It had been a while; I'd spent a long time hiding away from everyone. Myself also.
The last two years I'd been a virtual recluse, physically and emotionally, emerging only when necessary, and then, under sufferance. I rediscovered myself though and now, for the first time in seven years, I feel deserving.
He'd not asked. It was more a suggestion, a prompt to follow a course of action at the same place and time as himself and I'd decided I was able to do so; take the prompt and resulting action.
I liked him, not in that way, I wasn't ready to allow myself to think that way even now after two years of cocooning myself away, but he was nice: Polite, generous, kind and respectful, or so I'd observed. I liked that. He didn't smile much but when he did his face lit up from the inside, his eyes shone, the room seemed brighter, and the recipient knew it was genuinely offered. I'd been the recipient from across the café many times over the last few months.
He'd not asked, just suggested, but we were meeting at the local café, and I was...I was nervous.
He was there first. I knew he'd make sure of that as he'd have not wanted me to wait alone. Polite and respectful. He stood to greet me with a smile, it almost seemed a smile of relief that I'd actually turned up I thought, but it touched his eyes and I smiled back involuntarily, shyly but warmly.
His eyes were fixed on my face, mostly. I saw him briefly flick them over my body, appraising and approving. I had agonised for a long while on what to wear, I don't know why it was so important, it just was. I think I got it right. I liked him looking. I liked that he approved.
It felt strange to be in this place, this headspace, as I'd spent so long not wanting any attention at all. Strange, but not unwelcome. I felt...I felt like spring. I felt like I'd unfolded somewhat, like a flower
We chatted although he paused to order coffee and thank the waitress for bringing water. He asked first of course, the word coffee spoken with an up-tilt at the end of the word with a questioning look at me. He ordered without asking what I liked which puzzled me until I remembered he'd seen me here, from a distance, many times. I smiled. It felt nice, having someone care enough to remember such a small detail like how I liked my coffee.
The first time I saw him was at this very table a few months earlier; he was reading a book. I watched him for an hour, not that I was all that interested of course.
His brow was slightly furrowed as if questioning or deeply pondering the words and was so engrossed in the book he missed the coffee cup handle several times when reaching for it. He kept trying and I stifled a giggle because he looked quite silly but finally he picked up the cup then took about one minute to get it to his lips for a sip so intent upon his book he was. He had nice lips, not that I thought over much on them of course.
He turned the pages with his right hand, always from the top right side of the page, placed his thumb over the turned page to hold it down and continued reading without pause. It was funny how he'd tilt his head around the page as he turned it as if eager to read the next words more quickly. He never looked up but occasionally adjusted his glasses, sipped his coffee and remained focused on his book. It made me think of myself and the bubble I'd created around myself to hold others away. I wondered why he did it.
Occasionally he'd slowly draw his thumb down the length of his jawline to his chin. It seemed an absent gesture, a habit I supposed, but it suited him and I found myself wondering where he'd acquired it and why...not that I was paying all that much attention to him at all of course.
I paid no mind to his boots, always clean, the way he wore his shirt tucked into one side of his jeans, the way he'd remove his jacket and arrange it on the chair beside him or how he'd sling his satchel over his shoulder - always to the left - when he stood to leave, how he kept his beard cropped close, manly, but not shabby, or that he never stirred his coffee before he drank it. No, I hardly even noticed him over the last few months at all.
Today he did the thumb and jaw thing a few times and I realised what it meant; he did it when thinking. I wanted to ask where he picked up the habit - I wanted to know everything - but somehow refrained. He also had very intense eyes, I knew that already, but up close, when he was speaking passionately about something, they almost glowed with inner light. I wasn't paying that much attention of course, but I lingered there in his eyes, just a little. It seemed a comfortable place to be and I found myself gazing, would dip my eyes, then relent and gaze again.
I remember thinking he was hiding something behind those eyes, sadness, pain or regret maybe although he did a good job at masking it. He'd deftly return the conversation to me if it drifted too close to places and things he wanted not to talk about, and I didn't mind. I had them too, those places and things that I wanted not to recall.
I found myself telling him more than I thought I would though, not to please him, it was pleasing to me, and that felt good.
He had this way of listening intently as if what I said was the most important thing in the world to him, and he had a disarming manner; I felt open to him, almost emotionally naked. I felt like I'd known him forever and liked that feeling.
We talked for hours in this way. It wasn't back and forth, the conversation, it was more a merging, or should I say melting, of one into the other. He'd shift beneath my conversation if I touched on something he'd rather I not, and I'd gently guide him in return if he did the same it was a dance of sorts and the lines were blurred. It was...effortless. It was wondrous. It was beautiful.
Hours, which seemed like minutes, passed then he announced he must leave.
I managed a smile, hoping it didn't look too disappointed, and commented that I needed to also, and we made to leave. I didn't want to. I felt, hmm...I felt like I was already right where I needed to be and had no reason to leave, no desire to leave. I wanted to stay with him, to stay beneath the gaze of those eyes, to make him smile just once more, but he clearly wanted to leave so I pretended I did also.
We gathered our things and he reached to collect his keys, right at the very moment I reached for my purse, his hand touched mine so lightly...briefly, and then...it stayed there a moment longer, his thumb and forefinger on the back of my hand; his fingers felt warm, ever-so-slightly rough, strong but well-used and cared for. I imagined I could feel the swirls of his fingerprints and wanted to feel more, and not just on my hand, but the moment was gone. Our eyes locked as he withdrew his hand and half-apologised and I dropped my eyes, too afraid they may betray me and show him what that touch made me feel.
We made our way onto the street stopping out the front of the café where I turned, looked up into his face, smiled and thanked him for paying for the coffees and the lovely conversation. I think I said I'd had a nice time, but I can't be sure. I knew I was drawing out the moment far too long but didn't care and that's when he asked and I said yes.
We turned and walked in opposite directions, and it took every bit of will power I possessed not to turn and watch him, but I failed woefully.
I turned and watched as he walked away admiring the way his confident but relaxed gait, the way his satchel bumped against him as he strode away, and his trademark thumb-jaw move; I stood in the street wishing I walked beside him, that I could be under his gaze once more, and I wondered what he was thinking...and then he turned. Once more our eyes locked and this time he smiled, gestured with one hand and tilted his head ever so lightly to the right. I waved back and hurriedly turned away embarrassed he'd caught me staring.
I said yes and will be seeing him again in only a couple days. I don't know why, but I can't seem to sit still, can't concentrate, and want to fast forward the week.
Becca 💗
(The coffee image was taken by me.)