Jamie didn't sweep me off my feet.
There was the age thing. He was older, more traveled. Quoted writers and dropped fancy words like pocket change. He knew how to talk his way out of a situation, or into one.
And I know the customer thing was odd. He was a vacationer, leather-skinned by June. As Trista pointed out, I took money from him. But only for my skills as a waitress. I promise, only for that.
There was no manipulation, despite all the red flags that may flash. No bullying or coercion. With him, I was me.
And I knew about the wife. When he told jokes as I wrote down his order, or asked my opinion on something he read in the paper. When he left notes on the receipt, sweet limericks beneath my pencil-scratched faces. When he kissed me that second sunset, on a hidden beach only the locals could find. I knew.
I met her at the diner a month later. I wasn't supposed to work on Thursdays- that's what Jamie knew. But Trista's son broke his arm and I agreed to cover her shift last minute. Agreed with a fervor she couldn't understand.
But you understand, right?
How easy my knees give?
Jamie handled the introduction like a champ- to his credit or fault you decide. As I strode to their table, he betrayed no panic or guilt, no second glance of calculation. He asked about my brother's boat, said something mundane about the weather. Stuttered as he introduced me- an Oscar-worthy pause before he said my name. And he looked up at me from where they sat, shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined, enough times to prove his class. To prove he was a man who remembered the small folk that served him. Remembered but never too well.
Certainly not well enough to book a hotel ten miles to the west.
So I had to smile at her. I had to refill her coffee with a perm-frozen grin, answer questions about allergies with practiced concern. I had to laugh when she became tongue-tied while asking for pepper- calling it leper. I had to cluck at her kindness when she tightened my apron, feign amazement at such a bold display of altruism. I had to do all of this without looking at her, without really seeing or listening.
Because what if I had? What would've happened then?
Jamie didn't sweep me off my feet. I closed my eyes. I bent my knees and flew.
YOU ARE READING
Bend Fly Run
RomanceAt nineteen, Beanie made a choice that brought her adventure and agony, and she's been treading through the debris of its destruction ever since. Eight years later, she travels to Australia in a moment of bravery and shares a surfing lesson with El...
