Chasing the Boy

Chapter Ten

At seven o'clock I drove to the Starbucks in Arlington center. Kate had been kind enough to lend me the banana boat and although I had a few reservations about arriving in a car that looked more like a phallic symbol than a luxury vehicle, beggars can definitely not be choosers. I parked in the shadows across the street and hoped the yellow paint of the car wasn't glowing like a neon sign. Taking a deep breath, I checked myself in the rearview mirror, grabbed my folder of short stories and got out.

I looked both ways before crossing Massachusetts Avenue, which was always a bit scary for pedestrians. As I walked to the coffee shop, I scanned the inside of the dimly lit room. My spirits fell when I didn't spot him. Uncertainty reared its ugly head. A soft voice whispered he's not going to show. Then someone tapped me on my shoulder. I jumped and spun around. It was Gregg. He looked as beautiful as ever.

"Hey," he said, flashing a smile as perfect as any movie star's.

"Hi," I replied, hoping my voice wasn't as shaky as I felt. We stood there for a moment and he looked at me appreciatively. I thought I might pass out under his scrutiny.

"You look nice," he finally said and I could tell he meant it.

I remembered what my father said once about women not being able to accept compliments and how men wished they would just say thank you and not make excuses. I took his advice now.

"Thanks," I said. tried to sound casual, but am pretty sure my blushing face betrayed me.

"Want to go inside?" Gregg asked. I nodded and followed him in. "Go find us a place to sit and I'll get us something to drink. What do you want?"

"A mocha," I said.

While he ordered, I found a nice quiet table by the window. I settled down into the plush sofa-chair and stared out at the passing cars. Clutching the folder on my lap, I was suddenly nervous at the prospect of sharing my stories with Gregg – these were my words, my ideas. If I let him read them, I would be revealing parts of myself I usually kept hidden.

"Here," he said, carefully placing the steaming mug down in front of me. He sat, blew at the hot contents of his own mug, and studied my face. I squirmed uneasily. He must have noticed, because he quickly apologized.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling in that easy, confident way of his. "I'm making you uncomfortable."

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's not you," I assured him. "It's me." He gave me a quizzical look. "I'm just not used to being stared at, is all."

"I find that hard to believe," he countered. "You're a pretty girl - you must have boys staring at you all the time."

I felt the heat rush to my face for the second time that evening. I didn't mind so much this time.

"I do my best to go unnoticed," I told him, wondering why I was being so open about my shyness. If anything, I wanted him to think of me as confident, assured - not some little wallflower who was way out of her league in his presence.

"Why would you do that?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

I searched my brain. "Not all of us are as self-assured and poised as you are," I told him.

"It has nothing to do with poise," he told me. "I simply like who I am. I don't care what anyone else thinks. You should try it sometime."

I averted my gaze and sipped my mocha, thinking about his words. "I like who I am," I finally said without looking at him. It was enough that I was about to bare my soul to him, but I didn't have to look at him while I did it.