9
Sarah Thompson.
As soon as I entered the apartment, I dropped my shoes at the door and threw myself onto the bed, still wearing the dress I had worn to dinner. My cell phone started vibrating nonstop. Of course... it was the girls.
They were curious, wanting to know how dinner had gone.
I opened the messages, laughing.
Sabrina: Hey, how was your date with Mr. Hot?
Julia: We want details! Even what you had for dinner, please!
I rolled my eyes, but a silly smile was already plastered on my face.
It was a great dinner, I typed.
He's polite, kind, intelligent... I was a little embarrassed to ask for his number, but I found out where he works. I think I'll stop by one day to talk about my new book.
I stared at the last sentence for a few seconds. Talking about the book was an obvious excuse, and I knew it.
But still, it was the most comfortable way I could find to justify how much I wanted to see him again.
I felt that pleasant anxiety in my stomach, as if something was beginning, as if I were opening the door to a new place, and it was magnificently cozy.
After exchanging a few more messages and laughing alone at the silly jokes they sent, I went to get changed. I put on my cotton pajamas, which were warm and soft. I turned off the light and wrapped myself in the sheets.
Before going to sleep, I stared at the dark ceiling, thinking about him... Edgar. His peaceful smile. His attentive gaze. His small gestures, like turning on the heat or putting his jacket over my shoulders.
It was... different.
And somehow, that attracted me to him.
I woke up early the next day with the faint rays of sunlight shining through the curtains. I stretched slowly, still smiling to myself.
I had a short to-do list: buy a few things at the market, pay some overdue bills, and check the sales of my book—both on Amazon and on the publisher's website.
As I made breakfast, I noticed that the butterflies in my stomach were still there. Edgar had left that feeling behind.
His image continued to appear in my mind, his smell, I still felt. He had such a good smell, so strong, so intense, it suited him perfectly.
Why are you thinking about him so much, Sarah? I asked myself as I poured my coffee into a cup.
I drank my coffee and ate a cookie, while looking at my phone, checking social networks, saw some comments on my Instagram and started to respond to some kind readers. That made me happy, they were enjoying it. Then I set the coffee table, put on my coat and left the building, going to the parking lot. I had many things to do.
I got in my car and drove.
The city center was crowded this morning, as always. But I tried not to get desperate, I would be able to do everything calmly.
I went to the market, paid my bills at the ATM, and took the opportunity to buy a hot chocolate at my favorite café. On my way home, my heartfelt light. For the first time in weeks, my head wasn't overwhelmed.
When I got home, I went straight to my computer.
I opened the Amazon tab.
And there it was: my book was selling well. The ratings had gone up, and new comments appeared every day. One of them said, The author seems to read the characters' souls. Incredible.
I smiled.
The doorbell rang. It was the doorman confirming a package from the publisher. More physical copies had arrived.
I called my mother and told her the news. She was thrilled, as always. She invited me to lunch on Sunday, and I accepted without hesitation.
“I want to show you what I wrote,” I promised.
“I'll be waiting,” she replied, with that proud tone that always moved me.
It was Friday. I was going out with the girls that night, but until then... I decided to do what calmed me down the most: write.
It was still three in the afternoon...
I grabbed my notebook and headed to London's Central Park. My green refuge, where I could breathe normally, clear my mind, and feel at peace.
The sky was gray clouds, it looked like it was going to rain, but it was only windy. The wind swung slowly the leaves, I could smell them, so delicious, so pure, it was silent there. I sat in my usual place, near the largest tree in the park, in front of the water fountain. I opened my bag, taking my notebook and my pink pen.
The pen glided easily. It was as if the real world had been left behind, and I was entering another dimension.
I posted a story on Instagram. Just a part of my notebook, one sentence highlighted:
Some encounters seem like accidents. Others seem like destiny.
I laughed to myself, proud of my words.
I wrote for almost an hour, losing myself in my thoughts. In the middle of my writing, however, something made me look up.
A slight chill ran down my spine.
I looked around.
Nothing.
People walking their dogs, a couple of running hand in hand, an old man feeding the ducks. Everything was absolutely normal. But something told me someone was watching me.
I felt that feeling.
Was I being paranoid?
I shook my head and went back to writing, trying to ignore the feeling. Maybe it was just my mind creating stories, as it always did.
I let a short smile appear, but it quickly disappeared, and my mind began to rework several sentences.
But... what if it wasn't?
I took a deep breath, trying to concentrate, but the image of Edgar appeared again.
Those intense eyes. The calm presence.
I smiled without realizing it. This time, a wider smile.
Perhaps it was time to visit him. And the perfect excuse was right there: the book, the guidance, the curiosity about that incredible world he lived in among the books.
What if I showed up at his college?
I know I might be imagining things, but… Perhaps he was thinking about me too.
Am I going crazy? I thought, looking at my notebook, at the sentences I had written.
I decided to put the notebook and pencil in my bag. I sat up straighter in my chair and stretched my legs, which had gone numb.
Stretched out my arms, then I took my cell phone, typed in the search field of Google the college of Edgar and saw that it was open all day until 18h. But the question was, did he stay all day in college?
Should I call... ask about him? Schedule a schedule with him?
I thought, bringing a finger to my lips, pensive. A habit of mine.
What to do?