IF I HAD any sense at all, I should have let her walk out the door. I should have left this broken woman to get on with her life, but the heart inside of me demanded otherwise. It slammed furiously against my ribs, wanting me to keep her there—pleading with me to help her, to heal her.
Eyes coated in a sheen of glassy tears, she stared at me, and I waited for her to react or respond. The space of time that passed between us felt like hours, but in reality, it was only seconds. I was sure of it because I'd been mentally counting them, anticipating the moment of inevitable disappointment as she turned and walked away.
Taking me by surprise, she carefully lowered herself onto her seat, inhaling a shuddering breath and reaching into her purse to retrieve a small packet of tissues.
“I know I keep saying it, but I’m sorry.”
Relief loosened my muscles as I sat down and felt myself relax, watching her wipe away the black, inky trails of mascara making paths over her wet cheeks.
“This is embarrassing. I’d like to say I’m not usually this emotional, but—”
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I’m not the type of person to pass judgment or make assumptions.”
Head bowed, she kept her gaze trained on the crumpled tissue in her hand, and for a split second, I was fixated on her.
How did we end up here? How did I end up sitting in front of this beautifully sad woman who I was eager to learn more about? Shit luck, wasn’t it? Someone had died to get us to this point, someone whom she had wholeheartedly loved.
Without thought and driven by none other than the need to touch her, I leaned across the table and hooked my fingers under her chin.
The urge to caress my thumb over her jaw and along the slope of her neck was near impossible to ignore, but I tamped down the desire and guided her face to mine.
Our eyes met. Magnetic. Beguiling.
“How does your heart feel?”
As soon as the question materialized, I wanted to take it back. Those words hadn’t been uttered in nineteen years, not since the day my mother passed away, so what in the ever-loving hell possessed me to ask her, here and now of all places, was a mystery.
“What?” Cassi’s eyes narrowed, confusion swirling in their startled depths.
Shit.
I’d insisted she stay, and now she was looking at me as if I’d given her every reason to leave. I shook my head at my own stupidity.
Nice going, asshole.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
She sniffed back the rest of her tears, a lost look on her pretty face. “I don’t—”
“Tell me something. Anything. Your favorite color. Where you work. What it is you like to do in your free time.”
Anything and everything. Whatever you’re willing to give me. Just don’t leave.
Her brows knitted in that assessing way, and I waited anxiously for her to say something.
She wasn’t going to.
Fine. I’d take charge of the conversation. No big deal.
“You know what? I’ll go first.” I rested back in my chair and drummed my fingers against the hard surface of the wooden table, my mind racing as I searched for something interesting to tell her. “Do you want to know what I do when I sit in here drinking my coffee?”
Curiosity creased her forehead. “What's that?”
“I people watch.”
“People watch?”
“Yeah. People watch.”
She looked at me funny, her voice lowering with a mixture of apprehension and bewilderment. “That’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?”
“Creepy?” I sat, dumbfounded. “Labeling it as creepy is a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“Harsh?” She shook her head, her blank expression failing to reveal the thoughts forming in her mind. “No. Sitting here, staring at unsuspecting people, as they enjoy their coffee or tea or whatever it is they drink, is totally creepy. Maybe even borderline stalkerish.”
“What about authors and writers? Do they not people watch all the time for inspiration?”
She arched a brow. “Are you a writer or an author?”
“No, but—”
“Well then, my first comment stands. It's creepy.”
“Creepy, huh?” An amused grin spilled across my face, and I was sure it had done little to convince her I wasn’t the creeper she’d labeled me to be.
Picking up her mug, she stared at her coffee and gave it a little swirl before sipping the last of it.
“You haven't asked me why.”
Thick lashes lifted, revealing questioning brown pools. “Why what?”
“Why I do it. Why I people watch.”
“Is there really a justifiable reason?”
I shook my head and laughed. She was a ball breaker, this one. “You're a tough one, aren't you?”
Frowning, she set her empty cup on the table and pressed back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. Her gaze briefly bounced to the window and then back to me. “I'd like to think a part of me is.”
I had no doubt she was. Unavoidable circumstance had simply worn her down.
