She’s running away from me, again.
But I won’t let her not until she tells me why.
It's been over a year since I last saw her.
Since I last held her and kissed her.
I spent months trying to track her down, but I failed .
Until now.
Under the harsh fluorescent lighting of this small-town grocery store in the middle of Red Cloud, Nebraska.
I finally tracked down my wife.
Six Years ago.
Imust be dreaming.
She’s come around the bar. She’s headed straight to me and with the way she keeps her gaze locked on mine, I know today’s the day her curiosity has piqued.
She walks towards me in a cloud of determination.
My girl’s got guts.
Shit.
She’s not my girl. She’s agirl. This girl has guts.
I need to remember that if I want to walk away from this interaction unscathed.
My heartbeat picks up and heat spreads through me like wildfire at the intensity she radiates with a single stare. Her eyes widen and I wonder if she feels this as much as I do.
Whatever this is. This almost tangible energy. This undeniable attraction that sizzles and pops in the distance between us.
Julia, another barista, calls out to her as they walk out the door. Disappointment builds then dissolves when she doesn’t break our stare down. She simply raises her hand, waves, and calls to her. Without looking away.
Impressive.
Her mouth tilts up as she nears, and if I hadn’t spent the last three weeks watching her, I wouldn’t be able to say that this smile she’s fighting against is a real one.
It is.
“Hi there.” She slides into the barstool next to mine, sipping on what smells like a strawberry tea as she leans sideways, her shoulder resting on the bar.
“Hey.” I murmur letting the word roll off my tongue in a rumble.
I’ve only got three more weeks before I start at the FBI Academy and for the first time since I decided on this path at sixteen, I’m not looking forward to it.
I’ve been working towards this goal for the last seven years. It all started with the last foster home I ended up in. My foster father was a retired police officer and although he wasn’t a pleasant man, those nights he spent spinning tales about his good ole days with a badge stuck with me. Though I suspected half of them were made up, after spending most of my life in and out of horrible foster homes, I welcomed the discipline and rules he provided.
What is it about her that is making me second guess myself?
Like a moth to a flame. I want to be near her. I think about her constantly.
Worry about her when I don’t even know her.
For the last two years, I found myself drawn to this place. To her.