Page 5 of His Coveted Obsession

“I must.”

I pulled into the school parking lot and got out of the car. After walking to the back, I opened the door and helped Owen out of his booster seat, then I grabbed his backpack and slung it over my arm as he held onto his lunch bag.

As we walked across the lot, he took my hand in his. I eyed the heavy flow of traffic of parents dropping off their kids, making sure no one dared come close to Owen in their cars.

“Is Daddy going to be late tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you making dinner? Can we have mac and cheese again?”

“Your father already has dinner planned. I’m to heat it up for you.”

“Oh.”

When we reached the doors, I put his backpack on him and opened the glass door for him to walk inside. Just like every time I need to drop Owen off, he hugs my leg and runs off.

Even after a year, I couldn’t figure out why he liked me so much. Because he did, I would burn the world down for him. The love he gave was without conditions or a price. No one had ever felt that way about me before. I understood the concepts of love, but I couldn’t feel it the same way as others. Owen’s love for me was strange, and I didn’t understand it, but I took it.

“Bye, East!”

“Bye, Owen.”

Before I headed into The District, I stopped by a new coffee shop that opened a block away, called Sweet Bean. I didn’t drinkmuch caffeine because it made my hands shake, but I liked the sugar and warm drinks.

I parked in the garage at our office and walked briskly down the street to the coffee shop, my hands shoved into the pockets of my coat, since the morning was freezing and I wasn’t wearing gloves.

I opened the glass door to a blast of heat and the scent of sugar and coffee beans.

The line was long, so I had to wait.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is taking so long?” an older man in front of me grumbled. “I’ve got to get to work.”

Then perhaps he should’ve skipped his coffee or left his home earlier.

The line moved slowly as complicated drinks were processed.

“Dammit! How many drinks are you ordering up there?” he said louder.

When there were four people in front of me, I got a glance at the young man taking orders. I recognized the stress and his panic as he rang up the customer, who was also complaining. Why do people bother complaining? It wouldn’t move the line any faster.

The barista shoved his round glasses up his nose and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he keyed in the order into the register, repeatedly apologizing.

The place looked understaffed, which explained the line.

“Excuse me! I have an important meeting in thirty minutes. Ineedto get my coffee! What the hell is taking so long?” snapped the same man.

I felt the irritation flare inside me. As much as I loved the feelings of anger, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it, so I did my best to silence the red stirring in my brain.

By the time he finally got to the counter to take his order, he was livid.

“How fucking hard is it to punch in an order? Are you inept or something? Do you realize I’m going to be late now? But no, you take your sweet fucking time, uncaring about the rest of us.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. It’s… I’m new, and they needed someone this morning.”

“As if that’s an excuse. I’m going to have a word with your manager.”

“Oh… uhm…” his blue eyes started watering, and his lip trembled, but he did his best to hold it back. “I see. I really apologize, sir.”

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