Pumpkin Mocha Breve

Part 11

Date; April 9

I felt almost nervous going to work the next day. Would Baz mention anything about last night? Would he even talk to me? Would everything be normal? I shook my head. Everything would be fine. It's not like we like... did... anything. My face flushed red as I stepped outside, partially from the wind and partially from the unwanted thoughts bumping around in my brain. As soon as I tied on my cafe apron, a group of college friends walked in, everyone with their own complicated order. They kept me busy for a while, so I didn't even notice when Baz walked in. I glanced up when the group left, catching the gaze of Baz's dark grey eyes. He turned his head quickly, letting his hair fall into his face. He looked less put together than usual today, wearing just a grey-blue sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans. 

"Your usual?" I asked, trying to sound kind. 

"Yes." It was like he didn't even have the energy to make fun of me. Was he embarrassed? I couldn't imagine why. It's not like I minded him calling me. I made him his coffee and handed it over. He went to sit by himself at a table in the corner. I waited a minute or two, then followed him over, plopping down into the seat across from him. He didn't look up. 

"Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?" I leaned on one elbow, trying to look suave. Baz looked up, startled, eyes wide, and face blushing pink. 

"Are you hitting on me?"

I took my arm off the table to scratch my neck awkwardly. "Ah, well, no. I just thought I'd try to make you laugh. I don't really know any good jokes, just bad pick up lines."

Baz looked down at his coffee again. "Why are you trying to make me laugh? I've been coming here pretty consistently for a while. You should know by now I'm not really the kind to laugh at dumb pick up lines, sorry." 

I shrugged. "I'm sorry, just thought I'd try. You seemed sad. And with the call last night, I assumed something was wrong. You sounded like you were crying, after all."

Before I'd even finished the sentence, Baz stood up, slamming his chair into the wall behind him. His head was down and his hair fell into his eyes, but I could see his clenched fists and rapid breathing. What was wrong with him? "I. Wasn't. Crying." 

"I'm sorry Baz, I just-"

"I WASN'T CRYING!"  His head snapped up, and we made eye contact. His eyes were red, like he was holding back tears. "Leave me alone." He threw his drink onto the floor in a fit of anger and walked through the mess out the door, slamming it closed behind him. I sat at the table for a while afterward, in shock. Something was definitely wrong. What happened last night? I eventually had to get up to slowly mop up the mess on the floor, but the rest of the day I was lost in my thoughts. When I got home, I waited for almost two hours to see if Baz would text or call me again, but I didn't get a single notification. For the first time in months, I went to bed relatively early. 

The next morning, I checked my phone again to see a single message from Baz, reading; "I'm sorry."