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“Wait up!”
Nope, no, he’s definitely not talking to you.
A hand closes around my elbow and I cringe, because he was definitely calling out to me, and now he’s caught me.
Kill me now.
I turn around and face him, but he doesn’t release me like he’s afraid if he does I might run away again.
“I remember you, you showed up at my house.” I flinch, because it sounds stalkerish, and redness rushes to my face. “Were you a friend of T.J.’s?” he asks, which wasn’t what I was expecting, but suddenly it’s the most logical explanation and I feel stupid for not realizing that’d be his reason for stopping me.
“Um … yeah … something like that,” I stutter.
“I don’t remember seeing you at the funeral.” His green eyes sear into me, like he can see much more than I want him to.
“Yeah, I was … uh … sick,” I finish lamely. I mean, it’s kind of true. Not a total lie.
He nods and tilts his head. “I feel like I know you from somewhere else too.”
“Uh … my dog kinda ran into you and knocked your coffee down,” I remind him.
“Oh,” he laughs, his laughter easy but with a slight edge like he hasn’t laughed in a while. “I remember now. You haven’t knocked down any more unsuspecting guys, have you?”
“Nope, not that I know of.” My heart eases a bit at the easiness of conversation.
“But you have shown up at their house and played ding dong ditch,” he jokes. “You know,” he whispers conspiratorially, and a tiny dimple appears in his right cheek, “you’re supposed to run away before the person opens the door.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” I quip, and he grins. I pale. “Not that there will be a next time.”
His smile grows impossibly wider. “How’d you know T.J.?” Before I can answer, he blurts, “You weren’t an ex-girlfriend or something, were you?”
“No, why?”
He looks at me and my belly does somersaults. “No reason.” He shrugs. “You know,” he starts, “if we’re going to keep running into each other like this you might as well give me your number.”
I snort and then instantly want to punch myself for being the awkward human being I am.
But I’m freaking out on the inside, because even though I don’t know this guy, it’s like I do. It’s weird the way my body seems to recognize him. I’ve never been interested in dating or anything of the sort, but I know I’m interested in him.
“I don’t even know your name,” I remind him.
“I don’t know yours, either,” he counters.
“I’m Willa.” I smile.
Is this flirting? Are we flirting? Am I good at it? Bad? I’m going to throw up.
DON’T THROW UP ON HIS FEET!
“Jasper.” He grins, his smile is easy, his teeth are white but not perfect unlike almost everyone else around here. His front two teeth overlap slightly giving him a quirky, almost boyish smile. It suits him. “You know,” he begins, quirking his head and squinting from the sun so he can see me better, “I think it’s funny we keep running into each other. First the coffee shop, then you show up at my house, now here we are.”
“Or, it could be the fact we live in the same town.”
He shakes his head. “This place is large enough, with a big enough population, that you don’t meet someone and then continue to see them like we have. That has to mean something it has to be …”
“Has to be what?” I prompt when he bites his tongue.
He lets out a breath. “You’re going to think I’m weird.”
