Amazingly, I find my focus again, adding a lot of substantial product to my paper, although I must admit it’s hard not to look for him in my peripheral. From what I can tell, he continues to read, but I think I see him (maybe?) look up once or twice. I will not allow myself the satisfaction of looking up to see for sure.
Thirty minutes later, my paper is finally complete. I read it over and submit it with a huge feeling of relief. As I’m packing up, I decide to chance one more look at the handsome stranger. I stand up to pack my laptop into its case, before slinging it on to my shoulder with my handbag.
Then I look up to see an empty table.
Bummer.
That’s right Mayzie, keep it light, this is not a big deal I tell myself. Who am I kidding? It’s going to take forever to stop thinking about this guy and where it could’ve gone if I’d not been such a chicken-shit and chanced just a few more words with him. No. I approached him, I let him know I existed. If something were to come of that, it would’ve, I reason with myself. I’m determined not to overanalyze or dissect the interaction to death. It’s self-sabotage. But still, bummer. I let out a long breath and head for the door. As I walk out to the street, he pushes off the brick wall of the building he’d been leaning on. Yeah, him. The guy. You know, the one I was just depressing over seconds ago. The one I was going to think about tonight while I shoveled a pint of Breyers into my trap. Surprised? Yeah, me too.
“Hi,” he says as I stop in front of him. His eyebrows are up, almost in a question.
“Hi,” I say back. He stares for a minute and then looks to both sides like someone will materialize out of nowhere and tell him what to say next. It’s adorable. And sexy, if I’m being honest. That a guy that looks and carries himself the way he does, seems nervous? Swoon.
“I can’t actually think of anything intelligent to say. I just wanted to talk to you. Again,” he finishes with a smile that looks self-deprecating. Say what now? This can’t be right. The thought never occurred to me what I’d do if my approaching him actually led to something. But there’s no way I’m not going with it. I let out a big exhale as I briefly look away and then back to meet his eyes. Here goes nothing.
“I’d like that too.”
His smile changes to one of relief and he lets out a soft chuckle. I like that he is confident in himself and yet is okay with showing me that he is feeling awkward in this moment. He’s humble.
I am so screwed.
2
Mayzie
“What’s your name?” he asks, keeping his smile warm.
“Mayzie.”
“I’m Jack,” he says, reaching his hand out for me to shake. I give him mine and feel that his hand is warm and callused. Fuck. The feel of his hand sends off a buzzing up my arm that happily nestles in my chest. He lets go only slightly, gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, and then releases them. I can feel my entire soul glow at the simple gesture, and I instantly miss the feel of his hand when he lets go and gestures toward the small park across the street. “Do you want to take a walk?” he asks.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply, nervously. I turn to show him my laptop bag. “Just let me throw this in my car.”
“Sure,” he says, and waits for me to walk over to my Altima and toss the computer in my back seat, keeping my handbag slung over my shoulder. He puts his hands in his pockets as we head across the street. “So, what brings you out on a Thursday morning?” he asks.
“I do copywriting for a living, and I was having trouble getting some work done at home. I thought a change of scenery would help. How about you?”
“Kind of the same thing. I had some work to get done too and just couldn’t focus, so I thought I’d get out for a bit,” he says, while nodding at my answer.
“Do you work from home?” I ask.
“Not completely,” he says, “More like a side gig.”
“Ah, I have one of those too. I walk dogs also,” I say, as we fall into step with each other on the sidewalk that leads through the middle of the trees in the park.
“Two jobs. Is that all?” He turns his face towards me, one corner of his mouth tilting up.
“They pay all the bills and I make my own hours where all are concerned, so it’s a win-win,” I say casually. “And I take online classes.”
“What classes do you take?” he asks.
“Writing,” I reply.
“Creative or professional?”
“Creative. Writing is kind of my thing, and I’d like to venture into something more with it. Professional or creative, I’m not sure yet. I just know I like the idea of being able to work from anywhere.”
