Chapter 7 – Annabelle
Chapter Seven
ANNABELLE
This is silly. I’m taking more time to pick out an outfit for coffee than I have spent picking one out for the luncheon I’m supposed to attend tomorrow.
That should be high on my list of things to do, but instead I spent the morning making pastries to take with me to the coffee shop, which might be frowned upon.
Jeans aren't too simple for a book club.
I shake my head at myself in the mirror before flipping off the bathroom light.
I will not play with my hair any longer.
In fact, I pull the hair tie off my wrist and pull it up into a ponytail.
This isn't a date; it's friends hanging out.
A date picks you up and brings you flowers.
I'm getting too into my head about it because I want this to be right. To make a friend. It has zero to do with how handsome he is. Nor how I find it oddly endearing how direct he can be.
I grab my things along with the Tupperware I have to give him.
Crap, I didn't set any aside for my husband.
I can make more later. I'm sure he's not dying to get more of my silly treats.
The man could have pastries flown in from Paris daily if he wanted.
Mine pale in comparison to those. He was probably just being nice asking for more anyway.
I slip on my coat before taking the service elevator down. The craziest thing about all of this is I have plans with this man and don’t know his name. How that slipped my mind in the moment is beyond me. I might have been hung up on the whole remark about me being gorgeous.
No one has ever said such a thing. I find I’m rather forgettable.
I blend in. That's not always a bad thing.
I don't want to be the center of attention; that always comes with such scrutiny.
I'd made it a mission growing up to be forgettable.
My older sisters are beautiful. Both could be models.
Everything is about appearances to them.
I was never good enough for them or my mom. They tried to push their life agenda on me, and when I didn’t just fall in line, I was no longer welcome in their lives. I mean sure, I suppose I could have continued to try to make an effort, but I was always met with disapproval, so I stopped.
When I arrive at the coffee shop, I’m a good twenty minutes early.
I’m going to appear way too eager. I could go around the block, but then I see him through the window, already inside, sitting at the same table as yesterday, two cups on the table.
His eyes lock with mine, and a smile pulls at his lips when he sees me.
My insides are warm. I tell myself it's because it's nice to have anyone happy to see me for once.
I pull open the door, the bell rings overhead, and he stands. Damn, he's more handsome than I remember. I was sure I'd literally built him up in my mind. That he really wasn't a foot taller than my five foot four stature or easily twice my size, probably three.
“Annabelle,” he greets me, coming toward me.
“You know my name.” Had I given him mine and he hadn't told me his? I would have surely remembered it. “We didn't exchange them.” I look at him curiously.
“Let me.” He offers to take my coat off for me, and I let him. “You can call me Charlie. Your name was on your cup yesterday.”
“Oh, right.” Charlie must pay close attention. He pulls out my chair for me.
“I got us drinks already.”
“Thank you.” I take my seat. He's not as dressed up as yesterday, when he appeared as though he'd come from the office. Today he's in a sweater and black pants, but they are still very much on the expensive side.
“I don’t know if it’s allowed, but I brought a few things I baked.” I glance around and see that the baristas aren't paying any attention, engrossed in their own conversation.
“You baked for me?”
“Yes,” I say and instantly know how wrong that sounds.
“I mean, I baked and brought a few with me for you to try. They were extras.” I try to cover.
This is bad; I shouldn't be doing this. My wedding ring is heavy on my finger.
It doesn't stop me, though, from reaching into my bag and pulling the box out. What’s done is done. No use them going to waste now.
“You enjoy baking?”
“I do. It relaxes me, and if I have an extra audiobook credit, I can listen to a new book.”
“Audiobook credit?” Of course he doesn't know what that means.
“You can sign up for them. It's like a deal to get one book cheaper each month.”
“How many books do you listen to a month?”
“New? Well,” I laugh. “Just the one.”
“But you'd listen to more if you had these credits?”
“I suppose, but I enjoy listening to the ones I already own again. I'm a big rereader.” He leans back in his chair, all his attention on me, his eyes soft around the edges.
“I don't believe I have ever reread a piece of fiction before. Do you enjoy them that much?” He's appearing genuinely interested.
“There is a bit of comfort when you go back to a book you love and listen or read it again. You might know what's coming, but it feels safe, and sometimes you really just need that comfort. I even know some people who are end-readers. They don’t like the anticipation of the ending not being what they’d hoped for.
I mean, I don’t do that, but to each their own. ”
“You don't feel safe.” He sits up, leaning toward me now.
“Not in the physical sense,” I laugh, pulling my cup closer. “It's emotionally safe. You get lost in the pages and pretend that world is yours.”
“An escape.”
“Basically.”
“You want to escape your own life?” His brows pull together.
“It can be a lot less lonely.” I say this before I consider my words. That's going to make him think I'm in a shitty marriage. Which is not a lie. I mean, I’m really not in a marriage at all in the normal sense.
Charlie is far too easy to talk to, or maybe I'm dying to talk to anyone. It could be a bit of both. Either way, I don't want to stop.