Page 4 of We're Not Strangers Anymore

“Back for more?” I call out as he takes a seat in front of me.

“I couldn’t resist the chance of seeing you again, MissRowan.” He replies, that charming smile of his on his face, just as I remember.

I roll my eyes playfully but feel a blush heating my cheeks. “You’re real smooth.”

“So I’ve been told.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the bar. “So, tell me something about yourself, Rowan.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Everything.” He says, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest.

I laugh, shaking my head and mixing him up an old fashioned. “That’s a lot to unpack.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got time.”

I consider him for a moment. “Well I grew up in Chicago but I moved here about seven years ago. It’s pretty similar here, there's money to be made and it’s a big city.”

“And what do you do when you’re not working?” He asks, sipping his drink.

I laugh dryly. “Nothing crazy. I like to read, some days I go to the Detroit Vineyard to clear my mind. I work six days aweek so I don’t get a lot of time to do the things I’d like to. What about you? What brings you here?”

“I’m just in town for business,” he replies smoothly, his eyes raking over me. “But I’m starting to think Detroit has more to offer.”

The restaurant is nearly empty and I sit up at the bar next to Grayson after cleaning up my last table of the night.

“So why’d you move out of Chicago, Rowan?” He asks intently.

“Well–” I think for a moment, not knowing how to answer. “Because the L train smells like shit.”

He laughs, revealing his perfectly white smile. “You’re funny, I like that.”

“So, what kind of work do you do?” I ask, switching the subject from me to him.

He hesitates for a moment. “Consulting, mostly. Helping businesses optimize their operations.”

I’m not great at making conversation beyond small talk given I don’t really have friends. I’m used to small talk about sports and weather with customers– surface conversations. Talking to Grayson feels good, in an odd sort of way. I can feel myself staring a little longer than I mean to.

“I should get going. I’d love to see you outside of work, Rowan.” He says, cutting off my awkward silence.

A shy smile plays on my lips. “Sure, I’m off tomorrow.”

He swipes the pen from my apron and writes his number on a napkin. “Text me where to pick you up. I’ll see you tomorrow,Rowan.”

Rowan

I lock up the bar and head out into the cool night. The streets are a little quieter now. I take a deep breath, the fresh air clearing my mind, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Grayson. He looked at me like I was the most interesting person in the room, I can’t say anyone has ever looked at me that way before.

Shaking my head, I brush off the undeniable excitement bubbling inside me. He’s just another city guy that thinks I’lljump into bed with him. Especially when he keeps leaving big bills on the table.

I walk a few blocks to my apartment, a cozy studio on the third floor of an old brick building. The familiar creak of the floor welcomes me home and makes me feel all the more exhausted. I kick my shoes off, feeling the rough carpet under my feet. The place is small, maybe a little dated, but it’s mine. My safe space. Abstract paintings line my walls along with framed photos of places I dream of visiting someday. They used to hold photo frames, but I never had anything to replace the pictures that came with the frames. When I took those down, that was the moment I knew I was truly alone. But I wasn’t sad, if anything I was relieved. Family is overrated and good friends are few and far between.

I head to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something to eat. Leftover red beans and rice will do. I pop the glass food container into the microwave and pour myself a glass of ice wine– It’s the one thing I reward myself with. While I wait, I glance around the room. It’s cluttered with books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, a pile of laundry waiting to be folded on the couch and there’s a few dishes in the sink. I make a mental note to tackle chores tomorrow morning.

The microwave beeps and I take my food to the couch, settling in with a sigh. I grab the remote and turn on an episode ofDexter. The suspense filled show is the most excitement I experience most weekends. Some people would say it’s sad, but it’s actually peaceful. I enjoy spending time with myself.

I finish the episode and reach for the fantasy novel I’ve been reading, pulling a fleece throw blanket over my legs. It’s aTotally crazy Saturday night.I love living through the stories I read, it’s always been my escape, or at least since junior high when I readThe Clique.

As I turn the pages, I feel my eyelids getting heavy. I drag myself into bed, too tired to do anything more than change into my pajamas. I stare at the ceiling, Grayson creeping back into my mind. I don’t understand why he made such an impression on me. Most guys don’t have an effect on me at all, at least not like this. They all have the same intentions and it’s always the same boring conversation. I shouldn’t be nervous, I’m sure he’s just like everyone else.

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