Marriage For One

The few times I glanced up to see if she was avoiding me or was simply busy, my eyes lingered on her, causing me to lose my train of thought. She always looked so lively, so vivacious and confident. In between customers, her eyes slid my way. I held her gaze to see what she’d do, but she managed to act as if I wasn’t even there.

Holding back a smile, I waited. A few minutes turned into ten, and then finally she stood over me, waiting. I raised an eyebrow and lowered my phone.

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here. Can I get you anything?”

“Why are you always so surprised to see me?” I asked, genuinely curious to hear her answer. Her expression didn’t change, which told me she was still annoyed with me—not that I could understand her reasoning. Her leg had been hurt, so I’d helped her, end of story. Why did it matter what other people she’d probably never see again in her life or even remember if she saw them thought? I’d always been under the impression that women found it romantic when guys carried them. Apparently not this one.

“I’m not surprised anymore.” She looked over her shoulder when one of the customers let out a loud laugh then turned back to me. “Can I—”

“Were you expecting to see me tonight?” I asked, again, just out of curiosity. I leaned forward and put my phone on the table.

She licked her lips, looking toward the kitchen. I followed her gaze and saw the girl she had introduced me to before—Sally, I believed—leaning against the doorframe and talking to someone in the kitchen, most likely the other employee, the guy. My eyes back on Rose, I waited to hear her reply.

“I was. You always come,” she said, shrugging as if it was a given that I’d be there. I supposed it was now.

“Will you join me, please?”

She eyed the seat across from me but didn’t sit down. “Can I get you anything before I do that? Coffee? Tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no to coffee if you’re the one preparing it.”

She looked a little surprised then nodded and walked away, slowly. She wasn’t limping exactly, so she was probably right that it hadn’t been a serious injury, but she wasn’t walking smoothly either. Point being, her ankle was hurting. I still didn’t understand the fuss when I had only tried to help her.

Instead of getting back on my phone and finishing the response I had started, I watched her prepare coffee for both of us, discreetly glancing my way every now and then. A few minutes later, she came back with a small tray and put it on the table before sitting down across from me. Reaching forward, she put one of the mugs in front of me and held on to the other one. Between us sat a plate full of lemon bars.

I gave her a questioning look, but she was busy drinking from her mug, her eyes cast downward.

“No work today?” she asked into her coffee mug.

“I need to get back soon.”

She nodded and we fell silent.

“So, we’re not talking then,” I concluded. “I’m not planning on apologizing for trying to help you, if that’s what you’re waiting for me to do.”

“No, you’re not the kind of person who apologizes, are you?” she asked, lifting her big brown eyes up to mine. “Do you ever apologize? For anything?”

“I try not to do anything I’ll end up having to apologize for,” I answered honestly. Try was the operative word here.

She sighed and took another long sip of her coffee. “I’m not angry at you for helping me. I would’ve preferred to walk on my own, but I’m not gonna stay angry at you for carrying me. I was a little annoyed by your last comment, that’s all. Still, I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

A little amused, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Excuse me? I couldn’t hear what you said to your coffee.”

“I said—” she looked up and met my eyes. “You heard that.”

Why did I enjoy provoking her?

Why did I enjoy when she snapped back at me?

“For what?” I asked, reaching for my own coffee.

Another long sigh. “For slamming the door in your face and leaving you out there. It was immature, but in my defense you know exactly which buttons to push.”

I couldn’t exactly argue with that. “Okay. Now will you tell me which of my comments made you annoyed with me?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

We looked at each other for a while.

“I said I’m not some women and you said, you’re telling me.”

Hiding my smile behind the mug, I kept my eyes on her, and she chose to look anywhere but me. She appeared to be both annoyed and surly at the same time, and defiant, of course—definitely not someone who was regretting slamming the door in my face.