Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Bree
I nsistent vibration tugs me out of sleep—or it tries to, at least. I pat the bed with my eyes closed, searching for my phone, but it's on the nightstand where I left it. Is there another phone?
Is someone else here?
I sit up straight in a flash and look around, staring hard in the dim morning light. My bed is empty, save for me, and the orange sheets look comfortably rumpled and warm. I'd flop back down and catch some more Z's, but there's a huge puddle of drool where my face was, and the vibration sounds again.
I must have been dreaming hard to think my phone was going off. It was just my Companion vibrating to wake me up for a morning jog. It hugs my wrist snugly and keeps buzzing away until I touch its warm surface to signal I'm awake.
"Thank you, Companion," I croak out groggily and rub my face. "Don't know what I'd do without you."
I've been wearing this device everyday for the past two years. It only gets more useful. The developers release new features pretty regularly. When it first came out, it was a sleek way to add a layer of protection to my morning or night jogs. It can send an emergency SOS and broadcast my location to the authorities and my parents. And over the months, its new features make it more like an assistant to me.
Companion's display loops a ring of hearts, congratulating me on getting up when I was supposed to. I smile despite myself, feeling encouraged, and hop out of bed to start my morning routine. The more I hesitate, the harder it will be to hit the pavement. But for some reason, the jogging path doesn't feel as welcoming as it usually does. I grope around my mind for the reason, and my mental hand retracts once I land on what's tripping me up.
That guy from yesterday.
"Maybe I'll see you around," he said.
I shudder.
I really hope I don't see him around anywhere, but now that his words are in my head, I guess, in the back of my mind, I'm dreading running into him. I'm still feeling guilty about our encounter, for one, but there was something about the way he acted. He wasn't overtly rude to me. In fact, I think I deserved a little rudeness.
But it was weird. Guys are usually pretty chill around me, not hostile. And wouldn't anyone else be more understanding of what happened?
Plus, there's something weirdly familiar about him, though I know I don't know him.
I continue my negative spiral as I pull on my jogging clothes, beating myself up over eating some rando's food and wondering why he couldn't go easier on me.
It's a chilly November morning, but it's not too cold, so I go with a pair of light gloves, a tank beneath my long-sleeved shirt, and high-waisted tights, all black. I gather my hair into a bun at the top of my head, give my reflection a once-over, then head to the door to pull on my shoes and leave.
Why am I spending so much energy thinking about him anyway, though? I should be focused on keeping up with my exercise routine, not some guy I briefly talked to. Besides, isn't there enough on my plate? I'm trying to advance in my career, and breaking focus is a no-go when I know what's waiting for me—disappointment, failure.
Having to rely on my parents.
Is it really my fault that I was too distracted and made a silly mistake?
I groan and settle into my car. Another negative morning of stress and worrying about what others think of me. I can't help it. Having a researcher and a professor as parents will make you feel the pressure. If I only talked with them, I'd be doing great! They're proud of me, they're never shy with the praise. But I can't help thinking that the daughter of such distinguished parents can't have a mediocre career. Journalism seemed like the best bet. I definitely couldn't go any closer to academia without risking being trapped in one of their shadows.
I want to secure my own success with my own hands.
I'm treading that familiar ground in my mind when I pull up next to the park. It's gray and cloudy out, but that's my kind of weather. Coffee tastes a little better when the sky has a blanket on.
Although I'm swimming in negativity this morning, that's all part of the plan. I gather all the doubt I can muster, every pessimistic inkling I can find, then release it all in the park while jogging. I have a lot to let go of, so I hit the path that snakes through the inner woodsy area and unplug my mind.
Or try to.
It takes a little time to get into the rhythm of the run. I'm fighting with my body to get moving and ignore the chill biting at my legs, promising myself that it will get better. It always does.
I give myself up to the park and its autumn colors, taking the crisp air into my lungs. It might be biting at my cheeks now, leaving me with a red flush to show for it, but I'll be grateful for its coolness on my cheeks soon.
After 15 minutes, I'm ready to keep pushing on when I see a jogger approaching me on the dirt path. We're in the heart of this huge park, which is like a mini-forest in the city, and no one else is around. But most joggers are chill, and the sun is only getting higher in the sky. I think. It's too cloudy to be sure.
You never know who might suddenly try to drag you into the bushes, so I keep a wary—but polite—eye on him, my fingers ready to find the SOS signal on Companion. He starts to slow, and my anxiety ratchets up. I've never been attacked, but the fear of that happening has somehow always kept pace with me.
