- 13 -
February 2045
Dean
Two weeks is a long time for Hallee’s warmth to be missing from The Marmotte. I’ve still gone every morning because the coffee is good, but the hope of seeing her is better. Regret swells in my chest the longer she’s not around.
I thought I’d see her again. Should’ve been more clear about how badly I wanted to. Mysterious and sexy was the target, but when I rolled the dice and played it “cool,” maybe it came across as arrogant. Hopefully I didn’t embarrass her as much as myself.
My “down in the dumps” playlist has teamed up with the overcast sky to keep me kicked down on my morning commute, yet I can’t turn it off. It feels cathartic, worshiping sadness.
The apartment will be empty this weekend. Well, except for me. Today is my Friday; then I’m off for the next four days. Hudson and Matt are scheduled for the long shifts, so they’ll stay at the station. It’s strange, I only have two people to call and they don’t even really know me.
I don’t even know me.
Being alone is a great excuse to fix that. Explore the city, maybe try out basketball like Hudson or gaming like Matt. Spending time with myself will be good for me. I’ll enjoy it.
And with that, I’ve been promoted to CEO of lying to myself. Not attached . . . I’ll enjoy it . . . what’s next?
Flurries fall down from the sky, twisting and twirling in the wind. They land on my coat and melt away in under a second. I wish they’d stay.
The daily dash for caffeine is shorter this morning due to my quickened pace. I had thought I was trying to outrun my racing thoughts, but now I see. Not even The Marmotte’s frost-covered window could dim her light. The universe was realigning the stars.
There she is, standing and waiting by the bar.
Here I am, standing and staring . . . again.
How did I not come up with a plan for what to say after weeks of wishing for this?
Walking inside, I’m struck silly, so distracted by her in my sweatshirt that I can barely order, but how is anyone supposed to focus when she’s out here looking like that?
Her hair is perfectly curled, and rosy cheeks are highlighting her freckles in this really cute way that makes my heart race. My eyes trail down her body and connect with hers as they climb back up.
Oh my god, she’s looking at me. Okay. Everybody stay calm.
The nod that breaks out of me absolutely demolishes my chance at a redeeming impression. My gut twists in embarrassment as I pay for my coffee and approach the pickup bar.
“When do I get my check for modeling the fire department’s merchandise?” she jokes.
“Before we offer payment, I need to observe what kind of reputation you’re giving us.”
A great one, that’s what. I hope she’s worn it every day since I gave it to her.
Grabbing her latte from the barista, she hesitates before walking away. A sip of coffee fills her eyes with a sneaky shimmer, and her smile glows bright enough to warm me up.
“Well then, Dean, go ahead and observe. Unless you have somewhere else to be, you’re walking me to work!”
Like clockwork, my drink hits the bar and Hallee struts to the door without a glance back. She knows I’ll follow her. Who wouldn’t? Without missing a beat, I grab my coffee and chase her into the flurries.
Hallee
It was too late to run once I saw him, and my backup plan was thrown out the window by an adult taking a toddler into the bathroom. Did I really think I could avoid him forever? He comes in every morning, so gorgeous it’s almost gross. It’s rude to be that beautifully distracting. Even on my very first visit, I’d noticed him—and worried he’d noticed me spill my drink.
This morning he’s a force of nature, ready to blow away any heart in his path. My heart tried to run. It even picked up its pace, sweating through my hands as I hid them in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. I can’t believe I’m still wearing it, but the lingering smell of cologne defeated panic, blowing out fear like a birthday candle and crowning humor as the victorious coping skill of the day. Humor that led me to strut and spin down the sidewalk like a New York runway model.
Horrified is how I should feel.
Instead, I feel free.
My laughter is the soundtrack to Dean’s pretend photoshoot. Winking and lowering his voice, he teases, “Come on, show me the sunshine.”
Flurries have turned the sidewalks into a slippery ice rink, so I spin and blow him a kiss.
“That’s the shot!” He cheers, laughing through each syllable, and I swear it feels like a dream. Who knew life could feel so light?
“Okay, okay, your check will be in the mail next week. The Ann Arbor Fire Department is thoroughly impressed with the reputation being modeled by the most beautiful member of our marketing team.”
“That’s interesting,” I mutter.
“What? That we still write a check, or that we still use the snail mail delivery system?”
“That you think I’m beautiful.”
Rose blush blooms on his cheeks before his smirk is replaced with a calm, cool facade.
“Why can’t we appreciate beautiful things? Life’s too short to withhold an appreciation for beauty.”
“I didn’t say we couldn’t appreciate them. I said it was interesting that you consider me that.” Self-deprecation arrives to teach me a lesson, my shield of confident humor rusting in the snow.
“I think of you as a lot of things, Hallee. Beautiful is only the start of a very long list.”
I open my mouth to reply but quickly slam it shut. I’m so happy, walking with him. Really, really happy. The scary kind of happy, where it’s almost too good to be true. Where the first walk feels like the tenth, but this comfortability is a lie because he’s the perfect wave. The water will recede eventually, sending me diving into the reef.
It’s exhilarating though, this happiness. It’s the start of something that’ll change my life. Not sure how I’m sure of that, but I am, okay? It makes all the sense and very little sense all at once, and butterflies have swarmed my voice box, so I do the only thing I can.
I smile.
A full smile that talks through my eyes and says, I want to learn every little thing on that list.
About halfway to work, he reaches out for me. My head shakes no but my hand overwrites the objection as if it’s magnetically drawn to his. Walking with his hand in mine makes sense in every possible way, like when you find the piece to a puzzle that changes the perspective on everything, and suddenly the remainder of the pieces fit just right. Holding his hand is like that—just right.
