Page 9 of Blurred Love

I stand up. I don’t know why I’m so bothered by all this. I guess I was hoping to at least talk face to face with him, but that’s obviously not going to happen. “I asked him to come see me today, but I haven’t seen him. I’m sure he wants to forget he ever met me.”

She reaches for me to stop me from walking away. “Poppy, don’t beat yourself up. You apologized. That’s all you can do.”

I force a smile onto my face. I know she’s right, but it still doesn’t feel good. “I know. I better get back to work.”

She nods. “See you.”

I walk back to the truck and nudge Teresa. “Go take a break.”

Her eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, we’re through the rush. Go ahead.”

She grabs her phone and her earbuds out of her purse. “I’m at a good spot in my audiobook, so I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back.”

I laugh. “Take your time.”

I straighten up the inside of the truck, restocking a few things. I keep checking the window, expecting customers, but it’s died down a bit now. I walk outside of the truck to restock out there when I see Colter sitting at the table with Abby. Instantly, my heart starts to race, and I come to a halt, staring at the man with a beard and shaggy brown hair. He looks up at me but quickly looks away.

I try to go about my business, but I know what I need to do.

I walk back into the truck and put a chocolate croissant and a slice of chocolate cake onto a plate and then walk back out of the truck. Abby is gone, but Colter remains in his seat, and even though he has his sunglasses on, I just know he’s looking at me.

It’s like I can feel his gaze.

I suck in a breath, and even though he’s only a few feet away, it feels like it takes me forever to get to where he is.

I set the plate down in front of him. “Can I sit down?”

He’s tense, his back ramrod straight, but he nods his head.

I sit down across from him. “I’m sorry?—”

He holds up a hand to stop me and then lets it rest on the table between us. “You d…don’t have t…to…”

His voice trails off, and I can see that he’s about to bolt. I don’t know why I do it, but it’s like I can’t stop myself. I reach for him, putting my hand on top of his. I look down and can’t help but notice the difference in our hands. His are darker, rougher, worn. Mine are pale in comparison and softer. I lift my hand slightly and apologize.

It’s still hovering, and he shakes his head, turns his hand over, and grips my hand in his. He clears his throat, and I wish I could see his eyes when he confesses. “I have a TBI.”

I nod slowly. “Abby told me.”

He speaks slowly. “Why did you hold my hand?”

I look at our hands and the way he has mine gripped with his, I could easily argue that he’s holding mine, but I know what he’s asking. “After my talk with Abby, I did some research, and I read that touch helps.”

“Touch?” he croaks.

I nod, listing off some of the things I can remember. “Yeah, it’s supposed to help relieve stress, helps regulate emotions, promotes security and safety…”

He squeezes my hand, and I smile. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“I like to hear you talk.”

He sounds more assured when he says it, and I lean toward him. “I need to explain.”

He’s shaking his head because it’s obvious he doesn’t want to hear me apologize again, but I need to make him understand. All I can do is replay the things I said to him, and I need to make it right. “I know you forgave me, but I need to explain. I don’t usually just jump down the throats of people I don’t know.”

“It’s fine,” he says.

---