Page 245 of Banter & Blushes

“Thanks for the… conversation,” he says.

I nod. “Anytime. We’re always here for complicated beverages and unsolicited life commentary.”

He’s wearing the sunglasses like armor. I stare at the ginger ale glass wondering if I should have offered him at least a napkin with a joke on it. Something people tuck in their wallet for no reason and forget about until three years later when they’re moving and suddenly sentimental.

He pauses like he might say something else.

Then doesn’t.

Just turns for the door.

But before he pushes it open, he glances back. Not the casual kind of glance people give when they’re checking to see if they forgot their car keys or cell phones. This one sticks. Not long, not heavy. Just long enough to feel like a question.

Then he’s gone.

I watch the space where he stood for a second too long. The glass is still sitting there, a few amber bubbles clinging to the sides like they don’t want to leave either.

Clara sidles over, already grinning. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where your brain starts writing bad poetry in the margins.”

I toss the towel at her and she dodges it, laughing. But my heart’s not in it. I refill the ginger ale glass with water and drop in a lemon wedge. Not for anyone. Just because the glass looked too empty sitting there by itself.

I should go wipe down tables or clean the syrup nozzles. Instead, I rest my elbows on the bar and watch the little citrus wedge bob in the water. Something about the way he looked back has burrowed under my skin.

He didn’t hit on me.

He didn’t ask for my number or comment on my eyes or tell me I had good energy. He didn’t even smile like he was thinking about it.

Which leaves me with two possibilities.

One, I did forget deodorant. Or toothpaste. Or somehow managed to develop a deeply off-putting aura overnight.

Or two…

I lean on the bar and rest my chin in my hand. The lemon wedge spins slowly in the glass.

Or two, he’s just not that into me.

Which is somehow worse.

Not because I wanted him to flirt, exactly. But when someone doesn't act the way you expect, it throws you off balance. And lately, balance is one of the only things I've been good at. I've got my routines, my rhythms, my orbit. People come in, they flirt, they leave. Predictable. Safe.

But this guy? He's a question mark. And I don't like not knowing the answer.

Because now I’m curious. And curiosity is dangerous. It’s how I ended up learning to play the ukulele, how I found out what durian tastes like, and how I once accidentally joined a paddleboard yoga class when I was just trying to rent a kayak.

I glance at the ginger ale glass again. Still sitting there like an unsent text message, daring me to hit send.

CHAPTER 4

The next evening drags in at a lazy pace, the kind of evening where you can feel the humidity settling in the air like an unwanted guest who’s overstayed their welcome. It’s the sort of evening where you want to just sit on the couch with a bowl of chips and finish watching the movie you’ve started a thousand times.

The door jingles and I look up reflexively, but the man who walks in is nothim. This one’s got a boisterous air about him, clearly on vacation, wearing a Hawaiian shirt that makes my eyes hurt just looking at it. He starts talking to Clara almost immediately, enthusiastically explaining why his last vacation was ruined by a lack of room service at 2 a.m. I tune it out because, honestly, I’ve heard that speech a million times.

I’m still thinking about him.

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