For a girl who wouldn’t even consider her fake boyfriend an actual friend three weeks ago, I should be overjoyed to spend any time with him.
I’m not.
Every minute we're apart is a lifetime in itself. I fight the urge to text him because I don't want to come across as needy, and we don't text or talk when we aren't together. I have his number, but he hasn't opened that door, and I don't want to go first because I'm scared that if I seem clingy, he'll catch on to how I'm feeling and call this quits.
Despite all of my fears and insecurities, I’m parked in front of Lindy’s Diner at seven-thirty on a Tuesday night, debating whether or not to go inside. Lindy’s sits in a not so great part of town, but still on the good side of the tracks. It’s the kind of place that draws in locals, but tourists or islanders wouldn’t be caught dead here.
I watch Asher through the large paned window. It’s him, a waitress, and an elderly couple inside. My stomach churns with nervous energy. I place my hand over my belly in a vain attempt to settle it. I shouldn’t be nervous. After all, I spent most of my free time with Asher these days, but I’m crossing into his space. Uninvited.
My phone pings beside me, a new text message begging to be read.
Maggie: Get out of your car.
Me: I don’t know what you're talking about.
Maggie: You told me thirty minutes ago you were going to Lindy’s. Which means you got there ten minutes ago and since you’re texting me back, you haven't gone in yet.
Maggie: Stop being a chicken and GO!
I roll my eyes and laugh.
Me: You know me too well.
Maggie: Duh. I’m your best friend.
Maggie: Seriously tho, Asher will be excited to see you.
Maggie: We both know no girl has ever surprised him like this before.
That’s what I’m worried about. I take a deep breath and force myself out of the car. Maggie is right. I wanted to see Asher. I need to stop being a coward.
An over-the-door bell jingles as I step inside. I freeze on the welcome mat, my nerves finally getting the best of me.
“Welcome to…” Asher’s words fall off when he sees me, and I begin to panic. I shouldn’t have come. Showing up, unexpected like this, probably crosses some weird real-world-fake-dating line. “Ellie? What are you doing here?”
“I… uh…” My gaze darts around the room. My heart beats faster. Another panic attack is looming around the corner, and there are only two ways through it. Calm myself down and wait it out, or run. Right now, I really, really want to run.
Asher's lips lift into a heartbreakingly beautiful grin. He steps around the counter and pulls me into a hug and the tension in my chest fades away. “Are you hungry?”
“Sure,” I answer as he ushers me onto a swivel stool at the counter. Lindy's Diner has a retro feel with its black and white tiles and baby blue vinyl booths. It's cute. Not something I'd want to see every day, but nice in a nostalgic kind of way. “What’s good?”
“Everything.” Asher slides a plastic menu over to me. He leans one arm on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. “The cook here is the best in town.”
“Cool.” I close the menu and lay it on the counter beside me. “Tell him to surprise me then.”
"You got it, babe." Asher winks then walks through the swinging double doors. I wait a minute, expecting him to come back, but he stays hidden back there.
After five minutes with nothing to do, because I purposefully left my phone in the car, I start to feel anxious. My mind runs rampant with questions like, Why hasn’t he come back out? Is he hiding from me? And the thought, I shouldn’t have come, runs on a broken record.
The waitress I saw through the window taps the only other patron left, an old man, on the hand and walks over to me. “Hey there, sugar.” She leans against the back counter, the one that has a nineties model fountain drink display on it, and tucks her hands into the pockets of her white apron. “Did Asher take your order already?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I wish I had my phone to play with or a magazine to read, or something. Being left alone with my thoughts is never a good thing. They used to fixate on Liam, thinking about the future we’ll never have or over analyzing our conversations. Now it seems my thoughts want to berate me for coming here. Despite Asher’s smile, I can’t help but feel like I’ve crossed some invisible line with us.
“That boy,” the woman says with a smirk, shaking her head in amusement. “I’ve never seen him jump so fast to get behind the grill. You must be somethin’ special.”
“Wait, Asher is the cook?” The pressure in my chest decreases to where I can breathe without feeling my pulse race. I smile, feeling stupid having thought he was avoiding me. Asher isn’t Liam. I should have known better.
“Yup,” the woman says, stepping forward, “and he’s the best one I’ve had in three years.” She extends her hand across the counter. “The name's June Bell, but most people call me June-B.”