“Are you something like a free spirit then?” he asks, looking amused.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I follow the rules, I pay my bills. I did the college thing for two years and managed to escape with an Associate’s. I found a job copywriting from home which appealed to me because I like being able to work when the motivation hits me, rather than punching a clock. Then I wanted a way to make extra money for when my copywriting work volume was low, but wanted to keep the freedom of choosing when I work, so I pick up dog walking clients when I want to.”
“Nice,” he says. “I can definitely respect that.”
“And what about you?” I volley back. “What’s this side gig?”
He draws in a long breath before letting it out. “I write songs,” he answers shyly. I almost stop walking.
“Are you serious?” I ask, as he gives me a curious look. “Don’t tell me... you’re in a band?”
“Would that stop you?” he asks.
“Stop me from what?”
“Talking to me.”
I look him straight in the eye so he knows I’m sincere. “No,” I say plainly. I don’t tell him how I’m really feeling on the inside, that I have a serious weakness for guys like him. The kind that are creative and expressive. They bring me to my knees (metaphorically). Every time. They can be dangerous, but I know that I’m not going to stop talking to him. Because I know as much as I could fall for him, I can’t stay away. I know that much about myself too well. And this is going to hurt. I used to not only fall for guys like this, I’d completely lose myself in them and let them take me over. But that was a long time ago and I have a new deal with myself: I’m going to feel things while staying true to myself, even though I still don’t feel like I know who I really am. I know this much - I’m worth a lot. A lot of respect and a lot of consideration. I will not compromise on that. I have to believe I can go into this with a level head.
We continue walking and I ask “So if writing songs for your band is your side gig, what is your main gig?”
“I bartend at The Cedar a few nights a week,” he answers. “Ever been there?”
“A couple of times, yeah. I haven’t seen you there though.”
“Are you sure you would’ve remembered me?” His smile turns playful.
“Yeah, I think I would have.” I try not to blush as I keep our slow stride. “What about the band you’re in? Do I know you guys?”
“We’re called Turn it Up,” he says, turning his head to me with a smile that borders on proud, yet manages to be modest.
“I like it. What kind of music?” Please be alternative.
“I guess you’d call us rock, or alternative rock. I don’t know if we fall into a category really. We just play what we want, what feels good.” He continues to look between me and the view in front of us.
“Again, I like it,” I say, starting to feel myself relax a little. “Do you play anywhere? Like local gigs or anything?”
“Yeah, we’ve played at The Cedar occasionally, and we’re hoping to line something up downtown.”
“What instrument do you play?”
“I do guitar and vocals.” Wow. The whole rock star fantasy starts forming in my head, and I try to picture this laid-back guy rocking his guitar and singing into a microphone while a bunch of groupies, myself included, swoon below the stage.
We
come to a bench and sit down. We’re both quiet for a few minutes until he asks me, “So what do you do when you’re not typing or walking dogs? What are things that you like to do?” He looks genuinely interested as he fixes my gaze with his.
“I like yoga and I dance at the studio uptown. And I really, really love to read.”
“Wow, what kind of books are you in to?” he asks, reclining back, his body turned slightly my way. He’s looking at me, really looking at me. It makes me mentally close in on myself, but I shake it off quickly.
I shrug. “Oh, I like those young adult dystopian novels and occasionally I like a good serious love story with maybe a little psychological thrill or suspense thrown in. The problem is, I’m so sensitive that I can only stand a seriously deep read every once in a while because they are so emotionally draining for me and I get a book hangover. So I have to spread those out with a lot of light hearted romantic comedies. I’d rather read something that makes me laugh anyway. I love laughing.”
“You love laughing?” he repeats. His midnight eyes come to life and sparkle behind his lashes. “I’ve never heard someone say they enjoy such a simple thing as laughing before. That’s great.”
“It’s my favorite thing to do in the world,” I say.
“You seriously just told me a lot about yourself,” he says, giving me the brightest smile I’ve seen yet.
