(Female Narrative)
You told me about her a few years ago. Right as we were really hitting it off, you tell me about this woman who stole your heart. Said you may never be able to get over her, and I understand that. Just in the way you say her name, I can tell how much you loved her. But that isn't enough to make me give up on you. One day you'll see me. One day you'll be able to look past her and let me in. You'll find a way to love me too.
.
.
.
(Chris POV)
Do you remember when I met you? I was on location. I didn't think much of it at the time, at least not beyond how beautiful you were. Especially since it wasn't even a conventional beauty; none of those high-cheekbone-focused-32-waist-obsessed guidelines to stand in the way. Your cheekbones were perfect. Your hair suited you. Everything about you was so interesting; there was something in how you carried yourself that I just couldn't ignore, a confidence and self-assurance that was, at the risk of sounding like a chick-flick, mesmerizing. You worked at the café I would go to every afternoon for lunch, and every time I missed you I considered going to a different restaurant. I wasn't exactly there for the food. After a few months we managed to see quite a bit of each other, got to know each other over the shop counter, though neither of us ever went as far as to ask for a number or a date,
One afternoon I had a particularly short lunch break, so I had to call in my order,
"Hey, mister-Mediterranean-on-rye-extra-mustard-extra-olives-and-iced-tea, would you like some chips with that today?" You say with your signature, lopsided smile.
"Do I ever?" I would come in every day to see that smile. I actually do. I'm not a huge fan of the Mediterranean sandwich here, but it seems to be the only vegetarian option on your menu, so I go with it because whenever you smile at me like that, I feel like I've been let in on an inside joke.
"One of these days, Evans. I will get you to order potato chips."
"Not likely."
"Ah, right, gotta keep up that underwear-model bod, right?" You say with a wink. The flirting was the best part of every lunch break. I still hadn't had the nerve to ask you out, so far our schedules didn't seem to coalesce all that well anyway, but I will. Someday. Probably not today.
"Well, if I eat too poorly, then it gets harder and harder to fit in the suit." I prop myself on my elbows on the tall counter, leaning a little bit closer to you,
"Oh, and one bag of chips will change that? Come on, now."
"No, one bag won't change much, it's the half dozen that follow that can start to cramp my style." You giggle at me. I love that sound.
"I stand by it." You say, stubbornly. "One of these days, I will make you eat potato chips." You lean closer to me, pushing my bagged order over the counter,
"You just keep trying." I say softly.
"Order up." How you make that sound so seductive, I don't think I will ever know, but I know I'll see you tomorrow.
I'm always distracted after lunch, and I always blame you, but this time it wasn't because I was kicking myself for not asking you out, it was because of what I found in my bag.
Freaking potato chips... with your phone number scrawled across the front of the bag.
