Perhaps it’s time to try this whole apology thing again.
“Hey, Mindy,” I say when I reach the counter. “Good morning.”
She glares at me. “Callahan.”
I check again that there’s no one else waiting in line behind me, then say, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us a few months ago.”
“Nothing happened between us,” she says. “So.”
“I know that I didn’t handle the situation well at all. I was struggling to process some complicated feelings at the time, but that’s absolutely no excuse for not considering yours. I don’t regret stopping things, because we both deserve more than what we would have had, but I should have been more deliberate with my timing, with my words. And I’m very sorry that I didn’t treat you with more respect and care.”
Mindy doesn’t blink for a long time, staring me down. “Did you start therapy or something?” she asks.
“No. I definitely do need to, though.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “You do.” But the sharpness has disappeared from her voice. “I appreciate you saying all of that. Even if it took you over half a year to do it.”
“And, ah, I’m sorry about that too. My only excuse is that I’m kind of an idiot.”
“Yeah,” she agrees again. “You kind of are.” She looks down at the register for a few seconds before she looks back up at me expectantly.
Is there something else I’m supposed to say? Did I miss some crucial part of the process? Oh god, I hope she isn’t expecting me to ask her out again…
“Did you just come here to apologize or did you want to order something?”
“Oh, right. Yes.”
The rest of the interaction occurs without incident, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Then let out a laugh as I step back outside holding my two to-go cups and a pastry bag, all simply labeleddick. So maybe she hasn’t fully forgiven me, but that’s fine. At least we’re at fewer syllables of displeasure and something that could pass for a real name now.
Annie is still in the middle of her long process of waking up when I get back to the apartment. Contentment spreads through me as I watch her reach her arms over her head, grabbing one of my headboard’s spindles for a deeper stretch. Then my cock jumps as I remember her doing the same thing last night for support as I moved into her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks groggily.She’s not particularly photogenic immediately after waking—messy hair, a dry spot of drool at the corner of her mouth, a line across her cheek where the pillowcase was creased. It all somehow conspires to make her even more gorgeous than ever.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you want to fuck again.”
I settle myself onto the bed beside her. “Sounds like you’ve answered your own question,” I say as I hand over her mocha.
She hesitates, as if she’s considering saying something about the coffee, but I guess decides to let it go this time and instead inhales deeply over the lid, savoring the scent. “Thank you.” Then she checks the name on the cup. “Is Mindy okay? Seems she wasn’t feeling particularly inspired this morning.”
“I apologized to her again,” I admit. “The right way this time, I’m pretty sure. So I think she’s starting to forgive me a little for being such an ass.”
“Oh, nice. Maybe she’ll be willing to give you another chance after I leave.” Annie smiles as she goes in for a sip, but it seems forced.
“Ha. I doubt either of us would be interested in that.”
The look on her face is more relaxed now. “I’m sure she still appreciated it.”
“Yeah.” It takes me a while to work up the courage, but I finally manage to say, “I think having sex with you has completely changed my outlook on everything.”
I mean it with all of my heart. So it kind of sucks when Annie’s response is to nearly choke on her coffee as she bursts into laughter.
“I’m notthatgood in bed, Cal.”
“You’re amazing in bed.” I nuzzle my nose into her wild hair and take a deep breath—rosemary and lavender. She smells likea cottage garden in the English countryside. She’s a painting of one that would hang over an entryway console table, a familiar landmark letting you know you can let down your guard because you’ve reached the refuge of home. “But I meant…things just make more sense to me right now than they have in a very long time.” I pause. “I’m sorry. Is that…? That’s too much, isn’t it?”
Instead of responding with words, she kisses me, and it fills me with hope. Because the soft brush of her mouth against mine and the flutter of her eyelids against my cheek and the way she breathes out in a heavy gust all speak to that feeling of becoming unburdened from the things that she’s been carrying around in her chest for far too long. As if she knows she can hand them—and herself—over to me for safekeeping.
