“May I sit with you?”
I nod, and he sits, shifting around in the seat until he appears much more comfortable than I am.
“Your name’s Nina,” he says.
“Yes, it is,” I reply, trying not to look him in the face again.
“I knew that,” he says. “You know—then.”
The parking lot.
“I’m glad,” I say. “It makes that whole scene slightly less desperate, don’t you think?” I reach out to fuss with the magazines on the coffee table in front of us, and the low light of the bookstore catches the gold rings still on my finger.
“Married?” Oliver asks.
I pull my hands back, hiding the rings. My face feels puffy and worn out. “Divorced. Recently.” I look away.
“Don’t give yourself a hard time. About the kiss, I mean.” Oliver dips his head so that he looks me in the eye, stopping my unnecessary straightening of things that were not out of order. “It’s part of my job to comfort people.”
“Yes, but do most people cling to you and smell your hair? And then kiss you on the mouth like they’re not a total stranger?”
He shifts again, looking a little less comfortable, but making no move to leave. The walls seem to close in, and the soft bookstore music becomes more noticeable.
“Did you really smell my hair?” he asks and runs his hand through it almost apologetically.
“I did,” I admit. “It smelled nice.”
The light is low in the store, but I can still see the pink in his cheeks.
“I get that a lot actually,” he says.
“Strange women make passes at you often?” I ask, completely embarrassed.
“You weren’t a total stranger. I’ve seen you around.” He smiles at me, and again I feel a sense of comfort wash over me, telling me not to sweat it so much. “And you weren’t making a pass,” he says. “I know that. And no, I actually don’t have a lot of women kissing me. I meant I often run into people who are seeking comfort. It’s kind of nice, I have to admit. I wish they weren’t sad, but I like being able to help.”
“Well, the ladies must eat that up,” I say.
“Sometimes,” he says with a tilt of his head and a shrug. “It’s the scrubs I wear for work. Women go crazy for them in the grocery store. They think I’m a doctor.”
“You don’t tell them any different?” I say, amused and distracted.
“You kidding?” He leans closer to me as if he’s telling me a secret. “Buys me some time. Much better than what I really do.”
“What you really do is commendable,” I say. “Most people wouldn’t be able to face all that every day.”
“Maybe I ought to stick with the truth,” he says and raises his eyebrows like he’s made a joke, but if so, I don’t get it. “Different uniform,” he says, “same principle.”
He leans away from me and fusses with the collar of his shirt. He meets my gaze and winks at me. I’ve been out of the dating scene a long time, but I remember a wink being a flirtatious thing. With Oliver, though, I think it’s just a wink—what it means, I have no idea.
“It’s been awhile since anyone has kissed me,” he says. “You caught me off guard.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I kiss everybody. I just kissed that guy over there.”
I point to a patron perusing the ancient history shelves. Oliver laughs out loud.
“It was a nice kiss, I have to confess,” he says and looks a little forlorn. “I had forgotten.”
He says it like he’s much older than he must be. He can’t yet be thirty, but he speaks as if he’s come back into the world from some faraway place and time. He looks at me, and suddenly there are questions across his face that I think I’m supposed to have an answer to, but I don’t quite know what they are. I can only imagine that my face looks much the same.
I should pull away from this, but the feeling of connection is intoxicating. We both seem very aware of an electricity between us. This isn’t like me. I don’t do things like this. I see other people do it and am envious. I’ve even “liked” a couple of posts from old high school friends who were in the midst of middle-aged new love.
Seriously, they would write. I forgot what this feels like. Head over heels.
I wonder if this is how Jack felt. I can understand how he let himself get carried away by the excitement, the racing heartbeat, the attention. This is how we should have made each other feel, but I suppose it’s too late for that now.
“Can I be honest with you about something?” Oliver asks.
“Sure.”
“I’ve been thinking about that kiss,” he says very quietly, looking over his shoulder as if someone might hear him. “I’ve been thinking that I’d like to kiss you again.”
He looks different in plain clothes. Older, but not by much. I can almost see forty in my rearview mirror, and if he’s twenty-five I’d be amazed.
Oh, my. I am sitting in a dark bookstore with a gorgeous younger man and thinking about doing something really rash.
Do it girlfriend
Send us pictures
How young are we talking?
Like
Like
Like
“I think that would be ok,” I say and then shake my head. “Well, that sounded lame. I’m sorry, I’m not used to the dating scene. It’s been a while. I didn’t expect to be back here again.”
“Me either,” he says.
Oliver and I sit for a few moments in that uncomfortable sort of silence that’s created by wanting to say something but having nothing safe to say. We watch each other watch each other. We laugh at each other’s awkwardness a time or two. Whatever this is, the electricity is still sparking and it starts to feel pretty good.
“It was a good
