Moonstruck

Chapter Five | "I'll be fine once I have a cup of tea."

I stand at the window for what feels like forever.

I can't move.

I can't breathe.

It's like the wind's been knocked out of my chest, my thoughts racing as my mind churns over what I've just seen.

What was that?

Who was that?

That woman-

I swallow, throat thick, unable to restrain my racing thoughts. On autopilot, I slam my hand forward, turning the lock so no customers can come inside.

So he can't come inside.

My heart is thundering in my chest. Thirty seconds ago, I was thrumming with anticipation, waiting for him to step back through the door. Seeing him across the street had made butterflies swell in my stomach. Now, the thought of him coming into view again makes me want to vomit.

It's like I've been slammed back to reality, the unreal way I'd been able to focus on anything but him and the overwhelming elation that had finally broken over me when he'd come and found me again ripping their way out of my body, leaving me with the same cold logic I always found my way back to.

There's a reason you always find your way back there, Monday.

There's a reason why it's better to look at the facts, why you never act like this, why you don't throw yourself into these ridiculous romantic notions.

There's a reason why you always think things through.

Because, truthfully, I could think of very few reasons why a woman might approach a man on the street, angry, and drag him away from coming to meet another woman he was apparently romantically interested in.

There was no ring on his finger, but that didn't mean anything, really, not when hiding it would have been as easy as sliding it off and tucking it away in his pocket. And it didn't even have to be a wife, or a fiance; it could have been a long-term girlfriend, who was maybe wondering where her partner had disappeared to the last few days. Wondering, curiously, why he seemed so distracted.

I feel the bile rising in my throat, and stumble more than walk back to the counter, letting my body slide bonelessly into my chair.

I should have seen something like this coming, shouldn't I? I'm surprised my snarky inner-voice isn't chastising me more for this.

It's not like you could have guessed this. You don't even know the guy.

A humorless laugh rises in my throat, and I lean forward, resting my forehead against the counter, my arms dangling below me. I must look ridiculous; I'm thankful I locked the door, at least, so nobody can burst in and see me looking so absolutely pathetic.

You don't know him. But you know yourself, and you know better than this.

Nobody normal just... meets a girl, and finds her social media, and hunts her down at her job, and...

And kisses her, like that.

My hand twitches; it's all I can do to keep it from lifting up, from pressing against my lips, from recalling the memory of his mouth on mine. The cold of the counter against my forehead is the only thing chasing away what feels like an oncoming stress headache.

"I kissed you."

My own words from this morning echoed back in my brain, making me wince at the memory of them- the memory of how I'd said them, with all that giddy certainty I'd felt, looking into his eyes. The way it had felt like a coy joke, and how he'd looked at me when the words left my mouth.