Accidentally Amy(22)

She felt nervous as she rode the elevator down, which was ridiculous because she was just grabbing food. It’s what people did at lunchtime, right? Nothing weird about that. Just because she knew that certain people enjoyed the Monday specials at Caniglia’s food truck, and they usually took their lunch sometime between 12:30 and 1:00 – well, that shouldn’t make her nervous. Lots of people did that.
She pulled out her phone as she walked the two blocks to the mobile Italian restaurant, snuggling deeper into her coat. It was one of those early October days where the sun was warm, the leaves were bright, and the chill in the air kissed the tip of your nose.
No texts. It wasn’t a surprise, really, that Blake was radio-silent during the workday; he was all-business, after all, and they’d just agreed upon their rules.
Yesterday, however, after he’d dropped her and the bike off at her building, they’d pretty much been in an endless texting conversation for the entire rest of the day. But it was a weekend day – totally legal.
She’d texted him while they each watched the same football game, she’d texted him as she’d gone down into the creepy basement to do laundry, and she’d texted him while she’d given The Darkling a bath. For someone so above-board-executive-like in person, he was surprisingly fun on the phone.
This morning, when she’d been walking toward the Ellis building (she had to take the bus downtown because her car was still impounded), she’d felt her phone buzz in her purse. When she pulled it out, Blake had texted: I can see you from my window.
The Ellis building was an all-windowed skyscraper, and even though she knew Blake worked on the 15th floor, she had no idea where exactly that was on the face of the building. So she’d stopped and responded: You have to be lying.
Blake: Black tights, black boots, black coat, red purse and -- is that a piece of toast in your hand?
She laughed and texted back: A Pop Tart. Put down the high-powered binoculars, creeper.
Blake: I was simply looking out the window, and there you were. Shocked the hell out of me, tbh.
Izzy: Can you tell what I’m doing now?
She’d switched Pop Tart hands so she could hold up her arm and flip off the building.
Blake: Not very HR of you.
Izzy: Can you tell what I’m doing NOW?
She started hopping on one foot.
Blake: Making a spectacle of yourself.
Izzy: No one is watching me but you.
Blake: The man behind you begs to differ.
She turned around, but no one was walking behind her.
Blake: Made you look.
His idiotic texting put her in a great mood as she’d breezed into work, and it hadn’t waned all day. But now, for some reason, she was nervous to see him. Even though they’d shared their frequent whereabouts with the sole purpose of possibly running into each other, what if he didn’t want her there? What if he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to be her sort-of friend?
Really, it was just a little nerve-wracking, being the first one to casually happen upon the place that the other one happened to mention they might be visiting. Felt a little stalker-y, if she were being honest.
It was no big deal, she told herself as she turned onto the next block.
He probably wasn’t there, anyway.


    Blake
He could tell it was her, even though she was still a half-block away. He leaned against the front of the building and thought it was the same as when he’d happened to glance out his office window that morning and immediately spotted her down on the street below.
Fucking weird, that.
He put his hands in his pockets and allowed himself to watch her, because there was no way she could see him yet. Her hair was down, blowing in the fall breeze, and she reminded him of Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail with her dark tights, skirt, wool coat and scarf.
She should have a damn pumpkin under her arm and a coffee in her hand, he mused.
But as he watched her walking in his direction, he felt them again.
Fucking butterflies.
What in the hell was with that?
Nope. Fuck that. Not butterflies, no way. If he were interested in her, the way his stomach felt at that moment might possibly be butterfly-related, but he wasn’t, was he? In all actuality, what he was feeling was just, shit, uh…gladness.
Seriously - gladness?
Yes, he was just glad to see a friend. Lunch with a buddy was better than lunch alone, so he was simply glad to see her.
That was all.
Blake straightened and walked over to the food truck, getting in line. He looked at the menu board for a solid ten seconds before he heard,
“Blake?”
He turned around, and shit. She was smiling up at him with that mouth, those lips, and the soft smell of her perfume was coming at him like some kind of a…uh…shit, something he couldn’t ignore. Or something.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, and his chest felt a little tight as he looked at her lipstick.
“I thought that was you,” she said with a teasing glint in her eyes.
“It is me,” he replied, unable to stop himself from grinning back. “Are you out trolling for calzone, too?”
She leaned in a little closer and said, “To be honest, I’ve never been a fan of the dough-dome pizza that they call calzone. I like my slices big, open, and melty. Just like my men.”
“Did you seriously just say that?”
“I know - ew. I was trying something.” She crinkled her nose, narrowed her eyes and said, “I don’t think I stuck the landing.”
“I don’t think so, either.” Blake turned his attention back to the menu and said, “Their fried ravioli is good.”