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He watches me work, taking down orders, delivering food, chatting up the customers, all in my uniform of a red t-shirt and a black pair of shorts. And like at The Pleiades, I feel his gaze on me right from when he sits down at the booth until he leaves an hour later.
I hate that he’s doing this.
I hate that he’s making it so difficult to stay away from him.
Every day that passes makes it harder for me to resist him. Resist his intense eyes, his singular focus on me. The things he says even when he’s not talking.
Damn it, I hate his fraught-with-intensity silences.
Sometimes I think I’m being stupid.
I love him, don’t I?
What does it matter if he doesn’t want that? What does it matter if he rejects my love at every turn and hurts me?
I’ll take it.
I’ll take it all if I can just walk up to him and touch those midnight, velvety strands. If I get to hold his hand or caress that hard jaw. If I get to kiss him, smell him, make love to him.
But then, what if he rejects me over and over and over, so many times that I become bitter? That I become angry and hateful. Exactly like I did back at St. Patrick’s.
I can’t do that.
I can’t hate him when I know how it feels to love him.
I can’t let him kill my love.
So I’m going to wait him out. He can’t follow me around forever, right? He can’t come to the diner every day for the rest of his life.
Turns out, I’m right.
After coming every day for about a week, he stops.
One morning, he doesn’t come in. Worriedly, I watch the clock and jump every time the door opens up and a new customer arrives.
Zach never shows up though.
I spend the day alternately worrying over him, thinking that something happened to him, and being angry that he gave up so easily.
Which is just stupid. I wanted him to give up. I wanted him to go away and leave me alone. It’s a good thing.
I can finally start my life now, without the past. Without him.
The next morning when he doesn’t show up again, I decide I’m not even going to watch the door. Nope. I’m not going to act like a junkie, no matter how much I want to. He won’t reduce me to that.
But then, I see him through the window.
He’s on the opposite side of the street, striding down the sidewalk. Hurriedly, I walk to my boss and ask her for a five-minute break, even though I just started. I’m already out the door, pulling on my jacket because Jesus Christ, it’s cold, before she even confirms.
I jaywalk to the other side of the street and follow after him. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him when I catch up, but I have to see where he’s going.
Asshole.
He’s such a fucking asshole, isn’t he? He made me think that he’d wait for me forever. That he wouldn’t budge, no matter how I pushed him away.
But look at him now. Sauntering down the sidewalk as if he has no care in the world.
Okay, so that might be an exaggeration. He isn’t sauntering but lunging, like he’s in a hurry.
