(disclaimer: yeah, still making this up as I go… and sorry for the brevity of this installment… but it seemed a natural break…)
“Do you really want a smoothie?”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even look at him. I stared at the menu board pretending to decide what to order, but I couldn’t read the words. I was preoccupied with the pounding in my chest. And the hot guy beside me who was definitely not my husband… and who was concerned about my silence.
He knows my name. Of course he knows my name… he sent me flowers. Hell, he knows where I live! I need to say something. And I don’t know anything about this man. And wait. He knows where I live. How does he know?
I finally looked at him. “I… I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Good plan. No menu-reading required.
I took a deep breath that proved useless in calming me and paced to a table by the window. With my mind spinning, I stared out into the street. This is wrong. Is this wrong? I’ve done nothing. I made a friend. I think. I’m allowed to have friends. I can have a drink with a… oh. He is here. Dammit, no one has smiled at me like that in a very long time.
“Thanks.” I was too anxious to speak another word. But when I looked at him, it turned into the same sweet silent interaction we’d been having at the gym for weeks. And I finally began to relax. And I had to know who he was.
“So… should I be worried that you know my name? And where I live?”
A little laugh fell from him. “I thought you might be a little concerned about that. I promise I am not a stalker.”
“Good to know.” I had no reason not to believe him. Or to believe him. But I was unconcerned. “So… how…?”
“The girl who greets you almost every day at the gym… Jill. I’ve heard her call you by name.”
“And the rest? My last name? My address?”
“Well… Jill is also my sister… I owe her a bottle of wine and God knows what else for letting me accidentally see your membership info.” He smiled with a subtle look of guilt. “Please don’t hold it against her. There was some coercion on my part.”
I nodded and smiled. “So, Mr. Flowers, are you going to tell me your name before this one sticks?”
Again he laughed. “Greg. But you can call me Mr. Flowers. I can live with that.”
To be continued…