Sam--short for Samantha, if you please--has been living in Crawley, Maine for about a year in her grandfather's lighthouse. A promising advertiser, she works from home and the local coffee shop, where she gets her daily hot chocolate fix. For her, l...
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By the time I reached home, it was almost 2:50, which meant I had ten minutes to change out of my "I'm done, I'm not buttoning anything clothes" to something slightly more presentable. Shuffling into my slippers, I slip-slap-ran to my room and threw on a pair of jeans, a thermal shirt, and a chunky sweater. A knock on the door sent my heart beating into overdrive.
"Coming! Gimme a—whoa!" I slipped on my partially pulled up sock and slammed hard on my butt.
"Dang it, that frikkin hurt," I moaned, rubbing the sore spot.
"Are you alright?" Came Andrei's muffled voice.
"Ye-" my voice cracked, so I cleared it and tried again, "Yeah, I'll be right out!" Finishing up upstairs, I bounded down the steps and landed at the front doorway.
Do I let him in before I tie my shoes, or do I finish up before I open the door? Oh, what the hell—I opened the door.
"Hey—"
"Hey."
We stood there, awkwardly, for what felt like a few minutes before I remembered my still-slippered feet.
"Let me just—I need to put on my shoes first. You can wait inside if you want?"
He nodded slightly and ducked to get in.
Sitting on the bench I shoved my feet into my docs and double-knotted them in record time. I quickly grabbed my jacket and beanie from the bench beside me and slipped them on. I spun around to meet him and noticed his gaze was anywhere but mine. His eyes were wide and his mouth was moving in silent speech. His hands shoved into his jacket's pockets were splayed wide in chicken wings. His body was slightly turned away from me, so engrossed was he in checking out my living space. It was kind of cute.
No, stop that. You don't know him. I berated myself.
But you could know him, that side of me that I hated teased.
"Soooo, uh, where are we going?"
That snapped him from his reverie.
"To the ocean."
"Are you—are you going to change again?"
"No, not today. You are not comfortable with change, yes?"
I laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of my neck,
"You got me there. It's a work in progress, I guess."
He chuckled, then held out his hand palm up.
"Shall we?"
I hesitated. Would it too forward of me to take his hand? Was that giving him hope where I didn't want to give him any? Did I even want to give him any hope?