“So,” I begin, feeling nerves twist in my stomach. I’m afraid to ask him this question, but my desire to know dominates the nerves. “What made you want to stick around and talk to me?” I really want to know. I need to know. This couldn’t be happening because of luck.
“I know it was probably weird how I approached you,” he says, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up at me. His eyes are intent on conveying his next words to me. Serious, but light and non-threatening. “I just know I was sitting at the table, completely zoned out when I heard you speak. I looked up and saw this person who I had never met before giving me the friendliest smile I’ve ever seen, and I could see so much sincerity behind it. Like you really wanted me to know how kind you are.”
I can’t even formulate a response to his answer. It’s so genuine and real, and it moves me to my core. How this stranger can make me feel so good about myself, and so understood, is so unexpected. I feel like he’s taught me just a tiny bit about myself, and I want to hang on to that, connect it with another piece of my puzzle when I find one. I can only continue to smile back at him.
He continues, “Maybe that sounds cliché, like a cheap come-on, but I tried to think of the last time someone looked at me like that. Like they wanted me to feel liked.” His voice is tender, like a tone he’d reserve for someone special.
Ok, I have to say something because I’m going to make this weird if I don’t. I’m just so blown away.
“I’m blown away,” I say, probably turning crimson. “I’ve never had anyone say anything like that to me before.”
“It’s the truth,” he says, shrugging. “And I’ve never seen anyone put such an obscene amount of sugar in their coffee.” Caught off guard again, I burst out laughing, my shoulders shaking. I’m embarrassed and I don’t really know why.
“Seriously, how can you stand that?” he asks, smiling and shaking his head incredulously.
“I don’t know,” I answer, shaking my head and trying to get the rest of my nervous giggles out. “I’ve just always liked my coffee like that. I got into coffee when I was probably a little too young. It was a little bitter, but I loved it when I added a pound of sugar.”
“Seriously though,” he continued, “I knew I wanted to know more and didn’t want it to end with me handing you a sugar canister.” He leaves his eyes on me for a moment, letting them flirt with mine as we sit in silence for a moment.
“I’ll be honest,” I reply, trying to swallow down my jitters. “I didn’t either.”
“I like that you’re not shy.” He gives my knee a friendly bump with his, sending electrical impulses up that side of my body and making my nerves go haywire again.
“Oh, trust me, I am.” I roll my eyes at myself.
“Well, I like that you’re not too shy to tell me that.” Another silence takes over, one that’s oddly comfortable for two people that have only just met. It’s a couple of minutes before he says, “So, we never talked about what kind of dancing you do,” with a wiggle in his eyebrows.
“Get your mind out of the gutter you perv,” I say, smiling at how easily I said that to him. “Not that kind of dancing. I like modern ballet. That one’s my favorite, and I do some jazz too.”
“Do you do it professionally, or just for fun?”
“For right now, it’s just for fun. I love it so much that I don’t want to ruin it for myself by trying to make a career out of it, but I wouldn’t say no to one necessarily. I wouldn’t mind dancing for a living, and even choreographing. At the dance studio we all take classes, but we take turns teaching as well. It’s a good time. What about the band? Is that something you want to see succeed? Like as a career?”
He takes his time answering before finally nodding. “Yeah…. Yeah, I’d like to see it go somewhere. I work hard and I’ll keep working hard.”
“It’s nice to hear someone say that. It’s a rare thing. I hope it goes how you want it to.”
“Thank you. And if I may say so, even though I’ve only known you about half an hour or so, I see you doing more than copywriting with your life.”
“Really? Why?” I ask.
“The writing, the dancing, the way you like to have freedom with your time… those signs all point to a creative person. In my mind, anyway.”
“Well, thanks. That’s really reaffirming, especially from a new acquaintance.”
“You ever try writing songs?” he asks. “Writer’s block can be a real bitch.” He looks down and runs his
hand through his long hair.
