Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yes, you are. So I’m right?”
“It’s the latter.”
“A woman, huh? I take it by your current disposition that it’s not good news in regard to this woman?”
“You’d be correct.”
“Man, that’s rough.”
“Yeah, rough is right.”
“How’d you lose the girl before I got to meet her?”
“Long story.”
“They always are, my friend. Last time you told me it was a complicated story.”
“That, too.”
“So what can I get you today? A bagel to melt in her mouth, or biscotti to dip in coffee, or maybe a muffin that shows how much you care?”
“The muffin.”
“Ah yes, the win-them-over-with-a-muffin routine,” he says with a smile.
“Are you always happy this early in the morning?”
“Pretty much. I’ve been baking for three hours at this point. It’s just good to talk to someone other than my brother.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother who worked here.”
“I try to keep him busy in the back. He doesn’t have a sparkling personality like me.”
That makes me laugh. Thank goodness something does. He hands me a coffee, because it’s apparent I need one, and places two muffins in a bag. “You should be all set, and let me know if the muffin works. I have it on good authority that women can’t resist my baked goods, but it’s always good to hear about it.”
“Will do,” I reply, dropping a ten on the counter. “Keep the change and thanks.”
I head back out and down to the nearest subway station. I’m still holding on to hope, though it would be wise if I left that flighty emotion on the platform.
I’m not wise, though. I never have been when it comes to matters of the heart.
Conviction.
Once I believe in something, I have conviction. That’s something more tangible to me. I can feel that emotion in my bones, deep down in my soul. I can grasp it in my hands and have it carry me forward. Conviction is what drives me now.
I step onto the train and plop down in a seat. The car is empty except for the few souls with some tedious weekend job that requires their presence before the regular workweek starts again tomorrow.
I get off at her stop and make my way up to street level. Walking the two short blocks to her building, I see the sun starting to rise in the distance. I look up at her window as I approach. It’s still early, so I’m not surprised to see the curtains drawn closed.
After entering the code and walking up the four flights, I’m at a loss as I stand in front of her door. Do I knock? It’s not even six in the morning. Do I wait out here? Not a well-thought-out plan overall, but the need overtook me. I wasn’t sleeping anyway, so I don’t regret coming over.
I slide down the wall and decide to wait before knocking. That lasts about fifteen minutes, then I give in to the urge. I want to see her, and I’m hoping we can work this out. Maybe sleep has given her a new perspective.
Performing my special knock just for her, I try to determine the balance between soft enough to reflect the hour but loud enough so she can hear it from her bedroom. I guess it worked because I hear her walking across her wood floor and then nothing. I assume she’s looking through the peephole.
She doesn’t open the door.
She doesn’t say anything.
Waiting and listening, I don’t even know if she’s still on the other side. But I’m here and I have to try. “Charlie? Please open the door and talk to me.”
I lean against the door, my palm flat against the solid wood. I haven’t heard her walk away, so I try again. “I brought coffee and muffins. Best in the city.” I hold the bag up so she can see if she’s still spying through the peephole. When I don’t hear anything, I lower my voice and plead with her. “Please, talk to me.”
Nothing.
I slide back down the wall and wait. She’s got to come out at some point, right?
Sleep takes hold despite the people and the city coming to life around me. When I open my eyes an hour later, I bend my neck to the left. It’s stiff from the poor sleeping conditions. I’m about to stand when I notice a note on my legs.
* * *
I’ve gone out for the day. Please go home.
C.
* * *
She’s very stealthy, and now I’m left wondering if she’s telling me the truth or lying to get rid of me.
Standing up, I stretch, realizing how ridiculous this is. Why am I here? She’s not going to speak to me. She’s stubborn that way. So I leave the coffee and muffins there and walk down the stairs. No sense in hanging around her hallway all day if she’s not home or won’t come to the door.