He asked about genres, authors, and how people felt about some of the hyped big-name authors.Asked me what I was reading, if I believed in happy endings...in fairytales.
I couldn't remember anyone ever asking me that before.
It seemed to start off harmless.
Friendly.
Sweet.
Until he looked at me like he was learning me on purpose.
He came back again on Friday.
This time, it was a gift for a friend.A birthday.
But again, he asked more questions than he answered.
Let me ramble about classic vs.contemporary, debate whether romance was underrated as a literary genre, it is, and leaned on the counter with that half-smile like he was soaking me in.
And then the weekend came…
And he didn’t show.
I told myself it was fine, I was glad.
Relieved even.
If he stopped coming around, I wouldn't have to think too hard about how he made me nervous, how I could feel sparks between us that I didn't understand.
Maybe it was for the best.
He hadn’t asked for my number again.Hadn’t flirted too heavily.Hadn’t promised anything.
Maybe I imagined it all.The connection.The spark.The way it felt like something was building.
Maybe he decided I wasn't worth chasing after.
Maybe it was nothing.
And yet… part of me still looked toward the door every time the bell jingled.
By Monday morning, Abby’s little guy was still sick, and I’d worked all weekend alone.
I was tired.A little crispy around the edges.Running mostly on caffeine and spite.
So when I got to the store early to open up and sawhimwaiting on the bench outside with two takeout cups in hand, I almost dropped my keys.
It was like he took all the oxygen with him, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.
He stood as I approached, looking freshly showered like he didn’t already have the unfair advantage of beingthatattractive.
“Morning,” he said, handing me one of the cups.“Took a wild guess you like it sweet.”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“I...thanks,” I said.“You didn’t have to...”
“I wanted to.”He paused.“I was hoping to see you.”
