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He’d kept his relationship going with both of us. And the only reason I found out was because I’d watched her name and a text pop up. A text with some... rather spicy language regarding what she planned to do to him that night. A night he told me he had to go back to work and work late because one of the guys had gone home sick. Of course, I called the guys at his work, only to find out he wasn't actually there.
Still, I don't get that same anxious, gut-wrenching feeling that I got with Richard when Michael talks about his ex. He seems genuinely disgusted and bothered by her attitude and actions. Even now there's so much sincerity and I have no doubt that what he's telling me is true.
“I know this is a lot to take in and I don't blame you if you want to leave.” As he says the words, I'm forced to confront the fact that I believe I want to stay here with him.
“I'm not a huge fan of drama, but I'm not worried about her.” I walk toward him and set my empty glass down beside his before turning to face him. Opening my arms wide, I smile up at him. “You look like you need a hug, though.”
His expression shifts, and I see gratefulness in his eyes. With that, he steps into my arms and holds me close. I can hear his breath in my ear and feel his warmth seeping through my clothing and deep into my bones. “Thank you,” he says softly.
My mind wants to put on the brakes to remind me that I don't want to get into a relationship right now. I've learned my lesson, haven't I? But then again, if I'm not seeing any red flags and my gut isn't warning me against him, then why shouldn't I enjoy myself a little bit? We don't need to put any labels on things, and I'm not going to have expectations, but if we just enjoy one another's company, there's nothing wrong with that. It's not like one of us is asking the other to marry them.
“No need to thank me. She seems like the bitter type that just can't move on. I figured you could use some support.” We carefully untangle from one another's arms, and he picks up his drink from where he’d set it down and finishes it.
“I offered you coffee - would you like some?” he asks gently and I consider.
“Sure.” I love coffee, and the intimacy of staying in with him doesn't bother me like it might with any other man.
His eyes light up and he makes his way into the kitchen. I follow him as he stops in front of a Victorian-era inspired cabinet, then pulls the doors open. Inside is a massive coffee bar and expensive industrial espresso maker, and all the fixings to make delicious coffee right at home. It’s a dream setup, and I’m in love. With the coffee space, not the man.
A sigh of delight leaves my lungs, he smiles down at me. “I take it you're a fellow coffee lover?” Despite his serious tone, there's a playful twinkle in his eye that makes me happy.
“Oh, very much so.” I watch him as he gathers up the coffee that he's going to use and puts it in the little hopper and tamps it down tight before putting it into the espresso maker. He's quick to grab some milk from the fridge and foam it up just right.
“Mugs are in the cabinet to the right of the sink,” he says, and I amble over to pick out a couple of mugs. When I open the cabinet door, I can't help but love his eclectic collection of mugs. I'm reasonably certain there isn't a matching set anywhere in this cabinet. And each mug seems to have a unique size, shape, and color pattern. I settle for one with a deep, rounded bell shape that’s a deep green stoneware and offer him one that flares in and out, in and out, with a graceful ocean blue outside that shifts to teal inside and reminds me of the ocean in some tropical place.
“I just want to say that your mug collection is fantastic.” I bring my index finger and thumb together with my other three fingers up and he chuckles.
“Believe it or not, that is not a compliment I've ever received before, and I think it is my new favorite.” He glances at me with warmth in his eyes.
“Now that's just sad. You need to get complimented more.” I step up beside him with both glasses in hand, and he offers me milk and coffee. I mix them together and add some of the flavoring from the bottles with pump tops he has lined up, picking chocolate, coco nut, and a dash of almond. “Like an almond joy,” I say, taking a sip before offering him a drink.
“That is good,” he says, making his the same way I made mine.
We take our drinks to the kitchen table, which overlooks a green garden, and I find myself feeling very at home with him. As he sips his drink, his eyes meet mine over the rim of his glass, and I find myself wanting to give him a chance. I want to give myself a chance with him. He seems so genuine and real and very, very different from the guys that I've dated who've broken my heart.
Maybe we'd have a chance.
Or maybe I'm being stupid, naive, and idealistic.
“Do you want to talk about Cynthia?” Sometimes all someone needs is an empathetic and understanding ear, and I don’t mind offering just that.
He seems surprised and I lift my shoulders. “Sometimes it's easier to process things when you discuss them with other people. And who knows, maybe I'll be able to offer you a new perspective.”
He lets out a slight sigh and lowers his cup to the table, staring at the mug as if it contains the answers. “Honestly, she seemed like the woman of my dreams until she wasn't. Back then I was struggling. I hadn't made the app yet. I didn't give her enough love, affection, or attention or anything, but she stuck with me.”
“She dated you for your potential rather than who you were.” I know that type well, and they’re some of the worst.
He nods, seeming far away in his eyes. “She became manipulative, demanding, and was out messing around with other guys and blaming me. I was always too busy, didn’t give her enough, and everything that went wrong - even the things she did wrong - were my fault.”
“That’s so unfair.” I reach over and put my hand on his, feeling the warmth of his coffee mug, his skin, and I inhale the scent of his warm, woodsy cologne, and the rich dark notes of espresso.
“I dated a guy who was similar,” I say softly into the sudden silence. “In the beginning, he was perfect. He said everything I wanted to hear. He was the kindest person on earth. He made me feel good about myself. And then I don't know what happened. Over time, he just got possessive, controlling, and wouldn’t let me do anything without his permission. Before I realized what was happening, he was running every aspect of my life. Honestly, I thought I’d die before getting away from them.”
“You’re strong, a survivor. Someone who can’t be tamed or caged.” His comforting words seem to see right through to the heart of me and I squeeze his hand.
“Thank you.” Of course, I know those things to be true, but it feels good to have them validated through someone else's eyes. “I think that's why I'm so wary when I meet someone and hit it off right away. It reminds me of him, you know?”
He nods his head. “I completely understand. I think that was part of the reason why I didn't ask for your name and number right away when we met, because we clicked, and it was just too good to be true. And I've learned that when it's too good to be true, it probably is.”
