How to Love You

13

October 4

Franco's Cafe, a petite restaurant just minutes away from our home, was the next destination I had chosen to hopefully re-jog your memory. With the failed attempt yesterday, I knew I had to try an entirely different scene for us.

So tell me, Dani, how did you feel when I took you back to the place where I admitted my love for you? Did you feel that same glimmer of remembrance that I felt? Or was this also among the forgotten?

It seems like just yesterday, I was patiently sipping on apple cider, waiting for you to arrive for our date. Thinking about it now, I don't really know why I chose to take you for coffee, since I've never been a huge fan of caffeinated drinks. I think it was mainly because you were boasting about this new place down the street and shutting down your excitement would seriously break my heart. So, in an attempt to please you, I asked you out for coffee, that I didn't even like, at Franco's Cafe, the apparently amazing new place.

When you arrived, you, dressed in an oversized winter jacket and scarf, collapsed into the seat in fits of laughter. As you began giving me a play by play of the awful blizzard outside, it was then that I genuinely realized I had to tell you today. Every little action you made, whether it be your incessant rambling or the way your nose twitches when you talk, had me drooling over my seat. Without thinking, I vicariously admitted my love for you...and then, much to your embarrassment, I announced it to the whole crowd of people inside the cafe. Even though you were humiliated, you said it right back, not even hesitating for a second; it just felt natural hearing the words roll off your lips.

As we entered the cafe now, I courteously held the door open for you of course to which you replied with a cheesy grin. Suddenly, as we searched the area for decent seats, I felt your teeny fingers scrape against mine, and then, hold my hand all together. Once again, that small gesture took my soul right out of my body and uplifted it to the ceiling. I pretended to not be phased, just to appear smooth in front of you, but I was mentally screaming at the familiar warmth of your hand and the way it perfectly fit with mine, as if it were meant to be.

Did this mean you were remembering snippets of our old love? Why else were you publicly holding my hand for everyone to see?

We sat down at a booth mid center, and began casually chatting over random topics that seemed to spur into our minds. Except, the entire time, I noticed you were never really looking at me, but rather over me. Every time I spoke, you repeatedly nodded your head and sputtered fake laughs, but your gaze was always slightly behind me, your attention clearly elsewhere.

"What are you doing?" I finally asked, fed up with all the half-ass effort I was receiving from your end. Your gracious, yet fake, smile faded, and you immediately turned your gaze to the table, scraping it nervously with your chipped finger nail. I glanced behind me, over my shoulder, and was met by a flirtatious pair of bright green eyes. A scrawny gentlemen, a little over twenty five years old, was sending a grin right in your direction, but turned away from me, similarly to how you did, when I caught his attention. When I turned back around, you had a teasing smirk plastered on your lips and a look of pure determination in your eyes.

"What's going on here?" I asked again, my nerves slowly rising, as a bead of sweat rolled down my backside. You shrugged your shoulders, sipped your drink, and once again, gave the actual stranger behind us your full attention.

"Hold my hand again, it made him jealous that first time." You said, laughing hysterically, clearly unaware of the aching pain now enveloped in my chest.

That's why you held my hand.

You were using me.

I thought you had remembered even a distant memory, but you didn't. You were merely using me to make another man jealous; another man who you don't know in the slightest. I, so badly, want to be enraged with you and throw a total tantrum right now, but I truly can't. You're Danielle Harper, how could I ever remain mad at such an angel?

So instead, I sat in my seat silently, holding your hand like you asked, while you sent flirty looks at the man behind us.