOLLOWING Saturday. And the Saturday after that.
Every time I go in, Richard and I chat a little while longer. Nothing deep or intense or complicated. Just friendly.
I learn the less crowded times and start to come in then instead so there aren’t crowds of people checking us out.
One Friday evening, about five weeks after the first time I went in, I’m working from a table in the corner by the window. I got here a few hours ago. Richard fixed us a sandwich when I arrived. He cut it down the middle. I took half, and he ate the other. We talked about our days. Our jobs. A customer who comes in every single day and tries to hit on him every time.
When the place got busier as people started coming in after work, he went to help out behind the counter while I work.
Every once in a while, I glance over at him. Sometimes I catch him watching me. He doesn’t try to hide it. He smiles, and I have to smile back.
I feel good about him now. Safe. Like what we have isn’t going to hurt me.
Maybe this is all it will ever be. If that’s the case, I’ll be just fine. It no longer feels like there’s a gaping wound in my life the way it felt when I broke up with him.
I do still want to have sex with him. That hasn’t gone away. In fact, every time I see him, I feel it more and more. I look at his hands and imagine them touching me. I look at his lips and feel them kissing me. I look at his body and want it to be moving against mine.
But that is not safe. Not safe at all. Not the way this is.
And it’s better to be safe than hurt again even if it means I don’t get to have sex with him.
The crowd thins out at around eight. There are just a few couples who look like they might be on dates and a group of women clearly having a girls’ night.
Richard comes back to take the other chair at my table. “Tell me if I’m interrupting your work.”
“You are interrupting, but I could use the interruption. This is getting tedious, and I always know if I’m boring myself, then I’m going to be boring anyone else who’s reading it.”
I close my computer, and we start talking again.
He mentions a customer who just left, asking why I was looking at him that way. I explain the man reminded me of my father.
Then we start talking about my father. About how he treated me. About how it made me feel. And then Richard tells me a little about his uncle—the similarities between them. They aren’t exactly the same kind of experience. Even with his strictness, I know my dad loved me. Richard never had that. Not since his parents died when he was five.
We talk about our childhoods, both of us completely vulnerable, and it’s as deep, as real, as anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.
When the conversation finally trails off, the coffee shop is completely empty. The barista is wiping down the tables.
Richard sees her, glances at his watch, and stands up. “You can head home, Melanie. I’ll close up.”
“But it’s just a quarter of—”
“It’s fine. Take off. There’s no one here.”
“Thanks.” She smiles at Richard and then smiles at me. “See you tomorrow.”
I don’t know if she’s saying that to Richard or to me. It could be either one of us. I don’t come here every day, but I’ve been coming more and more often.
Tomorrow is Saturday. It’s entirely likely that at some point during the day I’m going to want to see Richard. Especially after the conversation we just had.
It felt really special.
We hang out for fifteen minutes until closing time. Then Richard locks the door and starts to put up some of the equipment. I should probably go ahead and leave, but I don’t want to. So I find a broom behind the counter and start to sweep since the floors are dirty and they should be cleaned before the end of the day.
“Hey,” Richard says after a few minutes, coming out and finding me sweeping. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“That’s my job.”
“Actually, it’s probably Melanie’s job, but you sent her home.”
“So it’s my job.” He comes over to reach for the broom. “Not yours.”
He tries to take the broom from me, but I don’t let him.
He frowns. “Gillian.”
“What? I was sweeping. What’s wrong with that?”
“You don’t have to work. You’re a customer.”
“Maybe. But I notice you didn’t make me pay for my drink or the sandwich, so the least I can do is—”
“I’m not expecting you to work for your food.” He tries again to pull the broom from my grip.
I resist.
We end up having a silly scuffle over the broom. Pretty soon I start to laugh, but I don’t let go of the handle, despite Richard’s clever attempts to wrest it from me.
He’s laughing too, chuckling low and soft. Eventually he lets go of the broom and instead grabs for my waist, trying to swing me out of my defensive stance.
It’s a good move. It startles me so much I squeal. Then I try to swat at him and in the process drop the broom.
“Victory!” He raises his arms in triumph.
I love him like this. I always have. Playful in a way he almost never is.
I give him a little shove in defiance of his declaration. Being me, instead of succeeding in this endeavor, I only end up tripping on the broom.
I almost go down, but Richard catches me, pulling me toward him instinctively to keep me from falling.