“I bet she can be. I did write some poems in high school that I suppose could’ve been songs if I were musically inclined,” I say, in a self-deprecating tone. “Is that why you’re out today? You’re having trouble writing?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Actually, it’s been a rough few months with my writing.”
“I know what it’s like getting stuck on a paper, but I’ve never experienced actual writer’s block. What is it like?”
“It’s when something you used to do so easily, just one day won’t show up for you. You keep writing every day, but everything you come up with is just…” he trails off for a second. “You look down at what you’ve written, and nothing will click. It won’t spark any kind of feeling, and it sounds like crap. It’s like you can almost see the mental block in your brain,” he says, bringing his finger to his temple.
“What kinds of songs do you usually write?” I ask.
“Some songs are just things I come up with. Others are based on real experiences I’ve had or people I know.”
“Well, I hope you can break through this wall and write more. I can see you like being creative too, and that shouldn’t have to be blocked. It should be shared with the world.” A look passes over his face, ever so quickly. It’s like one of realization, but it’s gone so quickly I think I must’ve imagined it.
“Can we see each other again?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere. A wave of disappointment comes over me as he seems to be signaling the end of conversation, but it’s quickly replaced with one of hope once I register that he just asked to see me again.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, nodding. “When?”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?” he asks. His eyes are hopeful and it gives me a zing through my chest.
I don’t want to seem over eager. I’ve had too many guys get excited about me, get me excited about them, and then turn around, freak out, and say things have moved too fast, and they’re spooked even when they were the ones to set the pace. I remind myself to just take it for what it is.
“No, I can do tomorrow,” I respond. “You feel l
ike getting writer’s block around the same time, or later in the day?” I joke.
He laughs. “Same time works for me. How about here at the park? That way we can decide to head somewhere else if we want to. You know, just kinda go with it?”
“Yeah. Wait a minute, do you like dogs?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, I’ve got one. Why? You want to bring one of your clients?”
“I thought I’d bring my own dog actually. She likes this park.”
“Great. What’s her name? Does she like other dogs?” he questions, with his eyebrows raised.
“Penny. And yeah, she’s a big playful puppy.”
“Then Trooper and I will see you and Penny in the morning.” And then he winks at the same time his dimple appears. Talk about a one-two punch.
“Sounds great,” I say. We stand awkwardly for a minute, and I decide to be the one to walk away first.
“Bye,” I say, bringing my teeth down on my lip with a nervous smile.
“Bye,” he says, still standing for a few beats as I walk. I wave over my shoulder, as I glance back to see him start walking away too. I head to my car, and then home, where I try to put him out of my mind. Ha!
3
Jack
“Holy shit,” I say to myself, as I get out of my truck and make my way up the path to my sister’s pool house… that I live in.
I’m inspired. For the first time in months. I need to get in the zone, immediately. No distractions. Break through.
“Holy shit,” I say again. I open the door and am immediately assaulted by Trooper, my German Shepherd. He jumps up from his cushion in the corner and comes bounding over to me. His paws are on my stomach and he’s nudging me to death with his big schnoz. He’s letting out a high-pitched whine, doing the best he can not to bark with excitement that I’m home. Holy hell, I was only gone for two hours. “Okay, okay,” I say trying to get him back down on the floor, while scratching his ears. “DOWN,” I say, when he doesn’t cooperate. He listens, and sits with his tail thumping like a mallet on the wood floor. “Okay, good boy, that’s it. Calm the hell down and then I give you attention, see how that works?” He finally chills out after another couple of minutes. I give him one last pat on the head and head to my desk that sits in the corner of the kitchen, rifling through it for my notebook. I called my sister, Sarah, on my way home and asked where it was. She’d insisted earlier that I needed to get out of the house for a break, so she held it hostage. When I told her that I needed to write in it, ASAP, she practically cackled with delight at the notion she was right, that I’d find something to write about if I got out. I find it in the top side drawer where she said she left it, flip it open and grab a pen as I sit down.
See Her (Turn it Up Book 1) Page 2