Page 8 of Presence

Someone I don’t recognize at all.

3

Him and Them

When I open my eyes, a cup of coffee is waiting in front of me. I’m in a café, surrounded by the hum of life and the aroma of freshly ground beans. Faint jazz music plays in the background.

Huh? What’s going on?

I blink rapidly, feeling like there’s a fog between me and the world, blurring my vision.

I don’t remember how I ended up here, but one thing is certain—I need to pull myself together. There’s someone sitting next to me. More specifically, it’s a man. A very attractive man. And he’s looking at me, clearly waiting for my response.

Fuck, I must have dozed off again. I hate when this happens—when my reality crashes and collapses, and suddenly, I find myself in a completely new place. It’s like I’m in a video game, and a new save loads out of the blue, dropping me into an entirely different scene.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask the man, my palms getting sweaty and my breath catching in my chest. I hate admitting it, but I don’t even remember his name. In fact, I don’t recall ever seeing him before. Saying I regret it is an understatement.

The man, tall and likely in his late twenties or early thirties, looks at me from under long, black eyelashes. Amused, he smiles faintly, two disarming dimples forming on his face. His sharp features light up instantly. With high cheekbones and a strong, defined jawline, that smile makes him more than charming.

In other words, he’s drop-dead gorgeous.

“I was asking if you like your coffee,” he repeats, glancing pointedly at the cup on the table in front of me. Only now do I notice he has a cup in his hands, too. It’s almost as if… we’re on a date.

“The coffee,” I repeat, feeling all sorts of hazy. I really don’t want to be a jerk here, but I think I’d remember setting up a meeting with a man like him. I run a hand through my hair and smile nervously before I muster the courage to actually ask him the question bombarding my mind.

Except, I don’t have to. He answers it for me just like that.

“The one you promised to go with me to?” he asks. “You know, the date I’ve been trying to get you to agree to for the past few weeks?”

My jaw drops. So it is a date.

Way to go, Claire. You’ve been avoiding a guy like him for weeks, and now that you’re finally here, you can’t even remember his name?!

“Right,” I say, laughing. Again, it’s not a nice laugh. Not one of those feminine chippers that light up the room. It’s nervous and awkward and far from charming. “That coffee.”

I clear my throat and wrap my hands around the cup, the warmth easing the fog a bit. I take a sip, hoping the coffee will ease it even further. It doesn’t. I’m only left more confused.

The coffee is strong and slightly bitter, just how I usually like it, but today it tastes foreign. It feels like something I should remember. Like I picked this café myself. But the thing is, I might be amnesiac from time to time, but it’s not as severe as for me not to recall places at all. I should at least have some recollection of this place and the man in front of me.

I finally look at him. He’s already watching me with deep, piercing blue eyes. He has thick, arched eyebrows and short, jet-black hair that is nicely styled.

Honestly, he looks like the type of guy who makes six figures and hangs out with models. There’s just something about him that makes me feel like he doesn’t belong here, like he shouldn’t be sitting in a café with someone like me. But here he is, sipping his coffee and watching me.

“How is it?” he asks again after we both take a sip.

“It’s, um, better?” I blurt out, not sure why I say it. “I mean, now that we’re here together,” I add quickly, feeling embarrassed. Damn, I really don’t want to come off as a jerk, but I’m not exactly friendly. He can clearly see that I’m uncomfortable.

“You sure?” he asks, those dimples in his face deepening as he smiles again.

I can tell he’s amused by all this—my reactions, this whole meeting, and me in general. Why that is, I don’t know, but it stirs up a strange, fuzzy feeling in my stomach, and I roll with it. I reach for the cup again, taking another sip.

Unfortunately, I’m a bit too quick. One minute I’m sipping the bitter liquid, the next I’m coughing, splashing some of it out, and feeling it dribble down my nose.

Fuck, did I just… spill the coffee through my nose?!

Oh, no. Oh, hell no.

Fix the situation, Claire! Who cares you don’t remember the guy? Just… be nice!

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