I made tea and went back to check the phone.
Hmm, no more messages, but the telltale dots bouncing suggested he was typing something. Abruptly, it stopped, and I slumped. What had he wanted to say?
They started up again, and this time, my heart raced with anticipation, not dread.
Fuck it, Harvey. Answer the man back.
Before I could think any more about it, I typed out a reply.
Harvey: Time and place?
I hit send and waited.
Killian: Do you know the coffee shop next to the old cinema?
Did I? It was the one I frequented, but how did he know where I lived? The realisation finally dawned that he’d come home with me in the taxi last night. Sometimes, I was a fucking idiot, but in my defence, I’d not been at my best last night.
I rolled my shoulders and picked the phone up again.
Harvey: I know it. I’m free today.
Killian: Great. Meet you there at 2 before the school kids hit it.
I used the thumbs-up emoji and then the panic set in.
I had a couple of hours to calm myself down, but I paced the lounge all the same. What should I wear? What would we talk about?
But more importantly, would I manage? There was only one way to find out.
I sat on one of the raised stools in the coffee shop window with an unimpeded view of the street. So far, there had been no sign of Killian. I checked my watch again and sighed. It was a quarter past two. I bet he wasn’t coming.
I should have known better. After all, what did I have going for me? My grandma had always said I was handsome, but weren’t they obliged to say that? Wasn’t that in the job description?
I didn’t think I was good-looking at all, but then I had self-esteem issues along with everything else. I sipped my tea and eyed the cake on the counter.
Maybe I could have a piece to go. Was it carrot cake?
I drained the rest of my tea and slipped off the stool.
“Going somewhere?” His soft voice washed over me, dispelling every shred of doubt I’d had. How had I not seen him come in?
I turned and took in his appearance.
He looked much the same as last night: tight jeans he’d been poured into, well-worn leather boots he’d worn the first night I’d seen him, a padded blue flannel shirt, and a long scarf casually slung around his neck.
His cockiness demanded that people look at him, including me.
He took the stool next to the one I’d just vacated, his crystal blue eyes captivating mine.
Instinctively, I lifted my hand to my face and self-consciously touched the dark bruise on my cheek. He frowned, but as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.
“Sorry I’m late. I missed the fucking bus. Can I get you another?”
He pointed at my empty cup, and I nodded. “Just tea, please.”
“Sure, no problem. Can I get you a slice of cake?” His Irish drawl seeped into my pores, warming me from the inside.
“No, um, I’m good, thanks.” I watched as he walked away with an effortless stride, his gait loose and fluid. Why couldn’t I be more like him instead of this awkward, clumsy person who could trip over their own feet?