Work seems to drag by the next day. Every single time the bell over the door rings, my heart leaps and I look up hoping to see Judd walk through.
And every time it isn’t him, my heart sinks back down into my chest.
I’m scared of how much I want to see him. Is this normal for a new relationship? Can I even call what we have so far a relationship? I have no idea what I’m doing or how this is supposed to go, and I feel like a lost puppy.
We haven’t even talked about what we’re looking for right now. Maybe he isn’t interested in a relationship. I know medical school can be extremely tough and he said he has to work extra hours for his scholarship project. Does he even have time for a real girlfriend or is this just a fling?
Of course, if it was a fling, he would have slept with me that first night in the bar instead of trying to slow things down.
These are the neurotic thoughts occupying my mind throughout my shift. The closer it gets to my four o’clock shift end, the more neurotic and paranoid I become.
What if he isn’t even coming? I don’t have his phone number or anything, so it would be easy for him to ditch me if he wanted to.
By ten minutes to four, I’ve completely convinced myself he isn’t coming and that he doesn’t want to see me again. I must have done something last night to mess this whole thing up. And maybe he’s really not as good looking and sweet as I thought he was and he’s doing me a favor by blowing me off. That’s when the bell sounds and he finally walks in.
I’m cleaning off a table in the far corner when he casually walks up to the counter and orders a caramel mocha. His eyes drift toward me and he winks.
I almost pass out in a mix of relief and desire. Yeah, he’s definitely every bit as good looking as I remember. He’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a long-sleeve cotton t-shirt that shows off the defined muscles underneath. His hair is slightly wavier than I’ve seen it before, and I wonder if that’s because of the misty rain outside today. Whatever it is, I like it.
“Hey,” he says, walking over to the table where I’m cleaning.
“Hi,” I say back, feeling like a teenager with a new crush.
“Are we still on for four?”
Fuck yes.
“Yeah, I just need a few minutes to cash out and clean up in the back,” I say. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
He nods and takes a seat in an empty booth. He doesn’t have his backpack with him today, but he pulls a book out of his back pocket and opens it to a page marked with a tattered scrap of paper.
I stare at the book cover as I make my way back to the kitchen. King. He’s reading Stephen King, my all-time favorite author. I nearly swoon as I turn the corner and disappear into the back room.
He’s ruggedly handsome, loves The Beatles, reads books in his spare time, and still carries a sentimental blanket from his childhood in his car. He’s too perfect.
Which means there has to be a catch, right? If something (or someone) seems too good to be true, it probably is. Or at least that’s what my mother has always told me. There has to be something wrong with him.
I warn my heart to be careful. To hold back and put up walls to protect myself.
But deep inside, I already know I’m in too deep. Just a few days with this guy and already I care about him more than I should. Whatever outer shell I had been keeping up around my heart, it broke that night while I was dancing. And when Judd appeared out of nowhere like a gift from the universe, he slipped inside to the place where I am most vulnerable.
It’s way too late for being careful.