Sneak Peek- In The Hello and In The Goodbye
Chapter One
In The Hello - Colm
The First Hello - Five Years Ago
Could this coffee line move any slower? Colm clenched and unclenched his fists as a young brunette ahead of him cooed about all things pumpkin. It was only August twenty-seventh and the heat of summer still gripped, but Jitter Bean Coffeehouse was already peddling autumn.
“I love a pumpkin chai!” she gushed to the older man that stood between them in the line.
The old man chuckled his agreement.
I am in the lesser-known tenth circle of Dante’s Inferno.
“OMG! I love my pumpkin lip gloss. I stock up every fall,” she giggled. Her pink dress hugged hips that were positively pulsating with joy, and the happy wiggle called his attention to her apple-shaped bottom.
Does her body always vibrate when she’s happy? God, he needed coffee.
The coffee was vital not just because it was 6:48 a.m. on the last Tuesday before returning to The Land of Bad Excuses for Forgotten Homework, but because in two hours he’d be giving a talk to future special education teachers at his alma mater. Jonathan, his freshman roommate-turned best friend-turned associate college professor, roped him into it. Far too often, Jonathan talked him into things with his “hey buddys” over one too many cold beers.
Despite his chosen profession requiring him to speak to classrooms full of junior high students who only gave him half their attention, he hated getting up in front of people. You could call it his kryptonite, although he was more Clark Kent than Superman. On the outside he would appear cool as a cucumber, but inside was a tornado of anxiety. Tight chest, throat dry, his words elusive. A nervous jitter would vibrate through him the entire time. Still, he did it.
“Good morning. How are you?” The brunette’s greeting to the barista oozed cheer, pulling Colm away from his musings to study her as if drawing the map of a newly discovered continent. Her thick dark hair hung loose against a paper white blazer. The fitted skirt of her dress stopped just below the back of her delicate knees. The fabric caressed each curve of her body creating a silhouette that was sexy, yet sweet.
Colm forced his eyes to the rows of mugs, tumblers, and bags of coffee for sale. No matter how the fabric luxuriated over her shape, staring was impolite. Besides, this woman was annoying, verbally fluttering between the barista and the old man chattering about seasonal treats while people waited.
Less chit-chat and more ordering, please.
“Hello. What would you like?” The brunette had spun to face him. Her big smile sucker-punched him with its brightness and stole his breath. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation of his response.
“What?” Why was she asking? Also, do smiles come that big? It was the type of smile that erupted like a volcano, happiness flooding all over like joyful lava.
Her dainty fingers fiddled with a gold butterfly necklace that dangled inches below her collarbone. When Jonathan asked if he was a tits or ass man, he’d normally choose ass. But in that moment, collarbones clinched the title of the sexiest part of a woman. There was an urge to press his lips against this little chatterbox’s collarbone and make her purr.
Colm blinked away the thought. It wasn’t like him to objectify a woman. Even if she had a smile that paralyzed him with its brilliance.
“To drink. What would you like? My treat.” She bit her lower lip, eclipsing that big smile.
He wanted to untuck that lip and free that smile. Keep your hands to yourself… He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his grey slacks.
“Isn’t she a sweetheart?” The old man turned with admiring eyes. “Evie here is buying our drinks since we’ve been waiting so long.”
That big smile had a name. Evie. The corners of his lips tugged up as he stared at her Mediterranean blue eyes.
“They have the best pumpkin chai. That’s what Stanley and I are getting. You can join our pumpkin patch…” she paused with a nervous giggle, “…or do your own thing.”
Evie batted her eyelashes, peering up at him. At six foot five he towered over her. The top of her head, covered in shiny hair that his fingers itched to touch, would rest snug below his chin.
Dude, stop being creepy and order a goddamn drink!
“Large coffee…black,” he said clearing his throat.
“Perfect.” That big smile blasted him, causing an unfamiliar flip in his stomach.
In all the dates and two girlfriends he’d had since he was seventeen, nobody had ever made his stomach rumble like a herd of stampeding rhinos. That was something that only happened in the romance novels that Jonathan read, convinced they contained secrets to wooing the ladies. It did not occur in real life, but it was happening to him right now.
