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The fact that he understands so completely makes my heart do a somersault in my chest. I don't think I've ever felt so seen or validated or heard in my life.
“And when someone is that charming and charismatic, it's usually because the core of them is rotten and they have to hide behind perfection and hope nobody notices the stink.” I think about Ryan, and Richard, and the other man I dare not think about unless I want to cry. They all hurt me in ways that I don't want to remember, and I've been doing my best to heal and move on, but it's been hard.
I sense that Michael completely understands and is in the same place in his life. His hand comes away from his mug and his fingers lace with mine. We sit like that at the table, holding hands.
“You’re amazing, strong, and brave. You deserve to be loved and happy,” he says.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “You do too.” Nobody deserves to be hurt by his significant other. Nobody should be put through the things that we've gone through. And as we sit beside one another at the table with our coffees in hand, I feel a connection that goes beyond words.
I also feel the sensation that I should probably put the brakes on because things are moving very, very quickly with him, and that's a red flag for me. And I know exactly how to sabotage the whole relationship in just a few words and a hunch.
“So what would you like in the future as far as relationships?” I ask.
His eyes go dreamy, and the corners of his lips curve upward. “Well, I'd like to find the perfect woman for me, get married, and start a family.”
And there it is. His words hit me like an arrow to the heart and to my surprise, I feel tears stinging in my eyes. I try to blink them back and stare out the window, watching the beautiful greenery shift in the wind. How do I tell him that I don't want to get married or start a family?
He seems to sense that I'm uncomfortable and changes the subject. “So tell me more about yourself, Moira. What do you like to do for fun? Besides Club Red.” His grin takes on a mischievously wicked turn, and I can’t help but smile slightly.
“I like to read - the dirtier the novel, the better. I love watching detective shows and listening to podcasts on weird stuff like missing hikers and wild conspiracy stories. Not because I believe them, but because it’s fascinating to me to try to figure out how people can believe that kind of stuff.” As I make my guilty confession, I can see his eyebrows lift as if he's surprised by my admission.
“You need to stop peeking through my windows,” he says with a chuckle. “Have you watched the conspiracy videos with the guys that think that all the missing people in national parks are due to aliens?”
I light up, knowing exactly who he's talking about. “Yes, because some of them wind up miles and miles away from where they started. He thinks they're abducted and just put down in the wrong spot. Like, seriously, an alien is capable of interstellar travel but can't put someone down where they picked them up at.” I let out a laugh, absolutely loving those kinds of conspiracies and the fact that he understands why I like them.
“No, I think he's right.” Michael says the words with such conviction that I stop moving and stare at him for a second, stunned.
Then he lets out a laugh and pats my hand. “I'm just kidding, but the look on your face was absolutely worth it.”
His eyes linger on the corner of my lips, and he reaches out with his knuckles, gently brushing the skin there. His touch sends a shiver down my spine as his gaze meets mine. “You had a little foam there,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.
And I find myself wishing he'd kissed the spot instead.
I think I need more therapy, because clearly I haven’t learned a damn thing.
Chapter Eight
Michael
I sit at the bar with my drink, watching the game on the big screen TV overhead. I'm not really interested in the score or the game or sports in general, but the TV is more interesting to watch than the wall.
Of course, watching other people's always an option, but in places like this, staring too long can get somebody stabbed. I’d rather not. Even though the time is displayed prominently on the screen and next to the TV, I glance down at my watch.
Hunter is running late, as usual.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, only to see that I have no messages from him or Moira. There is, however, a note of encouragement from my father that brings a smile to my face. Moira and I haven't talked in a few days since our first and last coffee date at my place. But for some reason that doesn't worry me. We're both busy individuals. I'm not looking to monopolize her time or make any demands from her.
I already know that she's not the kind of girl that I need to text at all hours of the day and night for her to feel appreciated and cared about. Especially not this early on. Maybe one day that'll be something she's interested in, but for now we'll continue taking things slow.
But as I think about her, I realize I like her. Not just her humor, looks, or even the things she says. I like who she is at the core. I love her comfortable understanding of my awkward situation with my ex, even though she doesn't know all of the details.
The fact is, I don't feel uncomfortable telling her those details because I’m not afraid of how she’ll respond. I only haven’t told her because I don’t want to dump all my trauma on her on a first date - my baggage is a bit heavy for a coffee date.
The people around me cheer and I glance at the TV, realizing somebody scored, but I don't know - or care - who. After she'd asked me what I wanted out of life, I sensed that she was surprised and dismayed, which tells me she doesn't want the same things out of life. So I changed the subject to try to lighten the mood a little bit and give her time to think.
I'm not sure why, but I just have this sixth sense about how she's feeling and what she's thinking and what I should do in any given situation. I knew at that moment she didn't want to talk about if she wanted to get married or have kids, so I just changed the subject to keep her at ease. That kind of conversation doesn't need to happen on a first date, but I accept that knowing had been important to her, even if sharing wasn’t top of her list of things to do.
Of course, that just tells me that she probably doesn't want a family, a commitment, a wedding, or any of the things I’m hoping for in my future. So as perfect as she seems, and as well as we click, I have to accept the eventuality that maybe we won't be a good match.