I end up pressed against his chest. His lean, hard body. I’m flushed and breathless and throbbing with... with so much. I gaze up at him, wanting, wanting, wanting everything I see in his face.
His eyes are so tender. And the warmth transforms into heat as one of his hands slides up to cup the back of my head. He leans toward me. There’s a kiss in his eyes, on his lips, in his hands.
It’s going to happen. I know it. And I want it so much.
But the degree to which I want it terrifies me, and the flash of fear is enough to slice
through the wave of warm yearning.
I rear back slightly. Richard drops his hands immediately. Takes a half turn away from me. “Sorry,” he murmurs, looking down at the broom on the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I never would have...”
“I know, Richard. I know. It wasn’t just you. I wanted to too.”
He flashes me a quick, searching look.
“But I still don’t know...” I’m about to babble. I can feel it coming. I take a few deep breaths and try to think clearly. “We can be friends. I’m so happy we’re friends. It feels... safe to me. But to be more, to be... that... it would have to feel safe to me too, and right now it doesn’t.”
I think he’s disappointed. I can sense it in him even though he nods quietly, his expression relaxed. “I understand. I’d never push. I still want you... a lot, and sometimes it comes out even though I know better. But I’ll never push you, Gillian. I’ll never pressure you.”
“I know you won’t. Thank you for that. And I understand if... I mean, I’m not upset.”
He swallows and nods. “So you’re not going to start staying away because I...”
I give a little huff of a laugh. “No. I’m not going to stay away. I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
He smiles. It changes his whole demeanor. He’s always been more handsome than any man has a right to be, but he’s almost unbearably attractive right now.
I take a shaky breath. “It’s late. I should get going.”
“If you wait just a minute, I can walk you back. Or drive you if you’d rather.”
“I’ll be—”
“It’s late. If you insist, I’m not going to argue, but I’d rather you not walk all that way by yourself at this time of night.”
There’s a little part of me that wants to argue, but it’s a silly, irrational part of me. He’s right. It’s late. I don’t really want to walk a half hour in the city at this time of night. “You can drive me. No reason for you to have to walk all the way back.”
“Sounds good,” he says. “Let me just turn off the lights and grab my keys.”
While he does that, I sweep up the pile of dust I collected earlier. I don’t care if he doesn’t want me to do it.
It was a job half-done, and I’ve never liked to leave things like that.
I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning excited about seeing Richard again. Jittery. Restless. Pulsing with expectation.
Obviously I know what these feelings are signs of, and I try to give myself a lecture in the shower, reminding myself that things are good between us right now. Things are safe and settled and not exploding my whole world.
No lines have been crossed. No foundations shaken. If I take one more step, everything I’ve built back up for myself could collapse.
I should probably keep my distance. Not a lot. Just a little. Just to play it safe. I shouldn’t go hang out at the coffee shop this morning. Maybe later today I could stop by and get a drink to go so Richard doesn’t think I’m upset. That way I won’t be risking taking a step that could change everything.
This seems like a good plan to me, and I see no reason I shouldn’t carry it out. Which is why it’s so strange and confusing that I end up at the coffee shop at eight thirty that morning with my laptop and no plans to leave anytime soon.
Richard is working in the office, so I get coffee and a muffin from Melanie, who greets me like an old friend. I’m tempted to stick my head in Richard’s office to say good morning, but I do manage to stop myself from doing that.
I’ll see him when he comes out. He always does eventually.
I work for a while, too distracted to accomplish as much as I should. When Richard appears, he goes over to talk to Melanie. She must have mentioned my presence because he turns toward me with a stiffening of surprise.
The smile on his face takes my breath. Literally takes it.
He comes over to chat for a while. Then he helps out behind the counter when the place gets busier. I work, managing to get some stuff done by forcing myself to write a paragraph before I can look over at Richard again.
I get a lot of paragraphs written because I want to look at him so much.
When the morning rush fades, Richard comes over with a bowl of homemade butternut squash soup and a piece of french baguette for me. I hadn’t realized it was lunchtime, but I’m hungry, so I accept the food gratefully.
We talk for a while. I see him watching me a lot when he thinks he can do it unnoticed. Like he’s looking for something in my face. Trying to read my thoughts.
Trying to figure out what I’m feeling.
It’s a worthy pursuit since I have no idea what I’m feeling myself.
After a while, Stella, who buses tables and does odd jobs on the weekends, comes over to the table.
