“Don’t worry, Ferngully. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
I frown and peek over the wall and find who I assume to be Julia bent over, hands on her knees, talking to a very dead plant. A dried-up leaf falls off and she sweeps it away with a short, sad moan. Something about the sweet and gentle gesture softens my nervous energy. Then I realize it looks like I’m staring over her cubicle wall to look at her ass.
“Your friend isn’t looking so hot,” I announce my presence from the doorway.
She snaps up and turns to me. We lock eyes.I know you. The thought comes so fast and true it doesn’t even feel like mine. It’s like a voice in a dream that tells you that you can fly. Warmth spreads over me like I’ve just stepped into the sun from the shade. I don’t know Julia. Not really. But I have seen her around. I didn’t know her name or who she was, but I couldn’t forget the soft brown curls that frame her heart shaped face. Or those wide lips and breathtaking caramel eyes that hold the mystery of a sphinx. She’s beautiful.
A memory bubbles to the forefront of my brain. A few months ago at Free Energy coffee, I found myself in line behind her. I had seen her several times and had just worked up the courage to ask her name when she turned around and saw me. Flustered, she mumbled her way past, very careful to give me a wide berth, and left without her coffee or another look back.
Like I said, I come off as intimidating to strangers. I hate it about me. It ties me to the man I cannot stand. I try to make up for it by living my life the exact opposite way my father lives his, but in the end there is only so much I can do. I give people space and smile easily. I remember names and details to get to know them better.
I want to know her better.
I push the thoughts away. Hopefully she doesn’t remember and more importantly, I hope it doesn’t influence her answer.
She’s my Obi-Wan Kenobi—my only hope. I realize I have been staring at her for way longer than is socially acceptable. But God, there’s something about her that makes looking at her just so easy to do.
“Hi.” I straighten and try to look relaxed. Her gaze flicks to me and then around her cubicle to where her few belongings sit in cardboard boxes. “I’m Nathaniel Aarons.”
“I know.” Her softly freckled cheeks flush and she sucks in her lips. “I mean, hi. I’m Julia. Uh, Russo.”
I reach out my hand to shake hers. Her surprise at the sudden action causes her to back into her desk, jostling a stack of vanilla folders. We both reach for the tumbling stack at the same time. Our hands collide and an electric shock zaps me.
“Ouch, that was a big one,” I say. At the same time, she starts to profusely apologize, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault static electricity exists.” I straighten the precarious stack and she steps back, tucking her hands into a long-sleeved shirt. Her arms wrap tightly around her middle.
Already off to a great start. I’ve freaked her out. I am such a dork.
Okay. Act normal.
I step back to the opening of her cubicle. Is it possible that she knows that I have crushed on her a little bit? I have to forget about all that now. I need her help.
“You’re shocking,” I tease trying to move the conversation to a lighter tone.
“That’s what they tell me.” She relaxes her shoulders with a shrug. But still she steps back behind the desk to put more space between us.
“Julia,” I say her name again and then realize I don’t have a plan. I always have a plan. Well, okay, that’s not true, but I’m really good at winging it. I’m not easily put off by a tough situation and usually the words flow easily. But now I’m having a hard time finding the right words.
Or any words.
And every second that ticks by I realize I have just said her name and nothing else.
Words, Nathaniel. Why are you here? Speak.
But my most base brain just keeps thinking about how lovely her curls are and how it might be nice to tug on one just to see it bounce back into place.
She clears her throat.
I blink back to life. “Julia,” I repeat and cringe.
Yes, we have established that is her name. Say what you need. Why did you just run across campus? Words, man. Words! What do you need?
“I need you,” I say.
Ohh, not those words.
* * *
