“She actually said that?” he asks, ever the skeptic. It makes him a damn good analyst, at least.
“Yes. She said that. Verbatim.”
“What’d you say?”
I rake my fingers through my hair, feeling crestfallen all over again. “Something about high school—I think.”
“Oof.” Kevin idly clicks his tongue. “Bad timing.” I roll my eyes at him. He shifts his gaze, looking around the café, looking at me, looking cagey. Then he grins. “What should you have said?”
Kristin
I’ve been putting off writing this damned fluff-feature for too long. My boss said by Monday. In newspeak that means first thing Monday morning. It’s Sunday afternoon and I haven’t written a single word!
For once I really do need to swallow my feelings and get the job done. I’ve already compromised my professionalism by sleeping with Jon. There’s no good reason to keep moving down that path, delaying this project a moment longer.
As soon as my fingers hit the keys, I lose all focus. Maybe it’ll help to get out of my head if I first get out of the house. I’ve transcribed the most usable parts of the recording, so I lug my laptop down to that same trendy café on Camfield and Park. Being there is liable to stir up unpleasant emotions, but it might also help form the words I’m searching for. I can make myself dismiss any negativity.
The only open table is situated too closely behind two men, late twenties or early thirties, talking over their midday joes. One of them has his head down—I notice his hair is thick and dark like Jonathan’s, and I force myself to look away. It’s as busy here on Sunday as it is during the week, so I’m lucky to get a seat at all.
I knock out the first line, feeling pretty good about the words, and then: It Happens. Just as his familiar, clean wooded scent assails my nose, I hear Jonathan’s deep voice, and my heart damn near stops beating.
‘She was smiling at me, chatting with me…Just acting like she was interested in what I was saying.’
I grit my teeth. In fairness, that part isn’t a total lie. I did feign interest, at first. Before I fell headlong into the act.
‘Fuckin’ ecstatic that Kristin Max was giving me the time of day.’
I roll my eyes. Seriously? I should get a trophy for all the times I’ve been someone else’s trophy. In spite of the knot of irritation tightening in my gut, I hammer out some more words, trying my best not to judge them yet.
His next statement surprises me.
‘I started to really fall for her. She said the same thing to me. “I’m falling in love with you, Jonathan”.’
I did say that. Stupid, stupid. I swallow a massive lump of shame.
‘She actually said that?’ his friend asks. He looks over at me abruptly, catching me staring.
‘Yes. She said that. Verbatim.’
The friend looks at me again, intently, as if in question. I confirm his guess with a shrug. I stop typing, tuning in my listening ear.
‘What’d you say?’
Jon rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘Something about high school—I think.’
‘Oof…Bad timing.’ The friend looks around, grinning. I can’t tell if he’s grinning at me. ‘What should you have said?’
I swallow my anticipation. Then I hear Jon speak loud and clear.
“I should’ve told her I love her too.” Present tense? “I should’ve said that if she’s crazy, then I’m crazy. Don’t know why I brought up any high-school shit. Should have just gotten that out of the way, the second I noticed.” Jonathan leans back, crossing his arms. “None of that actually matters to me, it was just interesting, kind of cool, right? Totally separate from what I was starting to feel for her.”
“Didn’t things happen pretty fast though?” the friend goads, sending a furtive smirk my way.
“I won’t argue that,” Jonathan jokes in a lower voice. I shut my laptop, quietly, and lean closer. “I’ve never been in love before. I wasn’t sure I’d know what it felt like when it happened. But that day…yeah, man. I fell for her, hard and fast and zero regrets. I fuckin’ love that girl.”
My heartbeat scuttles fast, making me warm, nervous all over. Now I’m being the secretive one. Shouldn’t I go over there? Should I say something?
Jonathan’s friend speaks louder, saying, “Can’t you think of anything you said back then to piss her off? D’you hurt her feelings?”
I watch, interested, as Jon shakes his head slowly. Is that what he thought? That I cried because of some grudge I’d held onto all these years?
I’ve done enough thinking. I stand up, move to them, and set my hand on his shoulder. Jonathan looks up at me with a start, capturing me all over again with his handsome face, those soft-black eyes, compulsively kissable, full lips.
“It wasn’t about anything you said, or did,” I confess. “I was so caught up in my own head, my insecurities…”
Jonathan unfolds his arms. I lower down to my knees, taking one of his hands and clasping both of mine over it. I don’t even try to hold back the tears that come.
“…I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t believe you could love me back.”
With his free hand, the one that isn’t caged in my own, he touches my jaw. He swipes his thumb, indolently, over my chin, then my lips. “That is crazy.”
“I know.” I smile. “Think you can deal with a little bit crazy?”
“I love you,” he suddenly says, rending me with three little words. His friend slips away to the other table. “Crazy, beautiful, intelligent…you, Kristin.”
“Actually,” I sigh, smiling contentedly, “call me Kristy.”
“I like that. It’s perfect.”
“No,” I plead. “Never call me perfect. I don’t want to stand up on that pedestal.” I tip my head. “I don’t care to be perfect.”
“I love you,” he says, “exactly as you are, Kristin.”
“I love you, Jonathan.”
He kisses me like no one’s watching.
Epilogue
Kristin
“Max!” my boss roars thunderously, and I whip toward him. “Get in here.”
“Coming!” I jump to my feet. My heart’s racing a mile a minute.
“Sit.” He does exactly that, gesturing to the chair across from him on the other side of his desk.
“Something the matter?” I ask, meekly. I cut my voice with a little more gusto. “I thought you would like—”
“I fuckin’ love it,” he says, sounding angry in spite of the fact.
“Oh.” I’m not sure whether to smile or cry, so I do neither. I fold my hands in my lap.
“Your commas are abysmal,” he gripes.
“Sorry—”
“Let me finish.” He lights up a cigarette like we’re in the sixties. He blows smoke. “The editor is gonna hate me for this.”
Silence overlays the room. Should I say something? My stomach’s a mess. He did just say to let him finish…
Puff, puff, smoke. He puts his hand on the desk, examining me with eyes that are slits. “You know what you’ve got, Kris?” Puff-puff-smoke. “You’ve got heart.” He motions toward the newsroom with a flick of his chin. “More’n I can say for mosta those bozos.”