The jogger comes to a stop on the path ahead of me. I want to run past him, but then he breaks out into a grin, and I recognize that smile. And his jawline. How could I forget?
"First you take my food, now you're taking my jogging path?" he calls to me, slightly out of breath. I bristle, slowing to a stop and straightening up self-consciously. "Sorry, just a joke," he continues before I can express my irritation. Or my embarrassment. What the hell am I feeling?
"What are you doing here?" That's all I can think to say.
"I'm jogging," he replies slowly, tilting his head down as if he's willing me to understand. I roll my eyes, and he lets out another easy laugh, enjoying himself. "I come here every morning."
"You do?" I look away from him, confused, and try to sift through my memories of joggers I've seen before. But that's useless, I soon realize. I don't pay attention to other people around me, not really. I'm usually too busy spiraling in my thoughts or pushing my limits.
"You aren't the only one in the world, you know."
I groan loudly and cross my arms over my chest. "I know that!" I snap.
"Are you sure?"
I open my mouth wide to protest, but his laughter drowns me out.
"Come on, relax. I'm just teasing you."
"I also know that!"
Damn it. He's making me respond like a kid. Thankfully, he doesn't respond to me, but his eyes flash with amusement, silently mocking me.
"You know, I really feel bad about yesterday." My voice is high, nearly a whine, and the sound of it makes me feel even more upset.
His body language relaxes a bit, and I can see that he's taking me seriously. "I shouldn't have teased you, I'm sorry." He raises his hands in surrender.
I look him over warily, then after a few moments, I nod shortly. "Okay. I'm sorry, it really caught me off guard to see you here. I didn't think we'd run into each other so soon."
"Maybe that's my bad. I should have said something yesterday."
"About what?" I tense up, my eyes darting around as I try to think. "Wait, did you see me here in the park before?"
"I thought you recognized me," he says, his expression open and sincere. "We pass each other here from time to time. I recognized your curly hair, but maybe I'm just another guy to you." He looks a little abashed. "That sounds kind of creepy, now that I'm saying it out loud."
"It's not creepy!" I assure him quickly. "I'm the one who's oblivious to my surroundings, apparently." The feeling inside me suddenly makes sense, that weird feeling of familiarity. I must have recognized him subconsciously from the park. Relief washes over me, and I let out a little laugh.
"If you say so," he says, looking relieved himself. "By the way, I'm Sam Green." He shoots a hand forward toward me, and I leap at it, gripping it with my own.
"I'm Bree Perry, it's nice to meet you," I say.
He squeezes my hand, letting me taste his easy strength. He smiles warmly, and I can only return the gesture stiffly. This guy is too handsome.
"Nice to meet you, too. Anyway, I'll get back to?—"
"Yeah, me too!!" I cut him off, getting ready to jog away. "I didn't mean to hold you up for so long."
"You didn't. Got time after your run?" he adds.
"Right, I can get you a coffee after we're done jogging!" I chirp brightly, finishing his thought.
"Meet at the north entrance?" He jabs a thumb toward it, and I nod.
We both take off, and I feel quite a bit lighter. I can actually resolve this! And it seems like he's not mad about it. I wonder if he seemed kind of rude yesterday because he'd seen me around so much. Damn it, he was being friendly, not rude.
Way to misinterpret and assume, Bree!
I jog until I stop beating myself up, which surprisingly doesn't take long. When I don't have a negative emotion left in my body, just exhaustion, I drag my spent body to the north entrance, struggling to slow my breathing down. Another good workout! Companion buzzes to congratulate me when I turn off its workout mode and sends me a few hearts.
"Thanks, buddy," I say between breaths, genuinely feeling like I've been pat on the back. I guess I'm easy.
"You're not talking to me, right?"
When I look up, Sam is doing some light stretching. He's in a tight long-sleeved shirt and loose shorts. His defined arms momentarily steal my attention. I push away thoughts of giving them a squeeze and shake my head.
"Uh, no, I was talking to my Companion. Oh, you don't have one, sorry."
I feel stupid for pointing out the obvious and wave my hand in the air as if to erase what I've just said. I don't know what his financial situation is, and I didn't mean to bring attention to him not having a pricey gadget like this.
"Don't be sorry. You just stated a fact."
"Good thing you don't have one," I go on, unable to stop myself. "I hear lots of people get attached to them. They get into your life and make you dependent on them!" I laugh like I'm making a joke, but I'm dead serious.
I'm addicted to my Companion.
"Anyway, did you have a good jog?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"Are you nervous about something?" he asks directly with a grin.
