Crossing Paths (14 page)

“Well, it looks like it’s just the two of us,” I say, turning to Cohen.

“Great! What’ll it be?”

“Hmm…do you like Mexican food? There’s this amazing Mexican place just a block or two away.”

“Perfect.” He smiles.

“I’m just going to step into the ladies’ room for a quick second.”

I walk into the restroom, pull out my phone, and dial Caroline’s number.

She picks up after just one ring. “Hey, are you busy for lunch?” she asks.

“Yeah, sorry, and I’m going to be late for dinner tonight.”

“Business crap?”

“Well, remember that guy I got the flowers from?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s here, and he’s hot. We have to go to lunch alone because my boss is busy. I’m freaking out.”

“No big deal, June. Just be yourself, and try to relax.”

“Right…relax. I can do that.”

“Sure you can.”

I hear her laugh, and I roll my eyes, knowing she probably thinks my high-strung personality will make lunch pretty awkward.

“Try to find something in common with him, and talk about that,” she says.

“Okay, I can try that. I need to get going, but I’ll try to text you later and let you know how it goes.”

“Have fun and do lots of things your mother would disapprove of.”

“You are almost as bad as my mother.”

“I know. Bye.”

“See you later.”

The restaurant is within walking distance from the office, so we make our way while we briefly talk about his company’s contract and the new media campaign taking off this year. Even though our discussion is short, I can hear the passion he has for his company’s products and services. His enthusiasm excites me for the ongoing project we’ll be working on together.

We enter the restaurant, and the hostess seats us at a booth by the window. Sitting across from one another, we scan the menu in silence for a minute or two. I’ve been trying to think of a way I can bring up the flowers without making a big deal about them. I don’t want him to think that I thought more of them than he had intended. Since he hasn’t mentioned anything and the text message reply wasn’t quite the response I was looking for, I’m sure they were purely congratulatory in nature. As much as that disappoints me, I still feel that I should express some sort of gratitude for the gesture.

“Thank you for the flowers,” I blurt out, peering at him over the top of my menu.

He doesn’t move his menu, but I swear he begins to smile as I see wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he states simply. After a short pause, he lowers his menu to the table and makes eye contact with me, holding my stare. “Listen, June, I need to tell you—”

The waiter chooses this moment to stop by the table and collect our drink orders.

“Can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asks.

Cohen looks to me, offering me the chance to talk first.

“I’ll take a sweet tea,” I say.

“And I’ll have a water,” Cohen adds.

When the waiter walks away, I continue our conversation.

“You don’t need to say anything. I feel like I should apologize for being so unprofessional in New York,” I say.

About that time, another waiter arrives at the table to take our food order, and we give him our entrée choices in quick succession.

“Unprofessional? Don’t be crazy. I just wanted to say that your suggestions at the meeting in New York were refreshing, and your input on this project so far has been outstanding. Your company is lucky to have you.”

“Oh.” I push a smile through the disappointment I’m feeling.
I knew I was reading too much into our shared meal in New York and the flowers last week. Things like that must be typical in the business world.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say without allowing my voice to falter.

From my point of view, the remainder of our meal is a little awkward, but I go ahead and try to make small talk about work and family. Cohen is kind, but he doesn’t seem overly engaged. I guess I can move on—to what, I’m not sure.
Past the hope that Cohen had any level of interest beyond business, I guess.

On our way back to the office, our conversation becomes more casual.

“Have you ever been to the Museum of Fine Arts?” he asks, his eyes focused on the sidewalk. “I was thinking of going to view one of their exhibits while I’m in town.”

“Sure, I’ve been a few times. I don’t think it’s too hard to find. It’s over on Bissonnet. I can show you a map when we get back to the office.”

“Actually, I am pretty directionally challenged. Do you think you could come with me? I mean, if you’re interested in seeing the exhibit.”

“That is a strange thing for a man to admit.” I laugh. “Sure. I don’t mind. It sounds like something I would like to see.”

We part ways at the office as he goes into a meeting with Mr. Hargrove for the afternoon. I head back to my office and begin working on another project. Within a few minutes, my computer trills softly. Seeing Cohen’s name come across my email excites me in ways that it shouldn’t.
I’m going to have a nervous breakdown if I don’t get these stupid emotions in check.

June,

I’m staying at the Omni Hotel at Four Riverway.

Why don’t you pick me up at 6:30? See you tonight.

—Cohen

I’m certain he has no romantic interest in me at this point. Asking the girl to pick up the guy is business-friend territory for sure.

That evening, I pick him up, and we enjoy the museum together. Cohen’s laughter and smile are a common occurrence throughout the night. I laugh until my stomach hurts and my cheeks burn. In fact, the museum staff asks us to keep it down at least three times.

I know I shouldn’t torture myself, but I keep thinking about what it would be like to spend more nights with him. Instead of being holed up in the apartment, watching television shows or eating take-out from the same tired restaurants, I could be with Cohen, enjoying culture and art.

I feel a connection with him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t feel the same way. At different times during the night, I purposely stand close to him, but he never once reaches for my hand or touches me in any way. He’s a perfect gentleman. He opens doors for me, and as we walk through the museum, he even offers time for me to sit and admire the exhibits.

Instead of being bummed that I won’t get a shot with this funny, gorgeous guy, maybe I should be positive.
At least guys like this are out there, right?

I get the feeling his charm and wit have been in place since birth. I catch myself wondering about what his father and mother might be like.
His role models must be kind and gentle people.
I toss these thoughts aside like the lunacy they are, and I remind myself that I will never know the influences that have made him so desirable.

I feel a tug of sadness as I pull up to his hotel. “Thanks for inviting me along. I really enjoyed it,” I say, hoping for a little more than a smile and a wave in return.

He sits, hips angled toward me, and stares at me as words tumble from his mouth. “I would have never found my way without you.”

Looking into his eyes, I feel like there is some deeper meaning I should understand, but before I can explore my thoughts with more conversation, he begins to get out of the car. We part ways with a polite nod and wave, but I know I caught sight of those wrinkles at the sides of his eyes as he turned away.

Monday

I have read the last few text messages from Liam over and over again. Trying to interpret their meaning is giving me a headache.
Does he think we need to talk because I want too much too quickly? Or does he think it’s time we gave a real relationship a try?
Either way, he is driving me to bad habits. I have ingested far more chocolate in the past few days than I have in the past year.

When I think of him, I am giddy and nervous at the same time. I have been laughing at jokes that aren’t funny, feeling all mushy inside when I see old people holding hands, and daydreaming about the way his lips will feel against mine. After just one week and a few tense moments, I am envisioning myself in a relationship with Liam. It is a strange and foreign feeling.

My most recent relationship lasted for only a weekend when I went out with the same guy on consecutive Friday and Saturday nights. The following Sunday, he sent me two text messages and called my phone three times before one o’clock in the afternoon. I guess I should have been flattered, but instead, I was annoyed.