He eyes it suspiciously but eventually takes it and shakes it.
“Holden.” There’s a touch of humor in his voice. Maybe I’m mistaken, and humor is not the correct word, but the way he says his name reaffirms my thought process. It feels familiar.
“Natalie.”
His face shows a lopsided smile as he tastes my name on his tongue. “Natalie.” It rolls off in a way I’ve never heard before, and it does things to my nervous system I wasn’t expecting. He holds my gaze the same way too, almost as if he’s asking himself the question:where do I know you from?.
“Nice to meet you. Until next time.” Electricity carries from his fingertips to mine, and I think it’s all in my head—until our eyes meet and I find the same surprise in his.
“Until next time,” I echo, clearing my throat, sliding my hand back to my pocket and watching him go away.
I really hope he takes my advice and comes back. I’m intrigued and invested now.
The rest of the day goes by in a flash, slow but a little steady, allowing me enough time to tidy up.
Before I leave, I do one more sweep, and a purple sticky note on the ground calls my attention.
Thank you,
H.
I pin it on the bulletin board with a smile on my face, lock the door behind me, and head home. Alone time? Yes, please.
6
I ALREADY HATE YOU
Indigo by Sam Barber Ft. Avery Anna • The Scientist by Coldplay
Holden
She was right. I have never regretted doing anything in my life, and the one thing I wish I could take back would lead to the same place—sitting in my car in the parking lot of the senior center I refused to go in a few weeks ago.
I was wondering if she would be at the shop again today. I couldn’t get her voice out of my head, and I wanted to take her up on the offer of advice.
Not a bar, my ass.
Anyone who makes drinks for others could one hundred percent be a therapist. I believe it firmly, even if my actual therapist thinks I’m wrong. I don’t know why I didn’t listen to her but to the stranger with the pretty eyes and the wholesome soul. Even if I don’t know her, I can tell. She oozes peace, calm, and happiness—her kind eyes and the way she talks to others, like whatever they’re saying is the most important thing in the world and she wouldn’t have it any other way makes it clear to see.
And maybe knowing she genuinely thinks I should give him a chance, even without having all the information, even without knowing me, gave me the push I needed to come here.
Now, if I can go inside and see him, that would be great.
Time passes—painfully slow, as it always does in every undesirable task. It drags from deep within, making me want to scream.
I shake it off and walk into the stale-smelling assisted senior facility.
“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” the person at the front desk asks.
“Um, yes, I’m here to see Jerry.”
“Which Jerry, hun?”
“Um, Jerry Clay.”
“Oh.” She looks surprised as she types something in her computer, the keys clacking and her brows furrowing deeper. “Do you have an ID?”
“Here.”
