Eternal Longing ✓

36. After The Kiss

JAYA

One Year Ago

(Two Days After Their First Kiss)

Millie's looks quite dilapidated from the outside, but for those who dare to venture inside, a beautiful, well-taken-care-of diner awaits.

Everywhere I look, there's a burst of color: the various Pop Art prints that line the walls, strips of pink lights that run around the parameters of the ceiling, and a wide checkered counter that stretches throughout the entire restaurant.

"Hey y'all, I'm Sandie and I'll be your waitress today! Are you two ready to order?"

I shift in the red vintage booth that matches the retro look of the diner, my eyes darting to Finley before going to rest on the plump, smiling waitress that stands by our table.

Eyes on me, he tells her to give us a few more minutes and she obliges happily, letting us know that we're welcome to take our time.

I keep my eyes on her as she bounces away, observing her old-school waitress uniform with far more scrutiny than necessary simply because I need to focus on something other than Finley.

I need to focus on something other than the fact that he hasn't looked away from me since I stepped into the establishment and reluctantly took a seat across from him.

Music that I'm not familiar with, probably one of the great hits from the 80s, plays faintly around us, coming from the colorful jukebox situated on the other side of the room.

After Sandie makes a turn into the kitchen and her uniform is no longer available for me to scrutinize, I stubbornly focus my attention on the jukebox machine, still ignoring Finley.

"I'm glad you agreed to meet me, Jaya."

The deep, rich rumble of his voice causes me to flinch slightly, my eyes snapping to him despite my commitment to remaining unaffected.

"You said it was important," I clip out, not necessarily mad at him, but at how affected I am by his mere presence.

Watching me with keen, sharp eyes, he nods once. "It is," he says simply, but doesn't explain any further.

After a few silent moments, I pick up the sticky menu and glance at it distractedly, trying not to let my internal struggle bleed through. It's not the stereotypical butterflies that flutter in my stomach, but leeches that clench on my skin.

I grip the menu tighter. "Staring is rude."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is. Stop it."

He leans forward and gently pulls the menu from my hands. "It's also rude not to give your date your full attention."

"This is not a date." I scowl at him but don't protest when he sets the laminated menu page down.

"Two individuals, sitting in front of each other, ready to order dinner." He shrugs in that regal way of his. "Sounds like a date to me."

I lean forward, annoyed by the fact that he's trying to rile me up and even more peeved that he's successfully doing it. "We are not dating. We're not even friends. Hence, this is not a date."

The way he watches me, the attentive way he regards every single blink, frown, and tick, is quite unsettling. It feels familiar in a way, like those dreams that you can't fully recall but you still remember as unclear pictures in your subconscious.

"I can't help myself," he confesses softly, yet tension radiates from him. "Truth is, I've tried to stop myself from looking at you but I simply can't."