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“I’ve been playing a videogame. Uh…” He scratches his head. “Wanna come in? I got some coffee left.”
“Sawyer…” My voice drops to a whisper. There’s no way I can stay mad at him—or mad in general—when he looks so damn adorable and lost. “It’s late afternoon. You didn’t open the café today at all, did you?”
He blinks again, his mouth dropping open. “The hell? You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not. Man, you holed up in here and totally lost track of time? Don’t you have, I dunno, clocks, watches? Your phone, your computer clock?”
He takes a step back, all the blood draining from his face. “No.”
“Sawyer…”
“Fuck, fuck!” He turns and starts pacing, pulling on his hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”
“Hey—”
And then he starts hitting his palm against the wall. And counting under his breath. What the hell is he doing?
“Sawyer. Come on. Stop that.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s panting in between counting, his palm hitting the wall over and over, thump, thump, thump.
It clicks, then. I know the symptoms. He even mentioned OCD once, didn’t he? I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.
With a sigh, I walk over to him, grab his wrist. “Sawyer… Sawyer, stop.” He tries to shake his hand free, but I’m holding it in a tight grip. “Let go. Stop hitting the wall. You’re okay.”
“I can’t… I have to count…”
“What you need to do is talk to me. Why are you so stressed out?”
He shakes his head, dark curls flying. “I’m fine.”
“The hell you are.”
He tries to squirm free again, restarts the counting under his breath. His eyes are wild.
I turn him around, press his back to the wall. “Nothing bad happened, okay? You lost some customers today, is all. Mainly, I was worried about you.”
“I can’t… breathe…”
“You’re fine. Look at me.” I grip his chin, lift it, force him to look me in the eye. “Everything’s fine, I promise you.”
He nods, but he’s still breathing hard.
“Do you often get anxiety attacks?”
He flinches, cheeks coloring. “Probably not as often as you rearrange other people’s bookshelves.”
“Will you ever let go of that?”
A defiant shrug.
“By the way, you shouldn’t have your name under your doorbell.” I release him, step away. “Anyone could enter the building and pretend to know you, convince you to open your door.”
“My name? I don’t have my name there.”
I freeze. “Shit.”
“Didn’t you read what it says?”