He tried to hide his smirk as our fingers intertwined, but I caught it. I caught it, and now I’m all warm inside because his eyes sparkle a little extra when he smiles. His expressions are a language I speak. How different would I feel after a year of walking with his hand in mine?
Would I feel any different if I didn’t remember it?
The thought shatters the glass I’d been walking on. We could never be anything but fun for a year. We could never be lasting. What a gut punch.
A hopeless romantic , Miles will call me when I come inside flustered and unraveling. It’ll be a constant effort to remind myself to keep it fun. A continued reality check that the love stories I dream of don’t exist anymore.
Dean’s hand tightens around mine as he studies my face like it’s his favorite subject. It’s cute, and it’s confusing.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
Why does he care so much? I can’t say no to those eyes, but could I lie to them?
“I’m thinking about the odds of our paths crossing again, despite my efforts to avoid you.”
Please walk through the door I just opened, my eyes beg. Show me I’m not the only one wishing for more than just fun.
“Ah, thank you for concluding my investigation. I’ll be sure to inform the FBI that you were purposefully avoiding me.” I drop his hand dramatically, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Please close the case regarding Hallee.”
The commitment to the joke is hot, and his confidence is too. Makes me want to be confident in myself.
“They’re always listening, you know.” His face falls with my stomach and I nervously giggle, buying time to conjure up the right response to such a serious twist.
“Well, Hal . . .”
“Well, what?”
“Explain yourself. Why were you avoiding me?”
“You carried me out of my apartment, in my underwear, in front of the entire building!” Technically I was in biker shorts, but they’re practically the same thing and I want him to feel as flustered as I do. “A little embarrassing, no?”
Mission accomplished and confirmed by him clearing his throat before leaning down.
“No. But something tells me, Hal,” he whispers in my ear, letting out a breathy laugh as my body sways closer to him, “this was our first test against fate. It appears that fate has won.”
A chill snakes down my spine. “I like this game,” I say, rising up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Looks like we’ll play again tomorrow.”
Channeling his overflowing confidence, I spin one last time and flip my hair over my shoulder. I throw him the most flirtatious wave I can muster, but my smile is crushed as I walk through the doors and smack directly into Miles.
“What was that?” he asks, pointing outside.
I shrug innocently. “Best to keep ?em guessing.”
Dean
The sound of my keys hitting the counter echoes through the empty apartment. It’s both intriguing and depressing. On one hand, I finally have some time to myself. On the other hand, the quiet might feed me to the wolves of wondering when I’ll see her again.
Somehow, after our absolutely perfect morning, I still managed to fumble and forget to ask her on a proper date. Fate has pulled us into a game without a guidebook, and I’m placing a whole lot of pressure on it. I don’t know if it can withstand the weight of hope rising in me. Don’t know if I can withstand it either, honestly. Hope hurts a little.
After she made it inside, my head grew cloudy. The cold wiped away the lingering warmth of her lips on my cheek, and I ran like a mad man, chasing the wind and the feeling of her holding my hand again. The bookstore was way further from the station than I thought, and the sidewalks were slippery. It nearly doubled my commute time, but things were going so well—I wasn’t about to bail halfway through. Plus, she was holding my hand and I’d be dead before letting go first. I told her I’d walk with her, so I did. End of story.
I’m a man of my word.
At least, I think I am.
I want to be.
“Hello!” I yell down the hallway. My echoing voice is the only answer. Two minutes into this extra special alone time and I’m already talking to myself. Excellent.
We grocery shopped earlier this week, so the pantry is full. That’s a love language to me—a full pantry. All this potential locked and loaded on the shelves, waiting for me to experiment, is intriguing. Trying new combinations challenges me in a way that keeps my mind sharp. Makes me feel clever. Most nights, it’s a stress reliever. I put on some music and get lost in the process of making something great. I’m, undoubtedly, the best chef of us all; however, the process occasionally ends with me calling in takeout and enduring some grade A taunting from Hudson and Matt. As a joke, Hudson got me an apron that says this daddy can cook. Regardless of the intention, I’ve actually been putting it to good use. Never underestimate the value of a pocket and a man who’s secure in himself.
It’s nice to hear myself think in the silence, but I do miss their yelling. The apartment feels lonely without them. It’s the people that make up a home, not the walls.
Searching for a silence-filler, I click on the TV. One of Hudson’s romantic comedies keeps me company. The dude has a soft spot for love and I do too, I guess, because they’re pretty good. All cute and lighthearted, as long as I don’t think about them too much. If I do, my chest feels hollow, as if it’s missing everyone it ever loved. I still haven’t gotten a read on if Matt likes them. He’s quiet most of the time.
The oven interrupts the dramatic reunion of the characters, and I rush to make it back before missing the grand gesture. The delivery is always so predictable, but it never fails to leave behind a box of warm fuzzy feelings. Taking a swig of my beer, I glance at the couch. Its emptiness is emphasizing my fizzing loneliness. Damn, it’s pretty pathetic how reliant I’ve become on distraction to avoid the lack of control over my own thoughts.
The credits roll while I clean up the kitchen, and then silence greets me again. Feels like an uncomfortable run-in with someone I didn’t want to see. Glancing at the clock, I tap my fingertips on the counter. Together, we count the passing seconds. I’ve resorted to making friends with a clock.
Yikes.
After deep cleaning the entire apartment, putting away all of my laundry, organizing the pantry, rearranging my closet, and performing an intense karaoke concert, I glance back at it. Only one measly hour has passed.
My dark keys contrast against the white counter, and my eyes fly back and forth between them and the clock. Before I make a choice I’ll regret, I rush to hang them on their hook, but nearly tripping over a shoe on the way is my final straw.
Honestly, how bad could it be? I’ve got nothing to lose. Might as well go out tonight.