Because he steps back.
“I, um, hi,” I finish quietly.
“Hey,” he replies.
And…cue silence.
“Right,” I say when it’s gone on for so long I can’t stand it. “I’m basically done here. Did you…want to grab something to eat?”
I can’t wait to see you again.
“No.”
His tone has my heart sinking further, but I lean into the delusion, to the hope, to the possibility I held so tightly to all day.
“Oh, did you just want to go, uh, back to my place? I can cook us something.”
Something cold flashes across his eyes before he says, “No,” again.
I flinch, shift away from him, that tiny bud of hope I’ve been nurturing since yesterday withering in an instant—green to brown and dry to ash in a millisecond.
“Look,” he says, and his tone gentles, softens, sounds so much like the Leo I met yesterday I can almost pretend—almost—that he’s the man I thought he was.
But he’s not.
Clearly.
“Last night was great, but it was just that.” His jaw tightens, like the words hurt to say. “Just a night.”
He keeps talking, saying all the things I’ve heard many times over.
It’s not you, it’s me.
I’m too busy for a relationship.
I’m not looking for anything serious.
And all I can think is how happy I felt when he’d said…
I can’t wait to see you again.
Men.
They always do this—promise something…and then they walk away like it means nothing.
“Well,” I say, shoring up my spine, “it was cool of you to come by and tell me all that.” I force a smile that probably looks horrific, but I don’t give him much of a chance to see it before I’m turning for the kitchen. “I’ll let you get on with your day so I can finish up with mine.”
He catches my arm. “Harper…”
I deliberately shake him off. “Actually, let me walk you out so I can lock the door behind you.” Not looking at him, I hurry toward the entrance, push open the plate glass panel.
I hear his footsteps moving closer and closer, but I keep my gaze on the floor.
The specks in the industrial tiles are really interesting, am I right?
He pauses. “Harp?—”
“Goodbye, Leo,” I say and wait what feels like an eternity.
