Eli doesn’t let me take one step toward the guy with the man bun before he reattaches himself to me and stomps angrily, holding on to me firmly. “You’re trouble, do you know that?”
“I don’t know whether to be offended or not.” I chuckle.
“Well, it’s not a compliment.”
I think it is. He’s annoyed, but I don’t think he would agree to come with me if he weren’t interested, as well as being slightly jealous of the guy I said I would invite to pick dresses with me.
My inner mischievousness gives itself a little high five. He passed my tiny test with flying colors.
He likes me.
I know he does.
But he just doesn’t know what to do about it, and I don’t think unpredictable and unconventional are his thing, which I am. I’m more of a doodler outside the margins, and he’s more meticulous than messy.
I have a feeling that I’m not the type of woman he usually goes for, although I wouldn’t know because I haven’t been able to find out anything about his past girlfriends. He’s so stuck in his ways, and I guarantee he has a type. Several weeks have passed since the night we had dinner, and yet he’s a mystery to me; all I know is that he likes the artist I do and prefers his desk to be tidy, immaculate even to the point that everything lines up perfectly. He wears a particular color of shirt on certain days of the week: gray on Tuesday, blue on Friday, and white on all the others.
For a man so rigid in his daily routines and set in his ways, I still can’t believe he agreed to attend the retreat with me again yesterday. At first, I thought I was testing him, but now I’m convinced he’s joking, maybe laying a trap to see if I’ll back down. I want to, but I refuse to take the bait.
I won’t lie, it’s childish of me to imagine him outside his comfort zone. There’s no way he’d enjoy forced improv, spontaneous activities that demand quick decisions, where rules change and are constantly in flux, and it’s chaotic. I might have hesitated to book our spots, but just picturing him struggling to adapt, watching his inflexibility clash with unpredictability, that mental image alone is enough to make me want to book it. Right away. If I had the time I would, but that will have to wait until after the weekend.
The time spent together tomorrow may also help me understand him and his particular ways better. I’m hoping the wedding will bring us closer too.
How do you get close to someone who has sharp defenses around them, like a porcupine with its quills out?
Eli might be a mystery to me, but as far as he’s concerned, I think I’m also more of a mystery to him. I can see his mind racing, and the look of confusion mixed with surprise on his face when we’re together, like now. He looks startled, like a baby deer caught in the headlights, and I swear half the time he’s scared of me, or maybe just bamboozled. I can’t decide.
Then there’s the watching. Observing. Studying my every move like I’m a fish in an aquarium. Why does he do that?
“You had better be quick,” he says, sounding cross, his arm still hooked with mine.
“Why, I thought you had nothing on this afternoon?” I snort. “Sorry, I’ll rephrase that because that sounded like you were naked for a moment. That’s not what I meant.”
He tenses next to me.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize again. “I didn’t mean to say the word naked. Although that’s how we all arrived in this world, naked and without a care in the world.”
“Will you stop saying the word naked?” His voice sounds deep and raspy.
“Why? Does it annoy you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He lets out a long breath of exhalation that sounds a lot like exasperation and ignores my question. “Where is this store?”
“Right here.” I point to the sign above Coral’s boutique and march us toward it.
“Encore.” Eli reads the sign out loud.
I unhook my arm from his, already missing our closeness, and place my hand on the door, getting ready to open it. “It’s a preloved dress boutique. Coral gives dresses a second chance to shine again.”
“Right.”
I don’t think he’s all that interested, but I add, “Like upcycled furniture and thrifting. Only designer.”
“I understood the first time, Sapphire.”