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4.

Bradley couldn't understand, for the life of him, how he was going to be able to stop thinking about her if he was continually forced to retell his experience, over and over, to the point he wanted to politely ask of the person inquiring if they could possibly talk about anything else, anything at all. The weather, perhaps. Everyone; his mother, his sister, the people at work...they wanted to know what she was like, what her home had looked like, if she was as quirky as she presented herself to be. And they weren't satisfied by his brief answers, either. They pressed him for details, something juicy and though he understood the fascination, he truly did, the need for gossip got to be mildly annoying and giving details about her, even harmless ones, to anyone, felt like a betrayal of trust.

What was even further complicating matters was, as the following week flew by, the more he tried to carry on with life, the longer he ignored feelings that hadn't stirred in him in years, the more exceedingly difficult it became to put her out of his mind and just how fucking amazing it had felt just to be close to her.

He put his focus on what was important; Lea, work, maintaining his sanity with his crazy schedule. But it could only do so much to distract him from the simple, concrete fact that he hadn't imagined their instant connection, the idea that he'd known her for as long as his body held breath, that in some unfathomable and highly inexplicable way, they were destined to meet when they did.

It's not going to happen," he told himself in the mirror as he got ready for work in the morning.

It's not going to happen," he told himself while he prepared to make his 20th order of beef bourguignon that day.

It's not going to happen, he told himself as he pushed Lea on the swing or watched her go down the slide at the park, wondering if Stefani liked kids.

"It's not going to happen," he told Lukas quietly at dinner break that Saturday. It was a beautiful day, not too hot, and they'd opted to grab their Croque-Monsuiers and bowls of Ratatouille and eat outside at the picnic benches tucked into the employee area.

Lukas didn't subscribe to the usual workplace noise; he kept his mouth shut and Bradley didn't have to worry that what he said to him would make it through the entire restaurant. His buddies, while genuinely good guys, wouldn't understand the struggle. They'd probably tell him he was a special kind of insane to turn down a beautiful woman who just so happened to be a worldwide icon.

For his part, his friend listened attentively, in between bites, not interrupting. When Bradley had finished, he nodded, chewing thoughtfully.

"You want my opinion?"

"I guess I do, yeah." Bradley stretched his arms high above his head. "I really thought I had a handle on the whole thing. I'd made a list, you know, mentally, of all the reasons why seeing her again would be a fucked up idea."

"With bullet points and all, knowing you."

"Not funny, man."

"Didn't say it was. But we've been friends for what, three years now? Don't take this the wrong way, Bradley, but you tend to analyze shit to death. Sometimes, you gotta go with your gut. With what's in here," Lukas thumped his chest. "Otherwise, you'll just overthink everything without feeling anything."

He was a young guy, in his early 30s but he was wise beyond his years and the insights he offered when he spoke were so profound, Bradley was left awestruck, more often than not.

"I think that's the issue. If I let my feelings take over, I'm going down that road again. It wasn't pretty. You were there...you remember how fucked up things got."

"Yeah, I do. But two things, bro. First, yes, that time sucked. But you got through it and you ended up with the coolest kid ever when everything was said and done." Lukas leaned in, speaking lowly, though everyone else was inside. "And second of all, she's not her. I mean, I only know that from what you just told me and from interviews or what have you, but I can read a person real good. Am I wrong?"