That last part hit like a punch to the gut.
“Wow.” I leaned back, trying to play it light. “That’s either very perceptive or mildly creepy.”
“Sorry. Too much?”
“No,” and I meant it. “I’m just impressed. Most people don’t look thatclose.”
“I’m a software engineer. I notice patterns.” He took a sip of his drink, giving me time to process. “Your turn. What wouldn’t I guess about you?”
I considered lying. Deflecting. Making a joke, but his honesty made me want to return it.
I set my drink down. “I used to be the smallest kid in my grade. Got shoved into lockers. Pushed around. Made fun of for being gay, scrawny, and existing. I started lifting at eighteen because I decided nobody would ever make me feel small again.”
Ellis’ expression shifted. Not pity. Something closer to understanding. “Is that why you’re at the gym all the time?”
“Part of it. The other part is that I genuinely like it now. The routine, the progress, the fact that I’m the one who decides how strong I get.” I rolled my shoulders. “What about you? You didn’t always lift.”
“How do you know?”
“Your form’s good, but not instinctive. You think about each movement instead of just doing it.”
“Observant.” He smiled. “You’re right. I started about a year ago. Desk job was killing my back, and I needed something to do that didn’t involve staring at screens.”
“And?”
“And I’m still not sure I love it, but I like how it makes me feel after. Accomplished, I guess.” He shifted in his chair. “Plus the view’s gotten better recently.”
The flirtation landed soft but clear. I grinned. “Oh yeah? Someone catch your eye?”
“Maybe.” His cheeks colored, just slightly, but enough. “There’s this guy I keep seeing. Tall, built, wears glitter to the gym like he’s going clubbing.”
“Sounds like a show-off.”
“He is. But he’s also…” Ellis met my eyes. “Interesting. In a way I didn’t expect.”
Something in me skipped, a stupid thing to do over coffee on a Wednesday afternoon, but there it was.
“Interesting how?” I asked, leaning forward.
“I’m still figuring it out.”
After that, the conversation got easier. He told me about Long Island and parents who still lived in the same house he’d grown up in. I told him about my mom and growing up Dominican in a neighborhood that hadn’t always made space for people like us. He asked about event planning, what I loved about it, what drove me crazy. I asked about IT, whether he actually enjoyed fixing other people’s tech problems or if it just paid the bills.
“Bit of both. I enjoy solving puzzles. Hate the people who create the puzzles by ignoring my initial advice.”
“So, basically everyone.”
“Basically everyone.”
An hour passed. Then another. The coffee shop started to fill with the after-work crowd, laptops opening at every table, the noise level rising.
“We should probably give up the table.” Ellis glanced around. “I think that guy’s been eyeing it for ten minutes.”
“My place is close,” I offered. Too fast, probably, but the words came out before I could stop them. “We could keep talking. I’ve got beer. Or wine. Or…”
“Jett.” My name, soft but firm. “I’m having a really good time. But I don’t want to rush this.”
The rejection stung, even though it wasn’t really a rejection. “Rush what?”