When we both glance up at her, she says, “Sorry to interrupt when you’re with your girlfriend, but there’s a call for you. Mike at Owen Foods.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Richard starts to get up. “But she’s not—”
“I know. I know.” Stella rolls her eyes. “She’s not your girlfriend.” After Richard strides back toward the office to take the call, she turns to me with a conspiratorial smile. “For someone who insists you’re not his girlfriend, he sure does look at you like you’re the only sun in his world.”
My lips part in surprise at the sentiment.
Stella is looking over her shoulder at Richard’s back, which is disappearing into the office. “I sure would like to one day find someone who’ll look at me the way he looks at you.”
It’s then.
Right then.
That’s when I know what to do.
I say something to Stella—I have no idea what—and hurry in the direction Richard went. He’s on the phone when I get to the half-open office door. I hear his voice, having some sort of routine conversation with a distributor.
I lean against the wall of the hallway and wait, a deep shuddering inside me that’s slowly overtaking my body.
When I hear him hang up the phone, I push into the office without warning.
He’s taken by surprise. I see it in his face. In the way a smile awakens in his eyes at my unexpected presence here. He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance.
I close the office door and then close the distance between us, pushing him back against the one free wall in the room and kissing him hard.
He kisses me back immediately, one hand coming up to hold my head in place and his lips eager, urgent. But after a short time, he pulls away, scanning my face almost desperately. “Gillian?”
“What?” I kiss him again.
This one lasts even longer. Richard really gets into it, turning us around so I’m the one trapped against the wall. My whole body hums. Sings. Cries out to the heavens about how glorious it is.
How right.
But he pulls away again eventually. “Baby, what’s happening here?”
“I’m kissing you.”
“I know that, but why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Why do you want to?” His eyes never stop moving as they look for an answer on my face. “Please tell me why. Please tell me whether I can... I can hope.”
“You can hope,” I say, unable to stop smiling. “You can hope all you want. I don’t want to ever stop kissing you.”
He gasps softly and takes my head in both his hands, tilting it up to face him. “Really? Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously. You love me.” I’m beaming like a fool.
He frowns. “Um, yes. But how does that suddenly make the difference? It’s not exactly a new revelation to you, is it?”
“No. But I suddenly... I don’t know... I suddenly believe it. For real. I finally trust that it’s real. You love me, and I can believe that it’s real. It’s going to last. And I love you too. No matter what I thought I wanted, it’s never going to go away.”
He makes a rough groan and pulls me into a hard hug. “I do love you, Gillian. I love you so mu
ch.”
“I know. I love you too.”
He pulls away to check my face again. “And you’ve forgiven me? You think you can trust me?”
“Yes. I can trust you. I can see how you’re trying. I can see how much you’ve changed. I’m so proud of you. Happy for you. I want to... I want to share your new life with you. It’s not enough to just be your friend. I want to be everything.”
He hugs me again, and this time he’s shaking. Literally shaking. With emotion. Maybe even with tears. His head is buried against the crook of my neck, so I can’t see his face.
I don’t need to. I know exactly what he’s feeling because I’m feeling it too.
He’s happier than he’s ever been in his life.
And I am too. Right there in the back office of a coffee shop, with the sounds of the world going on just outside the door.
I never actually believed I would get here. It is a new life for me. A third life. But it’s also just my life.
And from now on that life will be lived with Richard.
THE FUNNY THING IS the world doesn’t clear all obstacles out of the road for my climactic reconciliation with Richard. The coffee shop gets really busy all of a sudden, so he needs to help out behind the counter. I’ve got a shopping date planned with Ashley, and it seems silly to cancel when Richard needs to work, so I go ahead and meet her like we’d planned.
She’s thrilled for me. With complete and unqualified excitement. The reservations that she and Sean had about Richard before have been cleared up with the past months’ proof of his attempts to build a new life for himself. She even cries when I tell her that Richard and I are back together.
Then she explains she’s partly crying because of hormones. She’s three months pregnant.
So it’s a very good couple of hours even though part of me is itching to get back to Richard.
I head back to my apartment when we’re done, texting Richard that I’m home and he can come over whenever he’s able to get away. I really have no idea what time that will be. Since he’s the owner and not a member of the staff, he can leave whenever he wants. But he doesn’t like to take off when they need his help. So I figure he’ll show up in a couple of hours.