“Goodnight. Be safe.”
I fell asleep with the sound of her sweet, sleepy voice telling me to be safe echoing in my mind.
I called again the next morning hoping to catch her before work, but she sounded rushed and stressed and said she was running late.
Finally, that evening, we had time for a longer conversation. She asked me about the guys I work with, and she seemed genuinely interested in hearing about them. Then I asked about her work. She told me about a few of her students and how one of them was so close to writing her name. It was easy to hear how passionate she was about her job and students, and I really liked that about her. I wanted to ask her to go out with me again, but something had me hesitating.
She was starting to relax during our conversations. I didn’t want to screw that up by saying or doing the wrong thing. I still didn’t know what went wrong during our dinner, but whatever it was, I didn’t want to do it again. The image of her with despair in her eyes as she said goodbye after dinner, clearly thinking it would be forever, warred with the image of her radiating joy when she’d agreed to give me a second chance at the coffee shop. I had to tread carefully.
Sometimes her speech sounded like she was nervous or rushed. Some of her sounds and words were mumbled, skipped over, or slurred together. Other words were perfectly clear. She obviously had some sort of speech impediment, but it didn’t explain everything else that had happened at dinner. It also didn’t turn me off the way I think she thought it did. I really liked talking to Juliette. She had an innocence about her. Those idiosyncrasies when she talked made her feel genuine. Somewomen, like my ex-wife, spouted fake bullshit to manipulate, but hearing Juliette stumble over her words, I didn’t think she could do that even if she wanted to.
It was the morning of my last day on shift, and I was sitting on the couch, staring at my phone, working up the nerve to call her like I was a damn teenager.
I couldn’t remember the last time I was this nervous to ask a girl out. Actually, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d asked a girl out, period. Kayla had pursued me first, and the women I’d met at bars since then didn’t count.
“What’s so interesting there?” Ethan asked, nodding to the phone in my hand.
“He’s trying to ask Juliette out,” Cole answered for me.
“She was hot. You totally should,” Brady said.
I glared at him. They all laughed. Assholes. I loved these guys like brothers, and they drove me crazy like them too.
“Look at him, all heated up about something other than work. I didn’t think it was possible,” Cole said.
I flipped him off, walked into the bunk room, and sat on the edge of my bed to call her.
“Dylan?” So damn cute. Even after a few calls, she still sounded so surprised and happy every time I called.
“Hi, Juliette. How are you?”
“I’m good, you?”
“Good. We can keep talking more, but I want to get this out of the way first, in case I get called out. I’m done with this shift soon, and I have the next few days off. I’d like to see you.”
“You do? Uh, I mean, me too. I’d like to see you too.” In her nervousness, did she forget I’d already told her I wanted to see her again? Or was she questioning whether I really meant it?
“Great. What do you want to do?” I hoped that by giving her the choice, she’d pick something that would make her comfortable.
“Um, I don’t know. Anything you want is good for me.”
That wasn’t helpful, but I could hear her nerves picking back up again. That was the last thing I wanted. I needed to end this conversation and get back to safer ground. “Do you like bowling?” I figured bowling was close to billiards.
“I stink at bowling.”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes. I do. We can go bowling if that’s what you want to do.”
“Good. Can I take you tonight?”
“I, uh, I can’t tonight. I have something…something I need to do. It’s…it’s…”
She was panicking, stumbling over her words more than during our other phone calls. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she was trying to come up with an excuse not to see me. I wouldn’t call her out on it, though. I just wanted to make her feel better. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Is tomorrow better for you?”
I didn’t mean to call her baby. The endearment just slipped out, but it felt right, and she didn’t seem to mind. I heard her breathe in and blow out a shaky breath as she pulled herself back together. Did my words help soothe her as I’d hoped they would?
“Yes,” she whispered. “Tomorrow afternoon?”