I’m going to stop.
Bev and Anna caught me off guard today with that crush bullshit, but starting next week, I’m going to phase out this little Tuesday outing. I’ll think of something to tell them that throws them off the scent before then, and hopefully, they’ll forget all about it.
It’s fine.
I’ve got this.
I find an empty bench not far from Crema and sit in the sun. I’ve seen Connor leave the coffee shop enough times that I’mconfident there’s no risk of him seeing me here. I’m out of the way and nowhere near his usual path.
I’m not going to see him, and he’s not going to see me.
All I have to do is pass enough time for Anna and Bev to believe I’ve met someone for coffee, and then I can go back to the office.
For shits and giggles, I close my eyes and raise my face to the sun. It’s not as satisfying as Connor makes it look. When I right my head, I’m vaguely dizzy and my neck hurts.
Now and again, I scan the backs of people leaving Crema. When I’m not doing that, I look at my watch. Connor usually spends twenty or thirty minutes with the redhead. He should be leaving the coffee shop soon. I try my best not to feel some kind of way about it, and I really, really try not to pay any attention to the catastrophic level of disappointment I feel, knowing I’ve been this close to him and haven’t caught sight of him.
Other than a few very knowing, very irritating looks from Anna and Bev, the rest of the afternoon passes without incident.
At exactly five on the dot, Bev snaps down her blind, packs up her things, and says, “Don’t stay too late.”
As I’m a hundred percent sure it’s not a good idea for me to spend any more time with Connor than I absolutely have to, I finish off a few things that could easily wait until tomorrow. I mean to take my time and drag my work out, but I end up accidentally rushing through it.
When I get home, I put my car in Park and switch off the ignition. I stare into space and don’t move for a while. I feel odd. Numb, like always, but that’s not all. There’s a tight bubble in my chest that’s taking up a lot of space. It’s warm, and it kind of quivers when I think of walking toward the door of the apartment and unlocking it.
Connor’s home. I know that because he messaged me to tell me we were having a stir-fry for dinner. He followed it up with a photograph of all the ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter.
He’s probably in the kitchen or living room, chilling or setting things on fire. That’s what he’s been up to almost every time I’ve walked into the apartment since I moved in. He’ll probably smile when he sees me, and it’ll probably be a smile that isn’t too big or too small. It’ll be relaxed. A laid-backyou’re homemore than a formal greeting.
I wake my screen and pull up his newest messages.
Are you almost home?
I’m starving.
If you’re not here by six, I’m going to start cooking.
He punctuated the last message with a smiling with horns emoji. It’s fucking dumb. There must be something seriously wrong with me because seeing the emoji makes the bubble in my chest grow bigger and more quivery, until it feels like something papery flapping under my ribs.
I get out of the car and call the elevator. It takes a goddamn age to come down. So long, I give up and opt for the stairs.
Anna’s right. They are faster.
I’m mildly out of breath when I get to the second floor, and I don’t want to walk in huffing and puffing, so I wait on thelanding until I catch my breath. I don’t have anything else to do while I wait, so I use the time to fix my hair.
As I make the third or fourth pass through my hair with my fingers, I catch myself and stop, horrified.
Jesus Christ, Bev and Anna better be wrong.
I better not have a fucking crush on Connor Lockwood.
No. No way. It’s not that. It can’t be. I’m just under a lot of pressure, and I feel better when I know my hair looks good. That’s all.
I slide my key into the lock and turn it. It gives with a soft, mechanical sigh. I push the door open and drop my bag at the entrance. I can’t smell smoke, so that’s something.
As expected, Connor is in the living room. He has one foot on the floor and the other bent at the knee, resting on the sofa. He must have been curled up on it when he heard me at the door. He’s midway way through getting up when he sees me. He stops moving. It leaves him frozen in an awkward position, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles exactly how I thought he would. Not too big and not too small. His cheeks bunch and his eyes glitter. They’re more green than blue this evening.
He smiles like he was expecting me.
