Page 89 of A Minute More

“Still working on that robot you showed me?”

I nod and then pull my backpack up on my shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, but I look forward to our lunches again.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say as I start walking again, putting one foot in front of the other through campus. It’s cold out, the cool air nipping at my exposed skin, but still I push through.

I’m doing this for me. And for him.

It’s been my motto these past six months.

I never called him like he asked me to, knowing that just hearing his voice would send me on a spiral for days. So I’ve just placed it aside and worked on myself…focused on myself.

And I have. I attend therapy and have been speaking with Joe. I’ve made a few friends in my classes and have even tried looking at another man.

That last one didn’t work.

I see him everywhere—in people just passing by, in the way someone smiles, walks, laughs.

He’s the ghost that haunts my waking moments, and he’s not even here.

I get to the engineering building and let myself inside, tinkering around for a few hours before locking up and making my way back across campus. My house is just a few blocks from the school, on a quiet street with large white and red oaks that turn beautiful shades of orange and red in the fall. I met both of my neighbors, a grumpy old man to my right and a nice family on the left.

It feels like home and yet something is missing.

He’s missing.

I don’t want to go into that empty house and spend my night puttering around.

So instead of parking in the driveway, I continue on down the road, heading toward a small coffee shop in town.

The minute I’m outside of the car, I swear I see Wesley entering a building on the other side of the street. I stand there, blocking the entrance to the shop for two whole minutes before shaking it off.

That can’t be him. He’s two hours away in that sleepy little town where we met. He’s probably still working in that sandwich shop and charming the pants off of customers.

Well, hopefully not their pants.

He better leave those goddamn things on. The only one who should be getting in those is me.

Me.

God, I hope he’s waited for me.

Shaking off that thought, I push my way inside, ordering a drink and shrugging off my jacket. After I get my coffee, I take a seat at the far end of the store. I pull out a book that I’ve been reading and set it on the table, turning to look back outside, wondering if the ghost of Wesley will make another appearance.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’s going about his life, just the same as I am.

Six more months and then I’m showing up at his door. I’m going to show him that I still want him, that I want this.

Us.

I force my eyes down to the book and sip at my coffee, losing myself in the words. And it’s only when I hear a familiar voice that my head shoots up, and I lose the ability to breathe.

Oh fuck.

I’ve lost it now. Because standing in front of me is Wesley, chatting with the barista and laughing with her.

My fists rub at my eyes and I blink, letting out a shaky exhale before standing up, my half-empty cup spilling on the table. And yet I don’t bother with it, my eyes glued to the side of his face.

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