Page 27 of Back to Me

I hate self-doubt. It creeps up on you when you feel like everything in your life is going perfectly. It’s not the times when you’re already feeling down. It’s not the times when your life is average, smooth sailing through every day. It’s when you’re at your happiest. That’s when it attacks you, injecting its poison and spreading, attaching to every living cell in your body like a parasite.

Another hour passes with no motivation. I haven’t moved from my desk, and Allison hasn’t emerged from her office. The gallery is quiet, aside from the subtle generic jazz music playing through the overhead speakers. Allison says it ‘sets the mood.’ Whatever that means.

I’m resting my chin in my hand, succumbing to the boredom but quickly sit up when I hear the front door open, followed by footsteps hitting the glass floor. Slowly walking around my desk, I maintain a considerable amount of distance between me and the potential customer. Allison always insists on a cold approach. Don’t hover and don’t make the first confrontation. Let the customer come to you.

The young man walks along the wall to his immediate right, the one containing Allison’s newest paintings. Most of them are splotches of yellows and reds. To be blunt, there isn’t too much to them. But who am I to judge such a successful artist?

“Hello, welcome to Allison Newbury Galleries.” I make sure to send him my flashiest grin. “I’m Sara. Please let me know if anything catches your eye.”

Turning his face, he smiles. “Thank you. I will.”

Nodding, I awkwardly walk back around my desk. Pretending to immerse myself in work, I open a new game of solitaire. Two moves in, I’m startled by the young man standing in front of my desk.

His eyebrows furrow as his eyes pool with apologies. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” I laugh it off. “Sometimes, you can get lost in the quiet of this place.”

His eyes glance toward the ceiling as if to find where the cheesy jazz music is coming from. “Understandable.”

Blinking a few times, I shake off the awkwardness of our meeting. “Did you find something you liked?”

Lifting his hand, he scratches the stubble lining his jaw. His hair is dark, almost black, his skin a light shade of brown. Although his eyes are brown, they’re flecked with little spots of gold. His features are soft, and I second-guess the man’s age just by his appearance until I examine his clothing. His clothing speaks to my age. Despite his soft appearance, I find him attractive. He’s just a different kind of handsome. Graham is a handsome man. I hate that I’m comparing him to Graham right now. Why does he always find a way to sneak into my brain? It’s growing increasingly annoying.

Resting his arm across the top of my desk, the stranger leans forward. “You look like an honest person, Sara. That was your name, right?”

I nod, trying to appear as professional as I possibly can.

“Well,” he continues. “Everything here is overpriced, don’t you think?” He narrows his eyes, the corner of his mouth turning up into a small smirk, waiting for me to answer.

How can I answer his question when every piece in this place was created by the one person who is the reason I’m sitting in this position?

I nervously swallow. “Um… I don’t…"

Suddenly, he lets out a loud laugh. So loud, it drowns out the music playing overhead. “You don’t have to answer that.”

I sigh in relief and pretend to laugh along with him, still confused what’s going on. This has to be the strangest encounter with a customer I’ve ever had.

His laughing subsides, and he reaches across my desk, holding his hand out to me. “My name’s Dylan.” He nods his head toward the street. “I manage the barbecue restaurant across the street.”

Grinning, I return his friendly gesture. “Nice to meet you, Dylan.”

Folding his arms over my desk, he says, “You know, I’ve seen you come in here every day.” When he recognizes the look of worry and fear on my face, he holds his hand up and waves. “No, no. I didn’t mean for it to sound creepy. It just seems we come into work at the same time every day.”

“Oh. Okay,” I murmur. It’s a strange feeling to have a man talk to me this way. The last time a man spoke to me this way was my encounter with Julian. The only man who has the ability to make me feel safe is Graham. But I remember I’m not his, and I wonder how long it will take for this uneasy feeling to go away.

Rectifying the situation, Dylan sighs. “Okay, I know how that came across. But I assure you, it’s because we happen to pass each other every day.” He lifts his shoulders. “I just noticed you, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Not knowing what to do, I pretend to organize my desk. Picking up a stack of papers, I tap them against the desk, straightening them.

“I was wondering.” I look back up at Dylan, his arms still crossed over my desk. “Would you maybe like to go out with me tonight? I could take you to my restaurant.”

I tense and focus my gaze on the white tufted couch sitting in the middle of the room. I tilt my head to the side, considering his offer. How would Graham feel about me going out on a date with some stranger? He probably wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea, but why should he care? He was the one who had accepted Jenna’s number in front of me and kept it in the bottom of his nightstand drawer, obviously saving it with the intention of using it. For all I know, he probably already has.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Dylan asks. “I wouldn’t want to overstep. I should have asked first. I apologize.”

Looking back at Dylan, his face full of hope, I sit back in my chair, twirling a pen between my fingers. An image of Graham flashes before my eyes, but I shake it away, refusing to allow him to ruin an opportunity at happiness.

“Nope,” I shake my head. No boyfriend.”

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