Chapter Eight
Jeremy
As I stand in line at the café, a familiar voice speaks from my right. It’s Hirim, towering over me as he waits for his coffee order.
“You’re still tipping the staff like always,” he remarks.
I nod and say, “Yeah, most people don’t think of it, so I figured someone should.”
Hirim turns to me, studying my face with his dark eyes. “So, Hannah told me you taught her how to surf over the weekend.”
A smile threatens to spread across my face. If Hannah told Hirim about our surf lesson, it must have gone well. I silently hope she spoke positively of me.
“Did she mention how I convinced her to join in on the lesson?” I tease.
He chuckles and says, “Getting Hannah to willingly participate in any kind of athletic activity is impressive.”
I frown and ask, “Is she not into sports?”
“She likes watching them, but not playing them,” Hirim replies.
Interesting. During our lesson, Hannah seemed eager to try surfing.
Once again, I wonder if her interest was genuine or if she only agreed because I defended her against her ex-boyfriend.
Hirim seems to read my thoughts and adds, “If Hannah lets a guy teach her how to surf in front of kids, that means she’s interested in him.”
My heart rate increases slightly at his words. Does this mean Hannah likes me back? Or is Hirim just trying to gauge my feelings towards her?
I casually express my uncertainty about being Hannah’s type, hoping to keep the conversation going.
“I’ve met all of her exes over the years and they were all terrible people, absolute scum. Her relationships never last more than a few months,” Hirim rolls his eyes. “They always lose interest and move on to their next conquest. But you’re different. I believe you’re exactly what Hannah needs.”
I want to know if Hannah likes me, but it seems like Hirim is also trying to figure out if I have feelings for her. It’s strange discussing my feelings for Hannah with one of her friends in such a deep and meaningful way.
“Okay, so I guess that confirms I’m not her type,” I say with a slight smirk.
Hirim winks at me and says, “You are her type, she just hasn’t realized it yet.”
“So you’re saying I’m scum?” I raise an eyebrow, jokingly.
Hirim holds back a laugh but then starts choking on his coffee. I quickly pat his back to help him catch his breath. Other customers start staring at us as he tries to compose himself.
“You’re not scum,” Hirim sputters between coughs.
“How did you come to that conclusion? We’re not exactly close.” This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with Hirim and it’s making me realize what a shame it is that we haven’t gotten to know each other better.
“You’re not scum at all. I saw you tipping the staff when you ordered your coffee. You’re the only one in Australia who does that. Tipping isn’t really a thing here, but you still do it every morning without even thinking about it.”
I am surprised that he notices that, or that anyone notices that. Isn’t it common courtesy to drop a few coins in the tip jar on the café counter?
“Many guys she dates enjoy the chase, but lose interest once they have her,” he clarifies. “It’s not because she isn’t interesting to date, but rather because those guys aren’t interested in committing to a long-term relationship.”
“Unlike others,” he adds, pointing at me, “I can see that you’re committed to a long-term relationship, which is what Hannah needs.”
I question in disbelief, “How can you possibly know that about me?”
“It’s a vibe,” he casually remarks, shrugging it off.
“A vibe?” I ask, attempting to hide my skepticism, but failing.
“Your vibe practically screams ‘nice guy’.”
It’s hard to decipher his true meaning with that haughty tone, but I don’t think it’s good.
“That’s because I’m obviously not the kind of person she’s interested in. Based on what you just told me, it seems like she doesn’t like the ‘nice guy’.”
“Ye of little faith.” He smirks. “Keep doing what you’re doing and maybe suggest another surf lesson to her while Ruby works her magic.”
“Sure, but I’m not doing anything,” I confess, though we both acknowledge it’s a lie .
“Do you plan on going to the quarterly get-together next week?” he asks as he takes his coffee from the barista, nodding his thanks towards her.
As I receive my order from the barista, I say, “Yeah, I’m going.” I smile warmly at the barista before we walk away.
Not knowing how concerned I should be, given the mischievous look in Hirim’s eyes, I chose to trust him regardless.