Spinning on her pointy pink heels, Evie ordered their drinks.
Evie. Each syllable of her name hummed like the notes of a new favorite song. Colm had never met an Evie. The name wasn’t as rare as his own, but unique enough to not be common. Just like her smile.
While he splashed cream and two sugar packets into his coffee, his gaze flicked back to her. There was a desire to retreat, yet also a desire to remain.
He’d said thank you when she ordered their drinks, but nothing more. Mom had raised him right. Respectful, though he lacked the smoothness Jonathan had to chat up a pretty girl. He was Clark Kent, after all.
Hesitation lurked as he glanced at Evie, who still waited at the end of the counter for her drink. The alluring melody of her voice tangoed around him. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to ask her to join him.
She’s sunshine. You’re a storm cloud. With a self-defeated shrug, he pivoted from where Evie waited for her drink.
In the sea of early morning patrons munching on stale pastries and drinking fancy coffees over laptops and cellphones, he located an isolated table tucked in the corner. He tried to focus on his breathing and ignore the distracting soundtrack of hushed chatter, chairs being pulled out, and the hissing espresso machine. The outside world often drained him. He drank up the solitude with his coffee while reviewing his notes for his talk.
“Hello.” A honey sweet voice pierced his concentration.
Evie stood in front of his two-person table, an unabashed grin on her pretty face. Her delicate fingers clenched her coffee cup. Evie danced around the cup in fat cursive letters. Writing wasn’t prone to dance, but damn if her name didn’t appear to be doing just that.
“Hello.” It was a statement punctuated with questioning.
“This place is as busy as the cantina from Star Wars .” She gestured around at the full tables and clusters of waiting customers. “Except way fewer bounty hunters. At least, I think. There are a few sketchy looking folks in here.”
Colm nodded, not getting the reference. “I’ve never seen Star Wars .”
“I thought the sci-fi fairytale was a rite of passage for all millennials?”
“My mom never let me watch anything that she deemed killy.”
“Killy?”
“Violent.”
Evie tipped her head to the right and scrunched her face. “I wouldn’t say it’s that killy.”
He smiled at her use of his mom’s word, “killy.” As if she was learning his native tongue. Learning him.
“Well, there was something about shooting wombats that mom found objectionable,” he explained.
She nodded. “Makes sense. Animal cruelty shouldn’t be tolerated. Come to think of it there are some other red flags with those movies. Like the weird incest angle when you find out Princess Leia is Luke’s sister.”
Quiet settled over them as they stared at each other. Was it seconds? Or hours? He wasn’t sure.
“So…” There was another bite of that pink bottom lip and an anxious tug of her necklace. “Feel free to say no, but would you mind if I sat with you?”
Colm blinked at the empty seat across from him. When was the last time a stranger asked to sit with him? Especially such a pretty one. There were people on the bus or at the movies that asked if a seat was taken, but never to sit with you. Sitting with someone implied sharing a space versus just existing in it.
Evie’s face pinched. “Sorry. I know it’s weird for a stranger to ask to sit. But at least I’m not offering to show you my puppy in my windowless van,” she laughed with a slight wince. “I’ll go. Have a good day.” She turned to leave.
“Wait…sit.” The words slipped out like a plea. Maybe they were. There was something about this little chatterbox that made him want her to stay.
“Are you sure?” she asked, looking skeptical. “I don’t want to intrude. Although I kind of already did. My bad. I had a plan to kill time here and all these people are putting a wrench in that. Drives me nuts when a plan doesn’t go…well, as planned ,” she giggled.
Something in her uncertain giggle and the fact that she was a planner like him endeared her to him. “Sit.” He motioned to the seat with a soft smile. At least he hoped it was soft.
Don’t be creepy. Don’t be creepy.
“Thanks. I’m Evie Johnson.” She held her hand out.
“Colm Gallagher.”
His hand enveloped hers. It was warm from holding her drink, but something told him that her hands would always be warm. Her smooth hand fit snug in his big rough one as if her hand was always meant to be in his.
There was that stomach flip again. Ridiculous! Thirty-year-old men weren’t supposed to react like a teenage girl seeing BTS, but then, he never fit the mold. Why should this be different?
