Page 5 of Hot in the City
Tomorrow. She didn’t think she could face him tomorrow.
Thursday
What to do?
About you
The future, us
I wonder, do you feel it intensely too?
Beth considered staying away. She considered it carefully for about one millisecond. Her feet travelled in that direction anyway, before her brain could click into gear. When she read the poem, standing in the blustery wind, she knew she’d never stay away. Not when he was there, writing poems, making glorious coffee and plying her with chocolate that fuelled her daydreams.
Maybe today’s poem was about his girlfriend on the other side of the world. How could she know? Her chest constricted at the idea of her poems belonging to another woman. But it was sweet and touching. She loved reading them and now she knew Samuel wrote them, she loved them all the more. She’d savour them, as if they were chocolate truffles.
Pushing the café door, she jingle-jangled loudly. The door was stuck. Probably the wet weather making the wooden frame swell. Melbourne’s sudden turn from spring to winter weather didn’t bother her much, although she struggled with her umbrella and the door as sprinkles of light rain fell on her hair and jacket.
The glass beneath her palm gave way and she stumbled inside.
Samuel stood there, holding the door, looking all huge and hot and handsome. She sighed, straightening, admiring him in his tight, blood red t-shirt.
“Hello.” His voice was extra low and rumbly. Stormy, with a chance of thunder. Possibly lightning. Certainly electricity.
“Hi!”
Calm down. Right away. Except her heart didn’t slow, and her hands wouldn’t stay still. Fiddling with her dripping umbrella, she nearly poked herself in the eye with a loose metal spoke. Buggeration.
“Here, let me.” Samuel grinned, then reached out and took her umbrella, neatly folded it and popped it into a container by the door. “Take a seat and I’ll bring your order over.”
She nodded, moving as if she was underwater and tethered to him. He pulled her closer with only a glance from under those velvety black eyelashes. But somehow, she found her table, setting herself up to write in her normal way.
Then, he was there with her order, standing opposite her seat. Instead of moving away as usual, he gestured at the empty chair opposite. She nodded, then sat perfectly still. The words inside her mind begged to come out.
Yes, please. Sit down, lie down, make yourself at home. Take off your shirt, if you like.
He spun the chair around and sat, legs astride, forearms leaning on the chair back. “I want to tell you something. Confide in you, I guess.” He shrugged, the movement was tight, awkward. Almost nervous.
Why would he be nervous? She wanted to lean over and massage his shoulders.
“It’s okay, you can tell me. I’m a good listener.” She’d listen to anything he had to say from those lips, for hours. Even reciting the various coffee blends straight off the menu.
He nodded, and crinkled his forehead thoughtfully. “I had a difficult phone conversation last night with my girlfriend, Talia.” His eyes flashed, dark pools with reflections of silver. She could drown in those eyes. “My ex-girlfriend, I should say. The thing is, she moved to London in January for work and it’s been nine months. It’s been hard, the long-distance thing. Anyway, she expected me to move over there at the end of the year and get married.”
Her stomach dropped straight down to her steel capped combat boots, the cherry red ones today. He looked at her then and she met his gaze. Who knows what expression was on her face. Abject horror? Despair? Getting married. That was serious. Serious as murder. No, that wasn’t fair. Some people liked being married. It probably had something to do with the people involved. The connection between them, the spark, mutual respect, understanding. Everything lacking in her marriage.
He cleared his throat. “You know they say ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, well, it didn’t. Not for me. After a while I realised I was relieved Talia was gone. She was always pressuring me to get a proper job, to give up my music and working as a barista. Then the wedding. She started planning it two years ago, almost as soon as we got together. I felt like . . . a stand-in. A paper cut-out groom. She could’ve inserted any bloke into her plans. She didn’t really want me. It wasn’t like, true love.”
Beth nodded, smiled, the kind of smile she used at work. It said, Do go on, tell me more, when really she meant, Shut up, please.
Her eyes popped open, triple-shot-espresso level wide awake. Wait, did he say it wasn’t true love? He was the stand-in groom? She ought to be listening like she promised. Her mind whirred with too many thoughts, too many questions.
“So, are you going? To London?” She had to ask.
Please say no, please say no...
“No.”
Yes! She tried to school her features. Not right to be so excited because he wasn’t leaving or wasn’t getting married. He was probably all broken inside. She shouldn’t be hopeful.
