Page 3 of Surrender to Me
But I don’t.
I nod.
He sits, one long leg stretched out, hand curled around his coffee cup like it might tell him something. Silence blooms between us. Not awkward. Intentional. Weighted. He’s not trying to fill it. He’s reading it.
“Your cup says Allie,” he says.
He notices everything.
After blinking, the skills I learned from the cradle kick in. I know how to outsmart men like him.
I give him a smile. Slow. Easy. Not too easy. “That’s me.”
He nods once. “Nice to meet you, Allie.”
He doesn’t offer his name. I don’t ask since I don’t need that kind of intimacy in my life.
After today, I’ll never see him again.
Because now I need to find another coffee shop, another park for my daily run.
Across the street, a kid lets go of a balloon, and it lifts into the ash-and-cotton sky like something sacred. I want to follow it.
But I stay right here.
With the man whose presence feels threatening. And, for some godforsaken reason, like home.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I look down.
The chai is still warm between my hands, and I take a drink to break his momentary hold on me.
I can’t taste the spice anymore. Not with him so near, all quiet confidence and unreadable intentions. Every molecule in my body is alert, watching him, and I force my eyes away.
I shouldn’t still be sitting here.
“I need to…” I start, but I don’t finish it. What the hell am I telling him for? I don’t owe him an excuse. And giving one would mean admitting this was something. That it mattered.
I set the cup down. My fingers are too steady. That’s always the first sign I’m lying. Not to him. To myself.
The man inclines his head, but he doesn’t utter a word.
Just drinks his coffee and watches.
Not able to deal with this uncertainty a moment longer, I stand, the scrape of the chair legs impossibly loud in the cocoon of indie music and hissing milk steam. My thighs brush the edge of the table as I step back.
He’s too close. Everything in this damn place feels too close right now. Or maybe it’s just because the dark-haired stranger has unnerved me.
As I pass, he nods once.
A silent dismissal? Or is it an acknowledgment? I can’t tell which.
I cross the shop, careful not to look back. Not until I reach the door. Then I glance over my shoulder.
He’s still watching me.
I press a hand against the glass as I push through, the bell overhead giving a single jangle.