His voice is deep and teasing, and his attention is pinned solely on me. It feels intense just chatting with him, but not scary. He's totally chill and at ease. Maybe I'm not used to this kind of attention. I'm used to watching guys play with their phones or look around when they're with me.
When he tilts his head curiously, I'm pulled back into the present moment. I cover my mouth and laugh, taking several steps back as I wave my hand again, this time trying to erase the image of me just staring at him.
"I'm not nervous! I just need coffee," I explain, still laughing at how stupid I must seem. Damn it, those negative feelings are coming back. How about I dive back into the trail and never come out of the park again?
"That makes two of us."
"I pass by a small restaurant around here, but I've never been. It's close enough to walk to, wanna try there?" I ask.
"Sure, I'm down. I haven't eaten around here much." He gestures for me to lead the way, and I fall into step beside him.
"We're going to the Brunchy Leaf. They apparently have good breakfast."
He makes a face at the name. "The Brunchy?—"
"Like 'crunchy leaf,' but they sell brunch-type food."
"That's bad."
"Yes."
To my relief, it's easy to keep up the small talk with Sam. As long as I'm staring straight ahead, anyway. He turns into just a nice guy to chat with instead of a hunk that I wronged and inconvenienced. And the closer we get to the Brunchy Leaf, the better I feel. My hand is poised to bust out my debit card and pay for his coffee.
Sure enough, the Brunchy Leaf turns out to be a restaurant that only serves breakfast and lunch. It wraps around the first-floor corner of a residential building and invites people in with its bright colors and food decals on the windows. There's pictures of typical lunch sandwiches, cups of soup, eggs and bacon, but then there's also?—
"Crepes!" I yell out excitedly outside the restaurant. I clap my hands together and jump in place. "Have you ever had crepes? They're my favorite breakfast food!"
Sam watches me without saying a word and simply shakes his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. "We're just here for coffee, right?"
"Yeah, well, a girl can look, right?" I grin at him.
Sam reaches for the front door and holds it open for me. I rush in, murmuring my thanks, and take in a deep breath of the breakfast food cooking. Honestly, I'd love to stay, but I do have breakfast at home, and I don't want to keep him longer than necessary.
Besides, a guy like this just has to have girls flocking around him.
"Good morning!" a smiling waitress greets from our left. She has a couple of menus in hand and hovers near a tall brown stand near the door. "Can I show you to a table or a booth?"
"We'd just like a couple of coffees, if that's okay?" I ask, looking from the waitress to Sam.
"That's fine! You can sit at the counter, then."
She gestures toward a counter ahead of us that's lined with stools. Beyond it, there's a square opening showing the kitchen staff working on orders.
"Thank you," Sam says with a nod, and we both head over to pick out our seats. "So crepes, huh?" he asks once we're settled at the counter.
"Crepes all day!" I affirm enthusiastically. "I've been eating them since I was a kid. On the weekends when my mom wasn't too busy, she used to make us a special breakfast of crepes. Dad would fry up some bacon, too. When I eat crepes, I always think of those warm mornings in the kitchen."
The memory is like a bear hug, so I can't help the big smile on my face.
Sam looks down at the countertop, seemingly lost in thought.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry." He forces a smile.
I frown and press him. "There's clearly something up. Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no. That's a nice memory, that's all. My parents didn't cook." He shrugs and smiles apologetically. "I didn't mean to bring down the mood."
His parents didn't cook? Ever? I'm still frowning as I try to wrap my head around what that means when the waitress shows up with a steaming pot of coffee.
"Got some joe for ya," she announces and fills up two mugs for us. "I brought some creamer and sugar, too."
"Thank you," Sam says with a smile, the distant expression gone from his face.
I manage a nod of thanks as well, not knowing how to move forward with the awkward mood. I don't want to make Sam dwell on the past, especially since we've practically just met. But I feel like he's revealed a lot by saying so little.
"Moment of truth," Sam says, taking a sip of the black coffee.
I make a face and reach for the sugar and creamer, pouring plenty in my cup.
"That's no way to have coffee," I joke as I stir. Whatever went on in his past, it's not my business, so I let him change the subject. "But as long as you're happy with it, that's fine with me. I'm just glad to make us even for yesterday."
"Why would this make us even?" he asks casually, adding just a bit of sugar without looking at me.
"I'm treating you to coffee for yesterday. You agreed earlier, right?"
"No?" He looks at me, confused. "You asked if you could buy me a coffee."
"To make up for yesterday," I repeat.
