"Sorry." I look up at him, and I can't manage to look away. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. Thanks for the key." I grab my purse. Throw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and head out of the diner so fast I'm sure there is a Blakely shaped hole in the door.
I walk back to the house, faster than usual. Am I so bitter that I have resorted to being rude to strangers? What happened to me? I just want myself back. The old me before the pain swallowed me whole and never spit me back out. I slam the door behind me and slide to the floor, and feel the tears coming. I can't help but sob so loudly I'm practically screaming. I sling my purse across the floor and slam my head back into the wood a couple of times in frustration. I feel as if I may throw up, so I walk out the sliding door and slump into the chair on the porch. I bury my face into the sleeves of my sweatshirt. I know that I'm on the verge of a panic attack by the way my chest is tightening. I feel my breathing begin to pick up, and I am counting out loud. I will try anything to stop this, even if it is ridiculous exercises my therapist recommends.
Strong arms wrap around me and pull me in tight, and for the first time in my life, I feel safe. I should pull away, or at least look to make sure I'm not in danger. The way my body responds to him is unexplainable.
"Shhh... it's okay. You are going to be okay." He whispers in my ear, the same words I have heard a thousand times. This time is different, I believe him. He pulls me tighter against his chest, this perfect stranger. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what happened. He doesn't care. I feel my sobbing start to subside, and I feel him lift me up off the chair. He carries me to bed and pulls the blanket over my body. His hand pushes my hair back, and he stares at me for a second. I look into his eyes, the same eyes I couldn't look away from at the diner. I force my eyelids shut, and I feel so peaceful. He stands at the door of the room, contemplating what he may be getting himself into before pulling the French doors closed. I don't care why he's here, and I don't care who he is. I'm fully aware that my "stranger danger" radar should be going off.
I wake to a faint sound of music playing beyond the doors into the main living space.
Ed Sheeran. I roll over and consider going in there. Is he still here? I decide the best thing for me right now is a shower, even if he does have good taste in music.
I hop out of the shower and into some jeans and a t-shirt. My hair is so tangled that I cringe as I yank the brush through it and leave it there it wet strands. I sigh at myself and give my appearance a shrug and walk into the kitchen.
There he is.
He didn't leave. I think I might die of embarrassment, like go ahead and dig my hole. Six feet deep sounds great right about now. I want to crawl into my turtle shell and maybe never come out. His eyes leave the kitchen counter and lock with mine.
"Good Morning." He beams and motions to the bar stool for me to sit. I drag my feet that feel like weights over to the counter and sit. He places a plate in front of me.
"I brought your waffle you abandoned at the diner to you this morning, but you fell asleep, and it was getting soggy. I figured you may want something else."
I push the eggs around with a fork and glance up at him. "I'm so sorry, I..."
He interrupts, "Don't mention it. What is a girl like you doing crying alone in a beach house anyway?"
"It's complicated." He turns to the coffee pot and pours me a cup, and sits it near my plate.
"What time is it anyway?" I ask but am afraid to hear his answer.
"It's 10:30, I'm sorry I serial-stalked you home and stayed until you woke up. I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay before I left."
Why does he care?I manage a half-smile and shovel some eggs in my mouth.
"So she does smile..." He grins and leans back against the counter.
By this time, I am blushing so hard I can't help but cover my face with my hands in embarrassment, like a serious face-palm moment.
He walks around the counter and grabs my wrist to pull my hands from my face. The way his hand fits around mine makes me literally feel like my heart is stopping, although I know that is impossible. This guy seriously needs a warning label. The phone rings, and I escape his grasp before I end up melting into a puddle on the floor, like Alex Mack. Yes, I'm feeling old for referencing that, in case you were wondering.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. He ignores the call and looks back at me.
"You can take that if you need to." I grab my coffee cup nervously, trying to hide my face.
"Nah, that can definitely wait." He smiles at me.
"So, where are you from?" He blurts, trying to obviously break whatever tension we had going on for a second.
"Tennessee, what about you?"
"I'm from Savannah, but my family has property all up the east coast, so I guess you could say I’m from all over." He flashes his perfect teeth and takes the stool next to me.
"Are you in school?"
"No, I'm taking a semester off, hell, at this point, I may not even go back. I don't even feel like that's where I should be."
Why do I continue to word vomit?
"I can understand that, It's not for everyone."