His lips form a firm line as he nods and dips his chin.
“Well, I’m ready for our ‘not a date’ whenever you are.”
The people around us became nothing but muffled noise during that little game and it isn’t until Alyssa approaches me that I fully hear the noise from the party again. Like I was in some kind of bubble with Liam just now.
“You have to see this cake that Abby just brought out.” She pulls at my arm. “Oh, hey, Liam. Sorry, can I borrow her for a minute?”
Liam grins at me and then moves his attention to Alyssa. “She’s all yours.”
I walk closely next to her as everyone from the party is making their way into the dining room where Abby just lit the candles on this extravagant cake. It’s in the shape of Captain America and looks like it’s an actual statue of Steve Rogers himself.
“I take it he’s a superhero fan,” Alyssa whispers to me as we stand with everyone.
I hear her, but don’t answer because all I can think about is if agreeing to go out for coffee with Liam was a huge mistake.
My stomach grumbles as I pull into the parking lot this morning. I rushed out the door and didn’t have time to eat before I left, and my insides are reminding me. I barely had time to tie my curls back in a messy bun before hurrying to button up my oversized flannel. Thankfully, I can at least get dressed here today since I have a stylist for media and interview days. It’s still the craziest thing to say out loud. I have a stylist. Who the hell am I? Either way, she’s a saving grace on days like today where choosing an outfit is the last thing I want to do.
Rushing around in the mornings isn’t a normal occurrence for me. I tend to wake up when the alarm blares—exhausted or not—and move about my day, but I didn’t sleep well last night, or the night before actually. I’ve always been envious of people who can shut their brain off and fall asleep the second their head hits the pillow. It’s something I’ve frequently brought up in therapy,actually. My anxious mind works overtime as soon as the silence sets in.
Sometimes it’s me envisioning scenarios that haven’t happened, working myself up over what ifs. And other times, more often lately, it’s reliving a tragedy. Reliving things that broke me down and brought me to my knees.
The clock ticked on for three hours after I laid down last night before I was able to fall asleep, and then when I did, my subconscious thought I needed to be reminded of the worst day of my life. Replaying it for me to see again in the form of a nightmare. I felt myself clawing to wake up. I was screaming at myself, but I couldn’t open my eyes, I couldn’t break free from it. By the time I finally did, I was sobbing into my pillow.
As I make my way down the hall and toward the hair and makeup room, I hear voices up ahead, somewhere around the corner. I recognize one right away.
My first interview this morning is with none other than Mr. Liam “not a date” Evans.
When I round the corner, I see him standing in the threshold of one of the offices. His head tilts back with a laugh, and I continue on my way, picking up my pace.
He sees me dart by, and I hear him excuse himself from his conversation as he scurries to catch up with me.
“Hey, Dem. In a rush for our coffee date? We haven’t even picked a day yet, but now works for me.”
I stop at the sound of his voice.
“Not a date.” I stare at him unamused. “I’m running late and—” Mid-sentence my stomach makes the most obnoxious sound, and I know he hears it as his eyes widen, trailing my face and head toward my stomach. A playful smile spreads across his lips.
“Hungry?”
“No time. I don’t like eating while Cheryl does my makeup. I think it’s rude and it makes her job harder.” I offer him a smile in return, noticing his hazel eyes fixed on me.
Staring. Judging. Probably looking at the dark circles under my eyes and thinking I look like shit.
But his head tilts softly and he stares at me for a quick moment. His rich dark hair is trimmed and styled perfectly, the hard-set shape of his jaw loosens. His entire face softens.
“Are you okay?”
His question catches me off guard as his voice lowers and loses its sarcastic tone, becoming mellow and sincere. The answer “no” flashes in my mind, but I blink my eyes and swallow the word.
“I’m fine, just in a rush this morning.”
His lips press together into a line and he doesn’t blink as he nods, moving to the side and extending his arm out for me to pass him.
Clutching my notebook under my arm, I pivot past him, but not without one more glance back as I hear his voice again. He could tell something was bothering me. And he didn’t press it. I appreciate that.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you should eat,” I hear him say as I’m already a dozen paces down the hall.
But I don’t answer.