Sam laughs and takes a big sip, shaking his head a little. "No way a coffee can make up for a meal. I mean, if you want to call this even, I'm fine with it. Just surprises me, that's all."
"If you want to order something else, go right ahead!" I offer, but I'm starting to feel bad. I'm not trying to shortchange the guy.
But that's exactly what I'm doing. Shit.
"Actually, you're right, this isn't?—"
"Don't worry about it," Sam cuts me off, pouring more coffee into his mouth. "It wasn't a big deal to me in the first place. We can call this even."
"No, come on, I feel bad now. I actually figured you'd get more food, really. You can order something else."
"Nah, I can't. If I don't get back home soon to shower, I'll be late for work."
I nod and look down at the counter, trying not to imagine him soaping up. "You're a pretty busy guy," I note offhandedly. "Important job?"
"Something like that," he says dismissively and slips off his stool. "Thanks for the coffee. It was alright."
I wince and nod again, feeling worse than before. Not only did I fail to make up for yesterday, but I treated him to shitty coffee, as well.
Cool.
Just as I'm thinking about finding another park to jog in, Sam leans in close to my face, peering at me.
"What's going on in that head of yours?"
I look up to respond, and his closeness catches me off guard. I can't help looking at his plush lips, and the moment I think about what they'd feel like, I suddenly have to get away from him. I jerk backward, but there's no support to catch me—I'm sitting in a stool.
With a yelp, I start flailing as I lose my balance, my arms and legs shooting out. The stool sways with my weight, and I'm bracing for impact when two strong arms wrap around my back. Sam pulls me to his solid torso, and I cling to him like a lover, my seat clattering loudly to the ground. I'm acutely aware that all attention in the restaurant is focused on us. But my senses are flooded with Sam's scent.
"You okay?" Sam whispers, patting my back.
Oh yeah, I'm clinging for dear life.
"S-sorry!"
I push away from him, feeling my cheeks get hot, and immediately busy myself with picking the stool back up. What even just happened? Just because a guy gets close to me, I have to throw myself out of my seat?
Actually, how long has it been since I've had a date?
When I turn back, I expect Sam to already be gone, but he's still standing there, watching me with interest. I brush off my clothes nervously and search for something to say.
"Uh, um, thank you for saving me just now. And I'm sorry the coffee wasn't better. I know you have to get going, but maybe I'll see you around and actually make things up to you someday…" I trail off after rambling, smiling apologetically.
"If you're feeling that badly about it, why don't we make a proper plan?" he offers, seeming like he wants to appease me.
"I really am," I say with a groan and a wince.
I don't want this hanging over me, and I don't want to be afraid to run into him again, either.
"I don't have a lot of time during the day to do something quick, so how about this? We agree to dinner on Friday, and everything is forgiven and forgotten. Sound good?"
Dinner on Friday? Like a date? My mouth opens, but no words come out. I just look into his questioning green eyes, trying to figure out what's going on here.
"It's okay if you don't want to?—"
"No, sure, that's fine!" I blurt out, my pulse suddenly quickening.
"Yeah?" His lips quirk up at one end, and his eyebrows raise. "You sure?"
"Yeah, of course. I'm not a bad person, you know. I don't want to get off scot-free."
"I'm sure you don't." Sam grins and pulls out his phone. "So I can get your number, right? I'll pick a place."
Definitely like a date!
"Yeah, right!"
I pull out my phone, too, and we exchange numbers. I'm a little in shock as I save his number to my phone, but he's chill as usual, totally confident and at ease with the situation.
"I'm definitely going to be late, so I gotta go," Sam says, pocketing his phone. "I'll text you later in the week, okay?"
"I'm sorry!"
It's like that's all I can say.
"Don't worry about it."
Sam's grin makes my heart flip. He heads to the door with a wave, and I watch him until he disappears out of sight.
What just happened?
I sit heavily back onto my stool, thinking things over.
At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm the one who owes him, not the other way around. You'd think that he'd get the message by now that I'm some kind of bad luck charm—this is twice in a row now that I've made him late to something.
But we're going out to dinner at the end of the week? He's even going to pick the place we're going to eat at.
He's for sure going out of his way to make me feel better about things, which is totally sweet.
But why? I'm just some random girl.
Did I just get tricked into a date?
I reach for my lukewarm cup of coffee, no longer enticed by its aroma. But I can't help but smile.
If that was his sly way of getting me to agree to a date, that means he likes me, at least enough to want to see me again. And I can't be mad about a hunk wanting to take me out.
No matter how I look at it, he should be trying to get rid of me. But somehow, I scored a date.
How lucky am I?