Chapter 6
six
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I look both ways before jogging across the street. Coffee Shop Guy kept me up a little later than I expected, but despite texting into the early hours of the morning, names never came up.
Talking to him made me feel like a teenager again, giddy with flutters of anticipation, but I can’t be interested in a guy like him. A guy who only goes for blondes? Please. That’s ridiculous. If anything, his lack of interest should have broken whatever rose-tinted glasses I wore yesterday. A guy can be a ten, but as soon as I find out he’s not interested, he drops to a solid six. Miles has always called it my superpower—the ability to disregard a man I thought was the end all be all in a matter of seconds.
I pull open the door to the salon a mere five minutes before my first appointment. Amanda looks up from placing small cups of candy canes in everyone’s station.
“Hey!” She grins before a flash of concern shows in her eyes and she glances at the clock on the wall. “Rough morning? ”
I let out a breathless laugh as I set down my things and reach for my black apron on the wall hook. “Something like that.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Want to talk about it?”
At the same time, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I reach for it and see that it’s another message from Coffee Shop Guy.
Coffee Shop Guy:
Eggs on peanut butter toast?
“What?” I mutter to no one in particular before giving my attention back to Amanda. “Uh, maybe over wine.”
She laughs. “I can’t tonight, but I’d love to know what has you looking at your phone like that.”
I crack a small smile as I type back my response.
Candace:
I’m sorry?
I’m still not sure what to make of this new friendship I have with an unnamed man. He plans on asking the girl at Southern Roast out again, so why is he still texting me? About peanut butter and eggs of all things.
Coffee Shop Guy:
You like pineapple on pizza, so I want to know what other disgusting things you find delicious.
Vanilla ice cream and soy sauce?
My mouth quirks as I type my response.
Candace:
No, and fuck no.
The bell chimes overhead as he sends another text.
Coffee Shop Guy:
All right. No need to get violent.
I laugh and slip my phone into the drawer before greeting the short, elderly woman, her shoulders bent with age. She’s been coming to see me since I was a student in cosmetology school, and I love when she asks for tips on how to set her rollers at night.
“Ms. Bradshaw,” I say with a grin. “It’s great to see you.” Taking her bag from her, I help her into the chair and get situated. Shaking open the fresh cape, I drape it around her and ask, “So, what are we doing today?”
By the time I have a break for lunch, he’s texted two more times. And the weirdest part? I’m not creeped out. I think every woman has had her phone blown up by some guy who couldn’t take a hint, but whatever I have going on with this guy isn’t like that. His messages don’t give me the urge to change my number and file a restraining order. If anything, I enjoy them.
Coffee Shop Guy:
Orange juice and Oreos?
Please tell me it’s not the orange juice and Oreos. I don’t think I could take it.
I roll my eyes as I bite into my leftover tacos.
Candace:
Where are you finding these combinations? Pineapple on pizza isn’t even weird compared to most of these .
In the few minutes it takes me to finish my lunch, he’s already answered.
Coffee Shop Guy:
I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you saying it isn’t weird doesn’t make it any less weird.
Where have you been all day? I thought I scared you away.
My heart does a tiny stutter, and I mentally scold myself for it.
Candace:
Don’t you have a job? Or do you just wear suits in coffee shops to look important?
With the way he was dressed, he must have a job. Either that, or he was dressed to impress and is actively seeking employment. No one dresses in well-pressed business attire for the fun of it.
Coffee Shop Guy:
I have a job, thank you. But what I do in the confines of my office is my business.
Plus, my boss loves me.
Okay, so he’s not unemployed.
Candace:
Lucky you.
I bite my bottom lip and ask what I’ve been wondering all day.
Candace:
Did you go back to Southern Roast?
While he types his response, I stare at the screen with bated breath. I shouldn’t. His answer won’t change anything. I’d be an idiot to let this go further than it already has, but for some reason, I’m dying to know.
Coffee Shop Guy:
I did. Her name is Layla, and we had a nice chat.
A moment passes with nothing, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll say, but if I know anything about this guy, it’s that there’s another text coming my way. Sure enough, a moment later, my phone buzzes.
Coffee Shop Guy:
But she has a boyfriend, so I didn’t get her number.
Is that the reason he’s still texting me? Am I a runner-up in this situation? I bristle at the thought. I should cut ties. I know I should. But I like talking to him. There’s something about him that still has me intrigued . . . even if it’s just as friends.
I used to joke with Miles and say I don’t need new friends. That if I date someone, and it doesn’t work out, there is no, we can still be friends. But I’ve never dated this guy, so I guess that rule doesn’t apply.
Candace:
Well, you can’t win them all.
I wait for those three dots to reappear, but they don’t. Even after I’ve thrown away my taco wrapper and cleaned up my station to prepare for the next client, there’s still nothing.
I stare at my last text and wonder if I should have said more. Maybe he wants sympathy? Maybe he was more disappointed than I realized, and I brushed it off as no big deal. I’ve never been good at being overly sympathetic with people. Maybe he needed more, and I fell short.
I blink, snapping myself back to reality. Does it matter? Why would I care if this man I don’t know needed me to rub his back and tell him there are plenty of fish in the sea? Shaking my head, I toss my phone into the drawer and vow not to open it until I’m done with work.