Coffees with Luke & Audrey

XI

“People should fall in love with their eyes closed.”

— Andy Warhol

She would have liked to think she confronted him, that they talked rationally and sorted out whatever it was that had happened.

Only they didn’t.

And she did not see him for two weeks.

She wasn’t so sure who was doing the avoiding anymore. The first week, she had not gone to the coffee shop in case he turned up. The second, she found she no longer cared whether or not he was there.

He wasn’t.

All she knew now was that she was in every place he could have found her and he did not find her at any of them. So her mind went from thinking it was perhaps both of them doing the avoiding to him.

It was not like she had rushed out of his house after their kiss. They had exchanged proper goodbyes like they always did. Nothing had really felt… different. Morning changed her views somewhat, having had enough time to really contemplate the situation and she realised that everything was different now.

Staying up late watching movies together and hugging and spilling deep secrets and crying on his shoulder when she needed the comfort was all very well. It’s what friends did.

Friends didn’t kiss like they had.

She would not lie and say she had never thought about it becoming something more. The notion had crossed her mind on more than one account, and she knew it must have crossed his at least at some point too. The unexpected thing was, after that first week, she began to feel less and less weird and more accepting. And suddenly, the idea of them no longer scared, but thrilled her.

She suspected his prolonged absence was due to one of the very first conversations she’d ever had with him.

“That’s romance for you.”

“Not a big fan?”

“No.”

Despite this, she felt certain he would return. He always did. And on the third week he strode through the coffee shop and sat down at their table. His mouth parted to speak, perhaps with an explanation, but she shook her head because she did not need to hear it.

“I just want to know,” she began evenly, her hand reaching up to instinctively brush his fringe out of his eyes, “that you’re not going to run away again.”

His reluctance took all of ten seconds. “It’s just that… you’re you. You’re the girl who made me read Sense and Sensibility. You’re… you’re my friend.”

She smiled softly. “I’m still your friend.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat that could’ve been a laugh, and his eyes fell to the table, his finger tracing the patterns of the wood. “I think you’re more than that now.”

“Is that a bad thing?” The question tumbled too quickly past her lips, sounding too eager even to her own ears. But he did not laugh or tease her for it, just smiled that half-smile of his, the one she was always disappointed to see leave his face.

“That’s the thing. I really don’t know if it’s bad or not.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And that’s what I don’t like. I like to know where I’m going and have control.” He glanced up then, his expression holding more than she could understand. “But right now I don’t know where I’m going and I can’t control it.”

Silence fell. She watched his eyes drop down to her empty notebook that was, as always, lying on the table between them. Watched how his stare drifted away as it did when he was thinking really hard about something. She always wondered where he went when he got that look, wondered if she could go there with him and what it was like.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “you just have to let go. Stop controlling where you’re going and let life take you where it wants you to go. Maybe that’s how people fall in love. Without thinking too much about what could go wrong rather than what could go right.”

He bit his lip, more unsure than she had ever seen him. “Sounds risky.”

“Yeah. And I think that’s why so many people get scared.” Absentmindedly, her fingers traced his knuckles, brushed across his fingertips. She was always amazed by how soft his fingers were. “That’s how we learn to be brave.”