Page 20 of Madness

As I deliver the food to a boisterous family, I can't help but think of Roman. Of how his face lit up this morning when I told him about our upcoming day off together. How can I even consider bringing someone new into our carefully balanced life? Someone like Dakota would definitely upset our norm. But then, with Shannon leaving soon, it’s all going to change anyway, right? Why not add another factor to the messed-up equation?

But still, as the night progresses, I can't shake the memory of Dakota's gentle eyes, the warmth of his hand on mine. The way he made me feel seen for the first time in years. Things like that have to mean something, don’t they?

Finally, the last customer leaves, and I flip the sign to 'Closed' with a mixture of relief and disappointment. He didn't come. I try to squash the feeling of being let down as I clean up and gather my things.

"Goodnight, Jen," I call as I head out the back door. The cool night air hits my face, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

And then I see him.

My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I'm frozen in place. A wave of heat rushes through me, from my toes to the tips of my ears, followed by a swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach. My heart, which had been steadily slowing after the busy shift, suddenly shifts into overdrive.

Dakota is leaning against my car, just like last night. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks up as I approach, nervousness and hope on his face. In the dim light of the parking lot, his eyes seem to glow, drawing me in like a magnet. I have to consciously remind myself to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other as I walk towards him.

My fingers tingle with the memory of his touch, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and make sure he's real, not just a figment of my imagination conjured up by a long day and too much wishful thinking.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I reply, my heart suddenly racing. "I didn't think you'd come."

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I'm starting to recognize as a nervous habit. "I wasn't sure if I should. But I couldn't stop thinking about you all day."

The admission sends a warm flutter through my chest. "Me too," I confess before I can stop myself.

A smile breaks across his face, and God, it's beautiful. "Yeah?"

I nod, unable to keep the answering smile off my face. "Yeah."

We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. There's so much I want to say, so many questions I want to ask. But for now, this feels like enough. This quiet moment of connection in the dim light of the parking lot.

A small voice in the back of my mind reminds me of the practicalities. How would this work? My life revolves around early mornings with Roman, long shifts at the diner, and stolen moments of rest in between. Dakota's world of late-night gigs, recording sessions, and unpredictable schedules seems so far removed from mine.

I think about Jen's knowing looks when I've been distracted all day, about how I'll need to be even more focused to avoid mistakes at work. About the possibility of Dakota showing up during my shifts, and how that might affect my job performance. Would my boss understand if I got flustered because a rockstar was sitting in my section?

And what about Roman's routine? His stability is everything to me. How would I balance bedtime stories and Dakota's evening shows? Parent-teacher conferences and backstage passes?

The questions swirl in my mind, a dizzying array of 'what ifs' and 'how coulds.' But as I look at Dakota, feeling the warmth of his presence, I realize that, for once, I want to push those practical concerns aside. Just for a moment, I want to exist in this bubble where anything seems possible.

"So," Dakota says finally, "do you maybe want to grab a coffee again or something? If you're not too tired, I mean."

I glance at my watch, a reflex born from years of juggling responsibilities. It's later than I thought, and I know Shannon is probably waiting up for me. She's been packing for her move to Seattle, and we were supposed to go over some logistics for her departure. Roman should be asleep by now, but what if he wakes up and I'm not there?

The responsible part of me, the part that's always aware of time ticking away and obligations to be met, urges me to decline. To thank Dakota for coming, but to head home where I'm needed. Shannon's leaving soon, and every moment with her feels precious now.

But another part of me, a part I thought had long since gone dormant, rebels against the constant tug of responsibility. Just this once, it whispers, just for a little while, can't you do something for yourself?

I look back at Dakota, seeing the hope in his eyes, and I make a decision.

I know I should say no. I should go home to Roman, stick to my routine, and play it safe. But as I look into Dakota's eyes, I find myself nodding.

"I'd like that," I say.

As we walk towards the all-night diner down the street, our hands brushing together and our fingers eventually entwining, I can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something beautiful.

And terrifying.

But mostly beautiful.

We settle into a booth at the all-night diner, the same one we were in just last night. It feels familiar and strange, like we're picking up a conversation we never finished.

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