Page 30 of Somewhere Along The Line
James sets his mug down and rotates it under his fingers. He’s got something to say—I can tell because he’s pulling his bottom lip through his teeth at the corner of his mouth—and he’s trying to decide whether to say it.
I shoot him a narrow-eyed glance and he nods, leaving his cup on the table to stretch an arm across the back of his chair.
“It is if I have anything to do with it.”
My entire body turns feverish as James sits across from me, comfortable and unfazed, bringing an ankle to rest on his opposite knee. I remove my hand from my mug to diffuse some of the heat prickling across my skin. My cheeks turn pink as James holds my gaze.
“Good to know,” is all I can muster.
A rumble of thunder breaks the tension, and I startle in my seat, my arms almost knocking over my coffee in the process. The rain starts, just a drizzle, but James and I both know it’ll pick up soon. It’s time to get moving.
“We should’ve taken my car,” James says, studying the raindrops slipping down the window with regret.
“You have a car?!” I reply. This is shocking news. No way would I take the train every morning if I had the option to drive.
“I do, though I don’t use it much. It’s not worth the cost to park at the office.” He shrugs and then stands, this new piece of information hanging in the air. A thought crosses my mind.
“So, I know this whole thing was supposed to wrap up today…” I’m careful not to define “thing” because I couldn’t tell you for the life of me what is happening between us, “but is there any chance that you and your car could do me a small favor?”
I give James my sweetest smile and throw in some batted eyelashes for good measure.
“I need to pick up a few items for our fundraising gala next weekend and I could do it in half the time, maybe a third, if I wasn’t canvassing the city by train.”
“Are you asking me to run errands with you?” James eyes me curiously, amusement fluttering across his face as he considers the request.
“Just one errand! But if it makes the task more compelling, I can bring sausage balls and promise not to criticize whatever classic rock you play while you’re driving.”
He takes both of our mugs and reaches to place them in the dish container on the counter behind him. I’m frozen as I wait for his answer.
“I could go with you on Friday. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
I hadn’t considered asking him to take time off work for this escapade, but if he wants to keep his weekend free, that’s fine by me.
“You are the BEST, James. Thank you, thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.” He likely will regret it but there’s no sense in telling him now.
His arm wraps around my shoulder and we step from the coffee shop onto the sidewalk, turning toward the B Line stop about half a mile ahead. The financial district isn’t far—he could head to his office from here—but I like that he wants to walk with me anyway. Especially since it’s really starting to spit.
I drop off at the station entrance and head up the stairs before pivoting to give him a wave and a smile. “See you Friday!” I shout, though he interjects before I can finish the sentence.
“See you tomorrow, P, since you’re not planning to walk to work.” James laughs with enough force that I can hear it clearly from my perch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and Wednesday, and Thursday on the B Line.”
He throws up a hand before turning down the street, crossing diagonally at the intersection and heading toward his building, quickening his pace to get out of the rain.
It’s always a treat to catch a glimpse of James from behind, but the view doesn’t obscure the sting of something sharp twisting in my chest as I board the train alone.
Today was meant to be the end of… whatever this is between us… and I was confident being done was the right call for both of us. But is it really so bad if he helps me with gala prep? Spending another morning together won’t hurt, will it?
I don’t let myself linger on the question. I don’t want to consider the answer.
I wake up beforemy alarm for the first time in years. Rubbing my eyes with a stretch, it hits me it’s Friday. That explains why I slept past 8 a.m.; I have the day off. This is only the second day I’ve missed at Trion in seven years. The other day was Mom’s funeral.
Tension crowds my shoulders as I roll out of bed, my muscles twisted up and angry this morning. I’m not anxious I’ll miss a fire drill at work—my bigger concern is how to function today without the usual pings to distract me from thinking.
When I’m at the office, I operate from muscle memory, knowing what to do and how to do it to get results. It’s comfortable and controllable. It’s why I never take time off. Freedom for my brain to wander doesn’t turn out well.
Facing the closet, I skip over my work clothes to swipe through the small section that houses everything else. When’s the last time I wore something casual? The thought sets my stomach in a knot to match my shoulders.
I pull on a blue knit sweater and some chinos, tucking in the shirt before threading my favorite belt through the loops. My hair is a mess from the rare good night’s sleep, and I weave some pomade through it to loosen it up further. It’s controlled but less uptight than my typical style. I grab my glasses, choosing to ditch my daily contacts.
