I tapped out a message, my heart racing as I tried to sound casual yet open.
Me: Hey, Austin. You guessed right—I got your email. What’re your big plans for the day?
Did that sound desperate? I was overanalyzing the entire message.
I turned, looking at the large mirror propped up against the wall, and walked over to it. My house was littered with mirrors. It was a thing.
When I was younger, I was always expected to maintain a certain image. My mother would often criticize my appearance, making me stand in front of the mirror and list everything I could have worn better, done differently, or improved upon. It became such an ingrained habit that I now felt the need to constantly check my reflection, analyzing my appearance, my outfit, and my actions over and over.
I scanned my reflection, and the familiar habit kicked in. My eyes drifted to the snug fit of my yoga leggings, wondering if they were too tight, if they showed too much. I traced the line of my hips, mentally critiquing how they flared out and how I should probably wear something looser. I moved up to my top, a simple fitted T-shirt, and frowned. Maybe it clung too much, maybe it was too plain. I tugged at the hem, trying to smooth it out, though I knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
I looked at my face next, noting the dark circles under my eyes that my concealer couldn’t fully hide. My hair, usually pulled back neatly, had a few strands escaping, and I debated whether I should redo it, make it look more polished. My fingers automatically went to my skin, feeling for any blemishes or imperfections.
All the things I’d heard from my mother echoed in my mind—how to stand straighter, smile brighter, wear colors that suited me better. It was like she was there, whispering her criticisms, and I couldn’t help but run through them, one by one.
The only thing that pulled me from my thoughts was the familiar beep of my phone. I walked away from the mirror and grabbed it.
Austin: I’m over by the lake, figuring you lived nearby, so how about now?
Now? Right now?
I can’t go now.
Oh, shit. I could definitely go. Nothing was stopping me. It’s not like I had some big grand plan in place before all this.
I sprinted up the stairs and headed straight for my bedroom. The space was my little haven, all whites and soft pink accents, with everything oversized and carrying that old-world charm I’d always loved. No time to focus on any of that, though. I threw open the drawers, hands fumbling as I grabbed a pair of jeans—the ones that always fit right—and a pink linen button-down. I didn’t even think twice about it. I needed something casual but put together.
I slipped on the jeans, buttoned the top, and grabbed a pair of sandals from the closet. They were simple and easy—perfect for whatever was about to happen. I barely glanced at myself in the mirror, just enough to pull my hair into a quick, loose ponytail and make sure I didn’t look like a total mess.
With my heart pounding and my thoughts racing, I grabbed my bag, locked the door behind me, and headed out, a mix of nerves and excitement thrumming through me.
I’m on my way.
It only took me a couple blocks to get to the lake, where Austin stood, facing the lake, his hands tucked into his pockets. The breeze tousled his blonde curls, and his tall frame looked strong yet somehow vulnerable against the open sky. There was something magnetic about him, the way he seemed both powerful and gentle, like he was a mix of strength and fragility wrapped into one.
He wore a simple white T-shirt that clung to his chest and arms, showing off the muscles underneath, and a pair of jeans that looked comfortably broken in. My heart pounded as I finally reached him, and for a moment, I watched the way he stared out at the water.
“Hey stranger,” I murmured, and he turned around, his big blue eyes trained on me.
He leaned in and gave me a... hug. Oh. He gave me a hug. I shouldn’t have expected a kiss, but after last night I thought...
That was stupid. I thought wrong. A hug was a perfectly acceptable form of greeting for two people who barely knew each other.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Austin said and gestured to the little black metal bench.
I followed him over to it, and we sat down.
This was awkward. “I gathered since your email?—”
“I think we need to not see each other anymore,” he blurted out.
Are we breaking up? I cocked my head. Could you really break up with someone you never really officially dated?
Is this real fucking life?
“Oh. Well, this is the oddest fucking thing that’s happened to me in a while,” I admitted as I crossed my arms over my chest.
Austin nodded a few times. “But I think we should also move in with each other.”