“Colm? Like Colm Feore?”
“Who?”
“He’s an actor. Been in a bunch of stuff, but not like a household name. Not like Chris Evans. Oh, golly The Nanny Diaries is one of my favs!” Her face contorted. “Sorry. I’m sputtering about Chris Evans when you asked about Colm Feore. Stay on topic Evie,” she simpered. “Colm Feore was in the Chronicles of Riddick . Truly terrible movie, but my mom has a thing for Vin Diesel, so I’ve seen all his movies—thrice. My mom even has a Chihuahua named Diesel. Dreadful dog. He bites.”
“Vin Diesel?” Listening to her rapid speech was like riding a tilt-a-whirl at the carnival. Your equilibrium was off kilter, but your heart sped with happy excitement. He did not want to get off this ride.
“Yeah. Mom loves sexy bald men. Vin Diesel and Bruce Willis are her fantasy men. Although neither are sexy to me.”
“What’s sexy to you?”
Pink rouged her cheeks. “Chris Hemsworth.”
“Thor?” There was a knowing arch of his right brow. How often had Jonathan told him that he looked like a clean-cut version of the God of Thunder?
Evie’s blush deepened. “Back to Bruce Willis. We watch Die Hard every Christmas.”
“Oh,” Colm said, cringing inside at his less than smooth response.
“Do you have a movie you watch each Christmas? Oh wait, do you not celebrate Christmas? That might have been insensitive of me to ask.” There was a lip-biting frown on her face. “Although you can still watch Christmas movies even if you don’t celebrate. My friend Leo’s boyfriend Martin is Jewish but lives for the Hallmark Christmas movies. If it has a princess from a made-up Eastern European country where they speak with British accents falling in love with a Christmas tree farm owner, he’s there.” Evie’s face twisted in self-reproach. “Sorry. I’m babbling again. Not even giving you a chance to answer.”
“ It’s a Wonderful Life ,” he offered.
How strange that the sputtering ways that he’d found grating in line now seemed delightful. Evie’s entire face lit up as she talked, and her voice was like an orchestra of inflections.
“Oh. That’s a good one.”
A cheeky grin covered his face. “Yup.”
“That face. Colm Gallagher, are you not a fan of the story of George Bailey’s redemption?” There was a glint of playful accusation in her eyes.
“The guy makes poor financial decisions and we’re supposed to applaud that,” Colm guffawed.
Mom would get so annoyed when he’d snark back at George Bailey, “Yeah, why did you have all those kids?” during their annual Christmas Eve viewing of the film. Colm related more to Mr. Potter and never understood why the only member of Bedford Falls with a sound business plan was vilified. Mom would grumble, but they’d watch the movie each year with peppermint hot chocolate and caramel popcorn. It was tradition. And he never broke from an established plan. That is, until today. Evie wasn’t on his plan for today.
“Can I admit something to you?” Evie bent close. Her vanilla-lavender aroma wrapped around him like a hug.
Inhaling deep, he smiled. “Sure.”
She wagged a warning finger. “You can’t tell anyone or I’ll…well I’ll think of something terrible. Like buy you decaf and say it’s regular the next time we have coffee.”
“Diabolical.” Colm liked the sound of a next time slipping from her heart-shaped mouth.
“I’m an evil genius.” She winked. “When that little girl at the end says ‘Daddy, Teacher says when a bell rings, an angel gets its wings’ I find her voice as painful as a root canal. Like it’s supposed to be cutesy, but it totally ruins the moment for me.”
“I feel the same way about Tiny Tim in every version of A Christmas Carol .”
Evie tapped her cup against his in a toast to them both being terrible humans.
“Colm. I like your name. How did you get it?” she asked, her fingernails skating across the smooth surface of the table.
Evie’s fingers were delicate and long with a pale pink sparkle polish. There was no ring. Again, his stomach did something men’s bellies shouldn’t do.
“I was named for my grandfather,” Colm said, trying to figure out a not-obvious way to display that there wasn’t now, nor had there ever been, a ring on his finger.
“Oh, good old Pop-Pop Colm.” That big smile danced with mirth. “That’s sweet that she named you after him.”
