Chapter 3 #2
He starts heading towards me, and my brain begins to panic. I look away and then look back again, unsure what the hell to do. Should I run? Don’t be stupid, I think. Calm down, for Christ’s sake, Elizabeth!
“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, voice low… controlled and careful. I don’t answer, unable to string a sentence together. I look around to see a handful of empty tables that he could have easily taken.
I realise that the silence is stretching past us and it’s becoming a little awkward.
Bear lifts his head and sniffs the newcomer with mild approval.
When his tail wags, it irritates me slightly at how trusting my dog has already become with this stranger.
Bear has already accepted him, yet I can’t seem to speak.
I’m just looking at him, brow lifted, pen paused mid-thought.
I must look as if I don’t speak English. Perhaps I should pretend that I don’t?
“You don’t know me,” he starts, “but I think, if I’m not mistaken, you’re a writer.” He looks down at my notebook and my hand poised with the pen.
I blink, slightly annoyed by the assumption, and it causes my words to flow.
“That’s quite a statement to make. How do you know I’m not writing a love letter to my one true love?
” I retort with a very slight tone of exasperation, so slight that had Theodore not been paying close enough attention, he would have missed it.
His lips shape into a playful smile. I wish he wouldn’t smile.
It sends my stomach twisting every single time.
“Are you?” he asks.
“Am I what?” He laughs at my answer, his eyes teasing me.
“Writing a love letter?” My cheeks flame and embarrassment wraps its claws around me.
“Oh, no, I’m not.”
“I didn’t think so.” He is so sure of himself, and I can’t work out whether or not I like it.
“I have been watching you. You sit here, hidden for hours with your head in your book, and you only ever order two coffees and one single glass of water. If you were writing to your one true love, I would think the lucky man would be sitting here with you.” A beat of silence passes, and then…
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you leave my side.” The comment launches me into shocked silence.
For someone that I have only met once, he seems the possessive type. Until a few weeks ago I had never seen him before, and I hadn’t seen him since, so how had he been watching me?
“Do I need to be worried? You sound a lot like a stalker.” I ask accusingly. I could think of worse people to be stalked by, if I’m honest, but I won’t let him know that.
“Not a stalker, I’m just someone who can appreciate beauty,” he replies.
I’m unsure what to say as my breath catches in my chest. I should feel uncomfortable, but the only thing I feel is flattered.
I bite my bottom lip whilst the silence between us stretches and then, perhaps against my better judgement, I nod to the chair next to me.
“Five minutes,” I say. He pulls out the chair next to me and places his coffee on the table.
“That’s more than enough time. So, what are you writing if not a love letter?
” I hesitate. It’s rare anyone ever sees between the pages of this book.
It’s full of my private thoughts, almost like a diary, yet more intense.
I don’t tell him everything, but I do tell him more than I anticipate.
There is something about him that makes it easy to open up.
I tell him about how writing is how I breathe.
How the sea feels more like home than any room I have ever lived in.
I even speak about my late mother and father, which I haven’t done in a long time.
The whole time I speak, he listens intently.
His concentration is completely on me. He doesn’t offer much back.
It doesn’t seem like he is there to talk about himself.
“I haven’t asked your name?” He says.
“Elizabeth,” I reply.
“Elizabeth.” He says my name, releasing it from his mouth like a song. I desperately want him to say it again.
“What would you like me to call you, Mr. Masters?” If I am not mistaken, my question makes him squirm, his eyes going dark.
“You can call me whatever you wish, Elizabeth, but Mr. Masters may not be the wisest choice.” He looks down at his coffee cup as if trying to compose himself. I flush a little, embarrassed yet unsure why. I fidget in my chair and tap my foot on the floor.
When I ask him what he does, he just smiles his pearly white grin at me.
“Music, but you already know that,” he answers. “Mostly I just try to… disappear. Hide in the shadows, shall we say?” I place my hand under my chin, resting on it as I listen to him. I could listen to his voice all day.
“Why did you sit here?” He leans into the back of his chair, smirking at me.
“You really want to know?” Do I? I slowly nod my head, regretting it immediately.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Elizabeth, and you intrigue me.” Okay, I’ve decided I don’t want to know, but I can’t get him to take it back now that he’s said it. My blush returns, and I can’t look him in the eye. “Do I make you nervous, Elizabeth?”
He leans forward, his body closer to me now.
My fingers reach for my coffee mug, and I stroke the rim, unsure of where to go from here.
He’s waiting for an answer, and I don’t know what to say to him.
He does make me nervous, yes, but he also seems to be making me laugh, making me feel seen.
He also seems to be making me question my moral code.
This man is married. I know that. I would be living under a rock if I didn’t; however, the rumours in the news of an unhappy marriage and his wife’s affairs circle my brain. If those stories are true… I’m trying to find an excuse that makes our flirty conversation more acceptable.
There really isn’t one.
“Yes, you do, Theo, but you are also…”
I get cut off by his phone buzzing twice on the table, and with the sound, his demeanour shifts.
Only for a fleeting second, but he seems to stiffen.
He glances at it and sighs heavily. He turns it face down on the table, but I notice a sudden change in the atmosphere.
His shoulders have tensed, and his lips are pressed together in a tight line.
Our conversation doesn’t continue. He stands to leave, thanking me for sitting with him. I can tell it’s genuine. As if my guarded words have given him something he hadn’t realised he was missing.
He doesn’t ask for my number and I am slightly disappointed; however, I soon realise he doesn’t actually need it. He already knows where to find me. He has been watching me enough, by the sounds of it.
The next morning, Theo is there again. Same time, same seat, same order – black coffee.
Bear wags his tail lightly, as if he knows I am unsure about this man, but he can’t quite help his little tail from showing his own delight.
I don’t say anything to greet him. Words don’t feel like they’re needed.
I shift my notebook to the side to make room for him and his coffee.
He sits down next to me, and my heart begins to flutter ever so slightly. It takes me by surprise, so I lower my head, avoiding eye contact with him for a while, just long enough to compose myself.
It seems my quiet place is no longer quiet in the way it used to be.