What is he doing here? I thought he would get the message when I didn’t answer his text. Or that he would at least just keep trying to text me. Who just shows up to talk to someone face-to-face anymore? I try to pay him no attention and go back to organizing the various supplies by the espresso machine, but he walks straight up to the counter, leaning against it like he owns the place.

Ugh. It was a lot easier to be dismissive of him, to put him in my rearview, when he wasn’t standing right in front of me. Damn, he is hot. He cracks a little smile as our eyes meet and my body immediately experiences a flashback to the night of the auction. I focus and shut that down. I don’t need to be wasting my time with this guy and I can’t be led into bad decisions by the not so subtle ache in between my thighs.

“Hello, Emma,” he says softly.

“Good afternoon. Can I get something started for you?” I am as formally friendly as I can be, masking myself in the near ritualized language of my work. Blake sniffs lightly, blowing a bit of air and a lot of amusement out of his bold, aquiline nose.

“Ok. I will have a macchiato and one of those,” he points at the pastry display, “the pain au chocolate.”

“Would you like that warmed?” I ask reflexively.

“Oh, definitely.” His broad smile indicates that he is trying to infuse innuendo into his pastry order, but I am having none of it. I refuse to get drawn in. Blake is far too good-looking and charming, and fucking hot, for me to risk giving him another chance. If I do, I am certain it will end in heartbreak for me. I don’t want to get into a situation where I am falling farther and faster than he is. I just have to be firm, strong for a few minutes and he will give up. Then I can move on and leave the whole situation behind me.

“Coming right up.” I turn away and begin pulling a shot of espresso. I ask my co-worker to ring up his order. I need to take a break from his intense gaze. I glance back and see him drop a twenty in the tip jar.

When I turn around to give Blake his drink, it seems like he hasn’t moved an inch or stopped looking at me for an instant.

“Here you are,” I say with a forced cheeriness.

“Can we talk for a few minutes?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“No, I am working.” I hear how harsh I sound. It isn’t like me. I have always been friendly, even with ex-boyfriends. I have no real reason to be so short with Blake. I mean, he stood me up, but it isn’t like we have some serious relationship. My pride is hurt, of course, but normally I wouldn’t get so upset unless there is something deeper going on.

Blake leaves the counter, but he doesn’t leave the café. In fact, he takes his drink and his pastry and sits down at a table facing the counter. And he just sits there, eating his pain au chocolate and drinking his macchiato. It is infuriating. I couldn’t have been clearer without telling him to buzz off directly. I don’t know why he is being so deliberately thick-headed.

I do my best to ignore him, but every time I look up, he is sitting there, looking back at me. He is just waiting there. Waiting for me. Ugh. He doesn’t look like he is planning on leaving any time soon.

I’ve used up both of my breaks already and I still have another forty-five minutes left in my shift. If he sticks around that long, then I guess the least I can do is hear him out. But I promise myself that I will not be persuaded to give him another chance.

Half an hour comes and goes and he is still sitting there. Now he is reading something on his phone. It reminds me that he didn’t text or call when I was sitting alone in the restaurant. And all he has offered are vague apologies.

When my shift ends, I grab my purse out of the back and walk over to his table. He looks up at me and I feel my resolve immediately weaken. I have the urge to drown myself in his deep, warm brown eyes. Breaking the ocular connection, I pull back a chair with a scrape and sit lightly on the edge. I want to give the impression that I am not staying long. He is leaning back, relaxed, and open. If he feels nervous or contrite, he isn’t showing it in his posture.

“Emma, I would like you to give me a chance to make up for last night.”

I sniff in response.

“Look, I understand that you are upset, but I can make it up to you. I promise.”

I do my best to look at something on the table. He is staring at me with such intensity that I can feel his eyes on me like a physical force.

“Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

“Please, Emma, you are being unreasonable.”

My head snaps up. If there is one thing that annoys me more than anything it is men claiming a woman, me in particular, is being unreasonable or irrational or some other distinctly feminine mental defect. As if reason is something that requires a penis to exercise.

“I am not interested, Blake. We had a very nice evening together and then a very unpleasant evening apart and now I think it is time we part ways.” I decide to twist the knife a bit. “Unless you think you didn’t get your money’s worth?”

The look in his eyes tells me everything. Oh my god. He actually likes me. I sit back in the chair. I see a genuine flash of pain in his eyes, more than if I simply wounded his pride or something, he really wants me. I am so thrown off that I can’t form any words, so my last statement, the one I didn’t really mean, the one I said just to create a distance, a safe space between us, is hanging there. I can’t form a word as he swiftly stands up, pushing the chair back with his legs. I can’t make my mouth move as he crosses to the door in a few long strides. I get up to follow him, but he is already out the door.

He is at the curb by the time I exit the café. He is ready to cross the street when my mouth begins to work again.

“Blake, wait!” I call out.

He turns his head as he steps out into the street. He doesn’t see the car.

Tires screech and the acrid smell of molten rubber assaults my nose.

The car can’t stop in time. Blake slams into the windshield, shattering the glass.

My voice is working again. I scream.