“Too many people take life for granted, Cassi. They go about their days, not appreciating the simple air they breathe. They don’t take a moment to stop and realize that everything they are and everything they once hoped to be can disappear within a blink of an eye.” I searched the café for the perfect candidate to reinforce my claim. “Take this guy for instance.”
I pointed to a middle-aged man, dressed in a finely tailored suit, a leather briefcase in hand. His feet moved quickly as he barked out his order to Addy, all the while glancing at his watch as if he were pressed for time.
Rich. Impatient. Typical.
“It’s Saturday morning. There is a wedding band on his finger, and I’d bet every dollar in my wallet he has two or three kids at home, wishing their father was home giving them piggy-back rides instead of rushing to get to the office.”
Cassi’s face scrunched up as she glanced over at the man. She looked at me, her voice challenging. “That’s not a fair assumption.”
“It’s not?” I mimicked her body language and waved my hand in front of me, enjoying this argumentative side of her. “Please. Continue.”
“Who is to say he is not the sole provider of his entire family? His rushing around on this Saturday morning can mean the difference between paying the mortgage or losing their home—a home which provides shelter for those two or three kids about whom you speak. Perhaps he’s striving to give his children everything he’s never had. He knows what it’s like to struggle, to live paycheck to paycheck, and he refuses to allow his children to succumb to that same fate. It’s easy to judge from afar, Sam, but how is it fair to make such assumptions when you don’t know what it’s like to be walking in his shoes.” She paused, her lips pinching tight and the frown creasing her forehead deepening as disappointment altered her features. “I thought you said you’re not the type of person to pass judgment or make assumptions.”
It was my turn to frown, fearing I’d given her the wrong impression. “I’m not.”
She laughed condescendingly, shaking her head but keeping her narrowed gaze pinned on me. “Is that not what you just did? You took one look at that gentleman and assessed him with a poorly drawn conclusion based solely on the clothes he is wearing and his clear lack of patience.”
“I watch, Cassi,” I said in a rush, attempting to defend a point I was sure had now lost its purpose. “I watch, and I observe.” I leaned forward again, right into her space, the small round table hardly a barrier between us. Her warm breath caressed my face, and I allowed my gaze to fall to her mouth, flicking between her all-too-tempting lips and her chocolate brown eyes. The sweet, intoxicating scent of her perfume filled my nose, and the sudden desire to taste it on my tongue hit me out of nowhere.
“You’re a pessimist,” she whispered.
“Not even close,” I countered, considering her accusation and quietly figuring out how I was going to turn this conversation around in my favor. “Everyone has a story. I simply sit back and try to read their unwritten words. It's not about judging or making assumptions. It's about seeing people. It’s about watching them pass up life’s precious moments and trying to understand why.”
Second chances didn’t come along often, I knew that better than anyone, but what I struggled to understand was why so many people carelessly wasted their first.
I hesitated for the length it took to draw in a breath, unsure as to whether I should continue, and then decided to go for it.
What did I possibly have to lose?
“I even see you, Cassi.”
She eyed me pensively, her tongue darting from her mouth and running along the surface of her lips. “Me? And what do you see when you look at me?”
I tilted my head to the side, my mouth falling open with the intent of providing her an answer that may or may not send her running.
What could I say?
I was all about pushing the limits today.
“Actually, you know what?” Removing herself from our intense closeness, she sat back and pressed her lips together in a slight grimace. “Don’t answer that. I’d rather not know.”
AFTER TWO MORE cups of coffee, a less tense conversation, which included occasional smiles and the odd, sweet sound of her chuckle, we stepped foot out of the café.
An awkwardness invaded the atmosphere as we stood there, the moment we were to part ways descending quickly upon us.
Thrusting my hand through my hair, I glanced at the street. Cars zipped by, and that damn heart of mine told me if I let her go, if I turned and headed in the opposite direction, this would be it. This would be the last time we saw each other.
I wasn’t ready for goodbye.
With her arms crossed over her chest, she stared absently at her flats, her hair falling like a silk curtain around her.
“Can I walk you home?” The question was off my tongue before she had a chance to put an end to whatever this was, and her head snapped up, big brown eyes full of wonderment locking onto mine. My stomach rolled uneasily, and I waited what seemed like five lifetimes for her to answer.
