“Seriously,” he said.
“Can you at least tell me what you were doing here?”
“Last night was my show,” he said. “I always come back.”
“Why?”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be telling me your story.”
“And my story revolves around your story.”
Josh took the last drag of his cigarette and tossed it away.
He closed in on me, staring down at me with the same dark and dangerous eyes that I remembered from a lifetime ago.
“Then I guess we’re connected again, love.”
The little corner breakfast place had a storm door like you’d see on a house. Josh held it open for me as I was attacked by the smell of coffee and syrup. My mouth began to water almost instantly. My mind was officially stripped away of the letter and all my thoughts - real and not - about it.
I inched by Josh, smelling him.
His clothes smelled like old air and smoke. It was the same as I always remembered on him. The tough boy who had a reputation of running all over the streets, hell bent on some kind of revenge that I never understood. What I did know was that when I needed someone more than ever before in my life, he was the one who showed up.
He was also the one who gently touched my face one night and whispered into my ear that I needed to stay away from him. That he needed to stay away from me. And it wasn’t because he was a couple of years older than me.
In some way, Josh had been this wild memory, a type of fantasy that sometimes built up in my mind when I was alone at night, in the dark, biting my lip, feeling things that I never knew what they meant until I was a little older and realized it was… lust. A dirty crush. A physical need and desire for him.
And go figure, time just made him look better.
His hair messy in a much different way from Sasha’s forced, messy look. The scruff on his face suggesting he just didn’t give a damn about shaving until it annoyed him. His shoulders were wide against the black hoodie he wore, the bottom of the hoodie barely covering the top of his old, ripped jeans. I had to hurry and move my stare, realizing that I was picking him apart as though I’d had too much to drink, was feeling emotional, and was in desperate need of someone to touch me and tell me I looked beautiful.
I hated that feeling.
But not near Josh.
He pulled a chair away from a table and kept walking.
A half smile crept on my face as I realized he’d done that for me to sit.
He swung around the table and sat down, leaned forward, and was right there staring at me.
A waitress was already on her way with coffee.
“What’s your story, love?” Josh asked in a soothing voice that had a rough undertone thanks to his cigarette smoking habit.
“It’s really boring,” I said.
“Maybe I could use boring in my life,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
Josh grinned and leaned back as the waitress put the coffee on the table.
“Anything to eat, Josh?” she asked.
“Surprise me,” Josh offered.
“And for you?” she asked, looking at me.
“Same as him,” I said.
“I’ll be back in a few,” the waitress said and walked away.
I raised an eyebrow. “She knows you.”
“Wow. Your detective skills get better by the day.”
“Just thinking out loud for a second.”
“And what’s the story then?” Josh asked.
“You bring people here a lot? She knows to bring coffee without asking. You have a normal order. She looked at me like… I don’t know.”
“Ah, let me guess then,” he said. “You’re thinking this is where I bring my one-night stands and casual flings, right? A little parting gift before sending them home with regret and a want for more.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s detailed. Sounds like it could be true.”
“Could be,” he said.
“Well, is it?”
“Tell you what, love, why don’t you come over and tell me what my sheets smell like?”
The sudden crudeness made my cheeks turn red.
Josh was calm as he sipped his coffee.
His brooding eyes staring at me over the coffee mug sent chills through my body.
He was a story.
Everything I already knew was a story.
Everything I didn’t know was a story.
“So, whatever happened to you?” Josh asked. “I mean… after that night…”
“Nothing much,” I said.
“That’s not true at all.”
“You wanted to know about me now,” I said. “Why I’m writing.”
“Right. That’s what I wanted from you.”
What does that mean…
My lips moved for a few seconds before finding words. “I used to write. A lot.”
“I vaguely remember you telling me that.” Josh snapped his fingers. “Wait. It was always talking animals, right?”
“Oh, God,” I whispered. My cheeks turned as red as a fresh apple. “You remember that.”
“That was your deal. Talking animals. Hey, I think it’s cool.”
“No, you don’t. You’re trying not to laugh at me.”
“Oh, believe me, love, I wanted to laugh, I would,” he said. “What happened with the talking animals?”
“They’ve been silenced,” I said. “For years.”
“Until now. Wait a second. Does this mean I’m your new animal?”
I had the coffee cup to my lips, and I burst into laughter.
I watched as coffee shot from my mug and across the table at Josh.
I hurried to put the mug down and I covered my mouth. “Crap. Sorry.”
He looked down at the table and wiped it with his arm. “No worries.”
“And, no, you’re not my new animal,” I said, barely able to hold a straight face. “I stopped writing a long time ago. But my roommate… she’s a life coach.”
“A life coach?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “She helps people. People who hate their lives. Or are going through big changes. Like a move. A new job. Divorce. She helps them.”
“People pay her to do what?”
“Coach them.”
“In life.”
“Yes. Any other questions about my roommate? I could tell you about her cat addiction.”
“So, she likes-”
“Don’t say it,” I snapped at Josh.
I could hear him using the other word for cat.
He showed his hand. “I’m not saying a thing.”
“My roommate coached someone who started a blog. And my roommate decided it was time for me to write again. I had nothing to do with it. I came home from work and next thing I knew, I had this stranger telling me to go to your event last night.”
“So where does an animal talking writer like yourself work?” Josh asked.
“The Sharon,” I whispered.
“That’s that fancy place, right?”
I nodded. “I’m a waitress, Josh. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then why does it seem like you’re getting upset over it?”