The Best is Yet to Come

Five: Noah

Trying to regulate my breathing, I take in deep, controlled breaths through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth. Sweat beads on my forehead, ticking me, until finally I give out and slow to a stop, taking a minute to hang my head over my knees to catch my breath. Exhausted, I stumble off the path and lean against a nearby tree.

The park is busy this afternoon. Playful, childish screams shrill behind me and I see two teenage girls tossing a frisbee to my left. Deciding five miles is enough self torture for today, I stand up straight and head towards home. My stomach pangs with hunger and fish my phone out of my pocket to shoot a text to Chris asking what's for dinner. Finished, I pocket the phone and glance back up the path.

I freeze at the sight of the girl sitting on the wooden bench by the exit. Her legs, wrapped in denim, are crossed at the ankle. With her head resting in her palm and her elbow leaning against the armrest of the bench, she stares intently at the paperback in her lap. Her brown curly hair curtains around her face and neck, resting on the curves of her shoulders.

Emma. I nearly gasp at the sight of her. She looks so beautiful just sitting there and she doesn't even know it.

You could tell she was really burying herself in the novel. Her nose was practically pressed up against the book, her brows furrowed in concentration. In fact, I was sure she hadn't seen me, which was good because I was battling the urge to hide behind a nearby tree.

No. I was not going to fuck up a second chance. Instead, I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. I stride towards the bench, giving myself a pep talk on the way. Be cool. Be confident. You're a beast! You can do this.

Emma looks up from the book to glance at her watch. Noting the time, she rises from the bench, tucking the book inside her bag. Not sure what to do, but desperate not to lose sight of her, I watch as she exits through the park gates. Her hips rock back and forth like a metronome, teasing me.

With my heart pounding deafeningly in my ears, all I can focus on was keeping her in view. I follow her, trying not to think about how weird or creepy I was being. I mean, what was a man supposed to do? It was a miracle, fate if you asked me, that she happened to be sitting in the park exactly where I would run into her.

She takes a left out of the park gates, walking down the road towards Main Street. Keeping my head down and several paces back, I follow until she stops outside Glory's Book's. She pulls open the door and steps inside, vanishing from view. I cross the street, eyes glued to the bookstore. The shop looks busy, I can see clusters of people engrossed in conversation through the large glass windows.

Come on, Noah, go in there. The universe has given you another shot. Take. It.

A sign in the window catches my eye:

Creative Writing Workshop @ 4:00pm

I pull out my phone and smile when I confirm the time. So, she's a writer?

I chuckle at the irony. First the books and now this? I am not a writer, not even close. In fact, I can't t recall writing anything past what was required of me at school. I guess that's going to change today and after crossing the street, I pull open the door to my new favorite shop.