Ten Below ZeroTen Below Zero(8)

I took a bite of the lime while holding his gaze. He shook his head and cut into his stack of pancakes. I watched as he drowned them in syrup and it annoyed me. His pancakes would be soggy and gross before he had time to finish them.

He took a bite and met my eyes again. With his mouth full of pancake, he raised an eyebrow at me and gestured to my bowl of limes.

“What?” I asked, confused.

He swallowed and sipped his coffee. “Are we going to take turns watching each other take one bite of food?”

I wasn’t embarrassed that he caught me staring. As I’d mentioned before, not much affected me. Feelings were like a rich piece of cake; too much made you sick. My indifference was like a comfort blanket. I wrapped myself up in it and kept myself from feeling. Life was easier this way.

So why did Everett make me feel different? Was it the clothing I wore? Was this a costume, the heels, the dresses? When I put them on, did I subconsciously become another me? It was a bit unsettling and I swallowed my bite of lime with discomfort.

I watched him eat another bite and lick the sticky syrup from his lips. He had nice lips. They were wide, not too thin, with a pointed cupid’s bow at their center. Around his lips was his several-days-past-five-o’clock shadow.

“Do you have a job?” Apparently, his presence lowered my guard, and I spoke more freely than I usually did.

Everett nodded and ate two more bites of pancakes before answering. “I do. But I don’t work in the summer.”

I ate another lime, contemplating. “What do you do?”

“I work with middle school students.”

“Teaching?”

He ate the last two bites and settled back in the booth, getting comfortable. “No.”

I noticed he didn’t elaborate. As I was finishing my last lime wedge he asked, “Do you have a job?”

“Yes.”

He took a sip of his coffee, again making that soft slurping sound. It distracted me. “What do you do?”

“I’m a waitress.”

Everett pursed his lips, seemingly finding this information interesting. When he didn’t say anything, I bristled. “What?”

He shrugged and reached into the messenger back he’d brought with him. He pulled out a small green notebook. I watched him flip open the lid and write something, careful to keep it from my view. I narrowed my eyes.

We sat like that for a couple minutes, me glaring at him while he scribbled some words onto paper. When he was done, he put the notebook back and looked at me again, as if nothing had happened.

“That was not polite,” I said, still glaring.

“Ah, another way to say, ‘rude’. Good job. I’m sure you’ll find several synonyms for me.”

For some reason, that seemed to only further ignite the annoyance within me.

The waitress dropped off the check and Everett reached into his wallet. He slid my credit card across the table top to me and before I could put it with the check, Everett was out of the booth with his messenger bag and walking to the cash register.

I sat at the table for a moment, wondering if this was goodbye. Was I supposed to walk out the door and be on my way back home?

I stood up and brushed my hands down the front of the dress before walking towards the door. I passed Everett as he paid and stalled a minute, deciding at the last second to wait for him before exiting the restaurant.

Everett turned around and opened the door for me, so I walked back outside on to the sidewalk.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I said, awkwardly teetering on the sidewalk, trying to keep away from the foot traffic.

“That wasn’t breakfast for you, was it? If so, I am disappointed. All you ate were some limes.”

He was facing me, our bodies just inches apart to keep from being separated by the people passing around us.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

He was looking at me again, staring at me despite the many people that bumped us as they moved along the sidewalk. “When you do feel hungry,” he started, his voice lower than before, “what do you prefer to eat?”

I swallowed thickly. “I like cheeseburgers, with extra cheese.” Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. As if he read my mind, I saw the side of his lips lift up ever so slightly.

“You ask for extra limes, extra cheese…” he started, staring at me, breathing in the space that I breathed. “What other extras do you like?”

My mouth went dry at that. His voice was warm, smooth, like chocolate fondue. “Extra space,” I whispered. “I like extra space.” I backed up a step, praying for balance.

He regarded me for a minute, looking out of place wearing all black under the bright sun. “Did you walk here?” I didn’t answer, just stared at him as if he would eat me alive – which he probably would. I took another step backwards and glanced over my shoulder.

As if he knew I was slipping away, he held a hand up to halt me and stepped forward until we were breathing the same air again. Being this close to him was like holding my breath under water. Exhilarating. Dangerous, if I didn’t come up for air.

“Parker.” It was the first time he’d said my name.

I met his eyes again, the clear blue-green of them mesmerizing. “Do you want to go to lunch later?” A second after he said it, he winced. Did he, too, experience that quick kick of regret the moment words left his mouth?