“Okay.” She gave me a subtle nod, her lips curling and the apples of her cheeks blushing pink.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, as long as you’re not some stalkerish murderer, because if that’s the case, then hell no, you can’t walk me home.”
I fought a smile and failed, epically. “Not in the least. Well, the stalking part is debatable.”
She chuckled, and my stomach lurched at the sound. I had a feeling she didn’t do that often, and hearing it float so easily from her mouth was calming.
I wanted her to do it again.
We started our walk down the street, and after a handful of strides, my feet halted. Cassi’s halted, too, and as she turned toward me, I bowed my head and gripped the back of my neck, worried I might have already fucked this up.
That awkwardness was still there, hovering like an invisible barrier between us.
“I’m sorry about earlier. The last thing I want to do is give you the impression I walk around making assumptions about people. I mean it when I say that’s not me. I just know what it’s like to have a life full of possibility and how quickly it can all be taken away from you.”
“It’s okay.” She licked her lips and shook her head, dismissing my apology. “We’re only human, Sam. It’s in our nature to judge. I just—sometimes I think we forget not everyone walks the same path in life as we do. Everyone’s journey is different. To look at someone and assume we know what they are going through, well, that only makes us naïve.” Holding me with her eyes—a raw sadness in them I was eager to remove—she spoke softly, the gentle tone of her voice reaching my ears on a whisper. “Not everyone wears their heart on their sleeves or their scars on their skin.”
Like you?
The unspoken thought passed between us, but I didn’t have a moment’s time to pull in a breath—let alone say anything at all. Wordlessly, she broke our contact, spun on her heels, and continued down the sidewalk. I fell in step beside her, a feeling in my chest I couldn’t define.
Our short walk to her place lasted fifteen minutes, spent mostly in companionable silence, and as we arrived at her front door, adorned with a large burlap wreath, I realized I wasn’t done getting to know her. I wanted to discover what other ways I could make her smile. I wanted to see more of that fire in her eyes, the one that blazed bright when she talked with passion and fierceness for what she believed was wrong and right.
Like everything else that had come out of my mouth on impulse, I asked, “Will I see you again?”
Her lips twisted to the side as she rubbed her cheek. “Is there a reason to?”
My throat tightened. No, I didn’t suppose there was except for the hundred reasons I wanted to list. We stood still, her watching me, me watching her. She was waiting for me to say something, but I had no words. How did I tell this woman I wanted to see more of her? More than the few glimpses I’d already caught.
Cassi slid her key into the door handle, and as she unlocked it and pushed it open, she stepped inside and turned to look at me, gifting me a soft smile. It was a smile that said this was it. Whatever this was, it was over.
“Goodbye, Sam. It was nice meeting you.”
Disappointment needled through me at her short dismissal. I nodded, my conscience commanding me to leave but my feet failing to react. Instead, I waited—hoping by some miracle she’d change her mind, she’d ask me not to go, or better yet, she’d love to chat over another cup of coffee.
She gave me nothing.
Taking that as my cue, I lifted my hand in a reluctant wave and walked backward, a heaviness in the pit of my stomach. “Take care, Cassi.”
She began to slowly shut the door, and as I headed in the opposite direction, she called my name.
“Sam?”
I stopped, a little too eagerly, and glanced back at her. “Yeah?”
“Broken,” she whispered.
Confused, I frowned.
“You asked me how my heart feels. It feels broken.”
We stared at each other for far too long, as if we understood one another on a level no one else ever had, and then without the utterance of sound, she vanished into her house.
Thunder rang out in the sky, and I dropped my head between my shoulders, glancing up at the darkening clouds.
Fucking hell.
It was going to pour. Blowing out a resigned breath, I continued in the direction I’d been heading, praying I’d make it home before it started to rain.
Broken. It feels broken.
Cassi’s words skated through my mind, the way her voice had shook when she’d said them hitting me hard. Broken was my expertise, wasn’t it? I was the master of broken. My life revolved around taking broken pieces and creating them into something new and breathtakingly stunning—a piece of art people could admire and appreciate. It was what I did, yet never before had I ever been so desperate to repair what wasn’t mine.