Page 33 of Until Then

Nothing beatsthe feeling of a shower after a day in the sun. The turkey wrap I make for dinner after is a close second, though.

It continues to plague me, what Derrick said about seeing me in the coffee shop. Until that moment, I thought I’d always been hyper aware of him. Sure, I tried to set him up with my sister, even after I discovered my attraction to him, but that was because I don’t live here. It was clear the moment I met him that he’s not the type for a fling, so it wouldn’t have made sense for me to pursue him.

Once I’m settled in bed, I open up my laptop and scour my vlogs from the last time I was here. I spent a lot of time at the coffee shop during that visit, so there’s probably a clip from there in almost every video. But I search through each one without luck. I don’t see him in any clip.

I should let it go. What’s the point, anyway? But it’s become this nagging thing, like a hangnail I can’t help but pick at.

Next, I search my unused footage—I save stuff for at least six months before I dump it to make space—and that’s where I finally come across the video.

I’m sitting at a table with my back to the counter. He comes in and glances my way. The smile that takes over is almost instantaneous. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his mouth moves in a way that looks like he’s saying my name. But I’m oblivious. If I had been wearing headphones, I could understand. But there was no good reason for me to have missed his greeting.

His shoulders fall slightly, and he turns back to the counter and orders. While he waits for his coffee, he peers over at me every now and then. And when he has his drink in hand, he starts toward me. Halfway to me, though, his face hardens, and he shakes his head. He changes course then and heads out of frame and presumably out the door.

A lead ball forms in my stomach.

I didn’t notice him. How could I not have sensed him?

I watch the clip again and again and again.

Guilt creeps through me as I cut the clip and save it separately so it’s easier to find. It’s not the end of the world, of course. I was in the zone, doing my thing. Even so, it still bothers me. And Derrick was right. More often than not, I’m so focused on what’s going on inside my phone or through the lens of my camera that I’m missing out on life.

My social media presence has created many opportunities for which I’m grateful for, but I want more. I want a husband and kids. Real, lasting friendships. And social media can’t give me that.

I close the laptop and set it on the nightstand. Then I flop back onto the mountain of pillows. Wonton curls up beside me, resting his head on my knee.

Despite the anxiety curling inside me over my social media presence and my future, I manage to fall asleep quickly.

It’sthe middle of the afternoon on Monday when Derrick comes bursting through the door, a string of expletives flying from his lips.

With my heart in my throat, I sit up from my reclined position on the couch, setting my book on the coffee table. “Derrick?” I call out.

He doesn’t respond. I’m not sure he even realizes I’m here. So I slip off the couch and follow him into the kitchen, where I find him at the sink, fingers laced behind his head, his chest heaving.

“Hey.” I place a gentle hand on his back. “What’s going on?”

His eyes, full of frustration and maybe even fear, drop to mine. “I should’ve listened to Jessica.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. “Huh? I’m missing something here, big guy.”

With a huff, he drops his hands to his sides. “Jessica has been telling me for weeks, months really that I need?—”

I shake my head and hold up a finger, urging him to slow down. “Hold on, who’s Jessica?”

“She’s my receptionist—no, that doesn’t sound right. She’s more like an assistant. She handles my calls and scheduling. Anything else I need.”

“Gotcha.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the counter. “Go on.”

“She’s been telling me for months that I need to hire someone to help me while she’s on maternity leave.” His fingers tremble with agitation when he shoves them through his hair. “I thought I had time. But she went into labor today. It’s too early. They were able to stop it, but she’s on bed rest, and I don’t have the help I need. I told her I could do it myself, but really?—”

“I’ll do it.”

He inhales sharply and zeroes in on me, his eyes wide. “What?”

“I can handle it.”

“Izzy.” That single word is laced with a heavy dose of doubt. I should probably feel offended, but if anything, it makes me more eager to help, because now I want to prove him wrong. “How?”

“I’m a quick learner. She uses a lot of the same stuff I do for scheduling, so that part should be easy. I’m smarter than I look, you know.” I tack on the last bit a tad defensively. The assumption that because I work in social media, I don’t know how to function in the physical world irks me.

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