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“So, what did you wind up really doing that night?” I ask, finding myself wanting to know more and more about this woman. I place my elbow on the table and my fist is curled under my chin.
“Burned popcorn. Sang to Les Misérables soundtrack. Snuggled with my dog.” She laughs. “Maybe Broadway would be a better job description than garbage woman.”
“To hearing the people sing. Singing the song of angry men!” I hold my cup of black coffee up.
Her mouth gapes open and her eyes widen. Reese’s eyes sparkle from the sunlight that is streaming in from the street. She holds her cup of espresso up and clinks her cup with mine. “It is the music of a people!” I see her chest rise and fall faster than before. “You know Les Misérables?”
“I do.” My mind falls along with the memories of my mother. Without hesitation, I inadvertently gave a truthful piece of myself. It’s like I can’t help it. “My mother sang while cooking sometimes. When she was in a good mood.”
A kind look from Reese warms my heart. Her hand gently lies on her chest in appreciation of a small window to my past. A tiny piece of my shattered heart is being put back together. One I’ve avoided purposely. Reese looks down at her watch and sighs. A defeated groan that we do not have more time. “I have to go. Big meeting today to discuss the reconfiguring of offices.”
“Okay.”
She plays with the handle of her cup as she opens and closes her mouth, trying to find words to fill in the blanks.
“Can I see you again? Maybe we can move our coffee date to a lunch date?” I ask.
“If it leads to dinner in the future, then count me in.” She blushes.
“Oh, it counts,” I reply.
“Then yes.” She stands to leave.
“Chocolate chip croissants.” I pull a to-go box from beside me and hand it to her.
She giggles and hesitates to grab the box. “You are making it impossible to watch my figure.”
I look her up and down. When my eyes meet hers, a hard blush falls on her cheeks. “Don’t worry, my dear, I am watching your figure.”
With wide eyes and red-stained cheeks, she takes the box from my hands and holds it close to her chest. Her lips faintly tremble, trying to find words. Unable to help myself, I stand and take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. Her skin is soft and untouched. My mind wonders if the rest of her body matches the flawless landscape that I can see.
“I’ll see you soon, Reese Grafton,” I whisper against her skin.
“John Peterson.” My fake name falls so easily from her pink lips. Her sweet coffee breath will forever be my favorite smell.
She walks away, looking over her shoulder. Glistening green eyes meet mine, stalling me from moving. Her chocolate brown hair dances in the wind when she exits the café. Her walk gives way to a light skip, crossing the street to the bus stop. I stand still, watching her wait for the bus. Just before it arrives and obstructs my view, she flirtatiously waves at me, and I can feel my stomach flip as I suppress a high school smile. The fucking innocence.
Once she’s out of sight, I try to keep her off my mind. I need to stick to the mission at hand.
Greg Johnson… I have plans for you.
I walk out of the coffee shop and pull out my second phone. I see a text come through and smile. Our first coffee together, when she had me save my number to her phone, I cloned her entire phone to this one. Technology is a wicked thing even when you know just enough to be dangerous. Just had to place it within a certain distance, and this beautiful treasure handed me the keys to a gate she never knew existed.
I watch texts from coworkers, contractors, and Greg coming through. I cringe at his excitement about their date. Even if she lied to me and plans to go, or if he doesn’t quite give her the out she wants, today is his last day.
Throughout the day, Greg and Reese volley texts back and forth and confirm to meet up tonight at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. A small hole-in-the-wall restaurant with dim lighting and a completely open dining room. A kind of restaurant where you can keep your back to the wall and have a quick getaway if needed. One that I would’ve picked specifically for the same reason.
I find myself moping about the day, gathering what I need. I’m allowing jealousy to fuel this mission. I visited the restaurant that they’ve confirmed to meet at and I am glad to see it backs up to the café. Walking inside to take a glance at the inside more thoroughly, I can gauge the different scenarios of what could happen. Low ceilings, smaller tables, low lighting. I keep my phone at my ear and nod my head the entire time I am inside so that way people assume I am on the phone.
“Well, okay. We will meet another time,” I say as the hostess approaches me. I hang up and hold my hand up, stopping her midstep. “My wife stood me up again.” I exaggerate my grumpiness. “Again!” I say a little louder while flailing my arms and stomping outside. I laugh at my antics as I casually walk down the sidewalk. The hostess’s shocked face was one I could frame. She was so unsure of what to say. I need to make my way home and give myself enough time to get ready.
Standing in front of my mirror, my fingers expertly press a fake beard to cover my bare skin. The self-adhesive mustache and beard are typically easy to place. Making sure it is symmetrical is what takes the longest. Greg has seen me barefaced and fake hair will hide my jawline and provide a shadow under my eyes. Hiding in plain sight. Becoming that predator stalking my prey. A crisp long-sleeve white button-down shirt to match my blue-diamond-designed tie, pushing the knot to a perfect sitting position. I press my hand down, smoothing the tie to my shirt. She doesn’t want him. She wants you. You want HIM… and her. The gel in my hair temporarily distracts my thoughts with my dark-brown hair shining. A classic side part that is perfectly placed. It’s annoying how clean and long my hair is. Note to self: I need a haircut. I look every inch like a sophisticated business executive and not the flannel-wearing contractor Reese and Greg saw me as.
Evening comes and I check my watch. It’s coming up to half past seven and Greg walks in the front door of the restaurant. He’s early, way too early. The message exchange between him and Reese stated they would be meeting around eight.
Greg sits at the other end of the bar, closer to the entrance, and orders a scotch. I sit at the back of the bar, sipping a beer, keeping a few people between us. I watch him in the faded mirror that hangs behind the register. The lights have dimmed lower for the evening. The kitchen crew speaks loudly with orders up and waitresses cackle over conversations with couples at the tables. Music plays through speakers hidden in the ceiling, what I could only describe as elevator music. No-name instrumental sounds marry together as white noise in the background.
Greg gulps down the first two fingers of whiskey and taps his fingers on the bar top, showing he would like another. The bartender fills his glass again.
