Do I Know You?(49)

It was exciting. Meaningful. The indisputable start of something.

One thing it wasn’t was intense. Our kiss last night was intense. While I’m not exactly certain why, I suspect it had to do with the delicious in-between in which we’ve found ourselves. We got to enjoy the unexpectedness of strangers with the intensity of people who’ve long loved each other. Instead of two dates of buildup, we had years. We knew everything about how to kiss each other without knowing when we would next get to.

I swing open the Starbucks door and stop. The place is already full. Who are these people? Who goes on vacation only to get up at six in the morning?

Besides me, of course. But I have a very good reason.

Getting in line, I eagerly peer around. My heart flags when I don’t see Graham. But I’m here now, and I did really need a latte regardless. While I wait for the baristas to work through the morning rush, my eye catches on the sign near the door advertising live music, Spanish guitar, at the hotel’s fanciest restaurant tonight. I suppose it’s what Graham and I would have done tonight if we were staying here together like normal. The idea makes me a little sad.

When I step forward, a familiar head of shiny dark hair is waiting at the counter where the coffees are served.

Lindsey smiles when she spots me. She’s dressed for hiking, hair up, mountain dirt caked on her shoes. The flush of exercise in her cheeks says she returned recently.

“How was your sunrise hike?” I ask.

“Fantastic.” She studies me. “But you’re up early. I wondered if you were going to be out late with Graham, but I guess not?”

I grin suggestively. “Not late, no,” I say. “Best kiss of my life, though.” It’s the truth, too. I’ve enjoyed recent synchronies like this one, where the pretense we’re keeping up collides with the reality of us.

Lindsey doesn’t hide her surprise. She doesn’t hide much, I’ve noticed. It’s a quality I admire in her. “I will fully admit I was wrong about him,” she says, smiling. “I’m so glad your night turned around.” Craning her neck over the counter in search of her coffee, she continues. “Let me know how things work out with him. I’m rooting for you two.” She smiles again, chipper.

“I will,” I say sincerely.

When the barista sets Lindsey’s coffee on the counter, Lindsey grabs the paper cup. I find my eyes following her drink enviously. God, I need caffeine now. She holds her coffee up in farewell and exits the café.

I walk up to the front of the line, where I order extra shots in my latte. Sleeplessness is really catching up with me. Unlike Graham, my work schedule is my own, with rarely the necessity for late nights, and I only pulled one all-nighter in college while flailing over the research paper for one of my required Gen Ed courses. I’m not used to how I’m feeling now. Exhaustion hangs like heavy clouds over me, lightheadedness warping the corners of my vision.

With my order in, I continue to the counter where Lindsey was just waiting. While they prepare my coffee, I resume my survey of the café, looking once more for Graham.

My chest deflates when I still don’t find him. Not only with disappointment, either. As fun as our games are, surprising each other and improvising, I don’t like the idea that Graham has abandoned who he is or who I know him to be. Even when the detail is insubstantial, like starting his morning with coffee.

Or maybe especially when it’s insubstantial. On plenty of occasions recently I’ve had to confront how I don’t really know my husband beyond what’s on his résumé or what could be summed up for strangers in describing our romantic history. While I might not know what he’s thinking at all times, I do know he needs his morning coffee. It’s a diamond of a detail. Small, yet somehow incomparably valuable.

Picking up my coffee, which I resist sipping, knowing it would scald me, I leave the shop, dejected.

Until I spot Graham walking onto the patio with purpose, headed straight for Starbucks.

The sight lifts me in ways no quantity of caffeine ever could. Not everything has changed.

I see the moment his eyes find me. His stride slows, his mouth stretching into a lazy smile. Despite my quickening heartbeat, I match his demeanor, straightening my shoulders with casual confidence. “I wondered if you weren’t a six-a.m. coffee kind of guy,” I say when he reaches me.

“Should I be worried I’m predictable?” he replies unhesitatingly. Honestly, it requires effort to process what he’s literally saying past the intense distraction of his eyes lingering on me, reminding me of our kiss. I don’t have to wonder if the effect is intentional, and I know I’m doing the same. Some conversations are conversations. Others are excuses to stare at each other.

“No,” I say. “I like what I’m predicting.”

He has no immediate reply to this, only a new glow to his smile. Victory and invitation and hope.

“So,” he says. “Last night. You kissed me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I did.”

“Is there a chance for a follow-up?”

We step to the side, out of the way of people heading into the coffee shop. While I can’t fight the smile wobbling onto my face for a second, I play coy. “Is this finally it? Is it happening?”

Graham’s eyes sparkle. “What?” His smile says he knows.