Prepare for some TFiOS feels. Seriously.
I thank the girl at the register, take my tea, and plop down at the table in the corner. It’s a straight shot to the door, so I should be able to see when she comes in. The clock above the counter says 11:21, though, so I’ve got a few minutes.
The unfinished book in my bag is practically calling to me, I swear. It’s a blessing and a curse, getting so wrapped up in things like this. I sigh and, reasoning that she’s always late anyway so I’ve got at least enough time to finish this chapter (I had to stop and get off the bus earlier this morning), pull the well-worn novel out.
“One seventy-three, one seventy-three…” I’m too scatterbrained for bookmarks. “Ah, here we go. Right, so ‘“You’re not that charismatic…”’”
I’m honestly not sure how long it’s been when I feel someone sit down across the table from me. I tend to lose track of time when doing pretty much anything.
“It’s about time,” I say, barely glancing up from the book. “I’ve been—” Shoot. That’s not her. “Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
He laughs, doing that characteristic guy hair-flip thing. “That’s alright,” he says, grinning with one side of his mouth and both of his bright green eyes.
I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen next, so I return to my book. Not more than a minute later, I hear him shift in his seat. At least, I assume it’s him; I haven’t heard him leave yet. “Something I can help you with?” I ask, again only tearing my eyes from the page long enough to see a slight shrug.
“I suppose not.”
I go back to the book with a noncommittal grunt. Halfway down the next page, I catch the faint strains of a favorite of mine coming from the speakers overhead. Head bobbing slightly, I’m slightly more distracted when I refocus on the literary brilliance in my hands.
“Great book,” he says suddenly.
I actually switch my focus from the book to the person across from me at this. “Sad, though,” I reply, sort of surprised.
“But good enough to read more than once.” He gestures to the obviously well-loved cover. I nod, because let’s face it; this is not the first time I’ve reread this particular novel. “Four,” he says.
“Seven.” I grin slightly.
“How long’d that take?”
“I waited a week between each reread.”
He shakes his head, laughing again. “I only came across it last week.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Four times in a week? Impressive.”
“What can I say?” He takes a sip of whatever’s in the coffee cup in his hand. “Like Lay’s potato chips: you can’t have just one.”
A genuine smile cracks my face, and I too sip at the tea in my cup. “So, why’d you sit here? Just because of the book?”
“Well,” he says conspiratorially, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, “you know, sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book, so it’s heartening to know that here, at this table, is a specimen that I won’t have to convince to read said book.”
I shake my head. “You really love this book.”
“Nerds like us are allowed to love stuff—”
“Like jump-up-and-down-in-your-chair-can’t-control-yourself love it?”
He smiles brilliantly. “Precisely. One of my favorites, actually.”
“Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we're quoting.”
“And what does that say about me, then?”
“You, sir,” I whisper with a smirk, “are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.”
“Well,” he says, matching my tone, “you’re unprecedented.”
I’m speechless for a second in the magnitude of that compliment. “Th-thank you. Really, thanks for that.”
“I’m completely serious. I’ve never met anybody who doesn’t look at me like I have six heads when I start quoting profundities. It’s refreshing to find someone as intelligent and stunning as you in an unlikely place like this.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “What is air?” I whisper to myself, meant to be some sort of Shakespearean aside that nobody else can hear. Man, I wish those really existed.
“It’s a metaphor,” he replies, grinning crookedly at me, knowing full well that he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He stands up and grabs his coffee cup off the table, then pushes the chair back in; ever the conscientious gentleman. “Let’s do this again sometime. I enjoyed this. I enjoy looking at and talking with and just being around beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence.” He shoots me a full-on smile, dimples and green eyes and all. “I’m here every day. Eleven o’clock. Come visit sometime soon, we can do this again. Okay?”
I’m pretty sure I’m blushing a zillion feverish shades of red, because my cheeks feel like a furnace, but I manage to squeak out an “Okay.”
He winks and exits the shop, holding the door open for a girl on his way out. I watch him leave, which is not creepy whatsoever, and almost don’t even notice when the girl sits down across the table in his seat.
“Sorry I’m late,” she huffs, unwinding her scarf. “That guy that held the door was cute, though, dontcha think?”
I smile, fingering page one seventy-three absentmindedly and staring off into the distance. I whisper “Slowly, and then all at once…”
“You alright?” She waves her hand in front of my face. “You seem distracted.”
“Who, me?” I grin widely. “I’m grand. I’m on a rollercoaster that only goes up.”