“There’s no Pop-Pop Colm, but a Grandfather Bill. My Grandfather was from Northern Ireland. Mom wanted an Irish name in honor of him but didn’t want to be so on the nose by naming me after him. I don’t know.” He shrugged, sipping his coffee.
“I like that. It’s super clever and totally original of your mom.”
Most people would snark about how that didn’t make sense. Nobody ever got his mom’s reasoning behind his name, but Evie did. There was no sarcasm in her words, just an earnest admiration. To Evie, his mom was ingenious, not fanciful.
Something about those blue eyes told him that she could understand him, though there was no logical explanation for why he thought so. That made him uncomfortable. Decisions were made with research, facts, and lists, not with the gut. Especially when the gut was somersaulting like a backup dancer.
“I bet it must have been hard to find those pens with your name on them in gift shops as a kid. I could never find Evie, but sometimes I could find Evelyn. Evelyn is my birthname, but I go by Evie. I’m named after a character from a book my mom read in high school. Fun fact, she doesn’t remember the name of the book or the plot, but still named me after that character.”
“Huh,” he said.
Really? Huh? So smooth, man.
Colm never wanted to be smooth as bad as he did right now. To have all the swagger of Jonathan, who could chat up women at the bar like a modern-day Casanova. To be able to flow between topics, easing into a comfortable current of conversation.
As she spoke, he continued to nod and give one-word answers or grunts. More grunts than were appropriate for a non-neanderthal. He should have just said his name was “Ugg” with his monosyllabic answers.
Evie talked about her job as a hospital social worker. Colm nodded.
She asked what he did. He said “teach,” and sipped his coffee. When she asked what he taught, he said “kids.” They both cringed and she changed topics.
Evie talked about moving from Kansas City to Long Beach three years ago. Colm said, “Oh.”
When she asked if he grew up in Long Beach, he said, “Nope” and didn’t elaborate.
Evie talked about wanting to get a corgi. Colm wasn’t sure what sound he made, but it was either a huff or a “Ha” in response.
I have no game. He sighed, closing his eyes.
“So, you’re a coffee guy,” she said, her smile collapsing in mortification. “I’m being awkward. Of course, you’re a coffee guy. You ordered coffee. Sorry. I get nervous meeting new people. Look at me chattering away like a train with no brakes. Sorry…I’m clearly annoying you.”
Whatever had fluttered in his stomach earlier now gave him a swift kick, telling him to reassure her and bring back that smile. God, he wanted to drink up that smile.
Drink up? You sound like an Ed Sheeran lyric.
This little whirlwind of cheerfulness shouldn’t be darkened by his cloudiness. Even if his cloudiness was a mere trick of the mirrors of how people saw him.
“You’re not talking too much,” Colm assured. His eyes met hers, hoping to soothe her uncertainty.
“Phew.” She wiped her brow with goofy theatrics. “Can I get you to sign an affidavit to that for my friend Leo? He’ll never believe that someone said I didn’t talk too much.”
“Gladly.” There was a playfulness to Colm’s tone that he hadn’t heard in a very long time. Dare he call it flirtatious?
“I was worried when you weren’t talking that I was mowing you over with my blathering. I know I can do that at times. Like I only have one speed when I talk.” Concern sobered her sweet features to serious as she spoke, “It’s okay to tell me if I am. People tell me I talk too much all the time.”
The idea of anyone making Evie feel bad for talking sparked a desire to get a list of their names and rage through the city like Liam Neeson seeking revenge on her behalf. Of course, he lacked Liam Neeson’s particular skillset. The only skill he had would be quiet intimidation and pop quizzes.
Everyone would get a pop quiz!
While he wanted to protect Evie from sadness dulling her effervescence, this was another thing they shared. Neither quite fit the expectations of others. One too much. One not enough.
“People say I talk too little,” he offered.
“So, it’s not me?”
“No, it’s me,” he sighed, looking down. There was no Colm scribbled in ink dancing on his cup. Just another way he didn’t fit in.
“Then it’s us.” Evie reached across the table, her warm hand resting on his in solidarity.
“Ok.” He placed his other hand atop, blanketing hers. “Then it’s us.”