The man she was speaking towards tilted his head and cocked it a little back to look over his shoulder at her, his t-shirt was a little tight and black and his hair dyed to match, he started to chuckle as he met her eyes and watched her gnaw on her bottom lip. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he had been facing forward, more northward than anything, towards a large tv screen.

Her chest puffed out lightly as she tried her hardest not to convey her meek demeanor as he turned to face her. “You’d think, then, he’d give it some blatantly obvious message, some sort of theme that ninety-nine percent of his audience would receive but only a few would note the discrepancies enough for that not to be true.” She chortled, “you’re making the assumption that the artist is aware of this fact from the beginning.”

They played the cat and mouse game back and forth until she became completely entranced by a large orange canvas across the gallery. He only noticed as he heard the clicking of her heels that matched the contraction of her calves as she walked over to greet the huge piece of art. While she had taken so much effort to make herself come off in a certain manner to him her obsession with visuals and certain things in life held her attention far better as she deserted him and the piece she was looking at earlier.

Suddenly she heard his voice from behind her; she was startled but didn’t show it. “You know, they say that when painting this he lamented a lost lover for the exact amount of days he had known her and every day he would add a single stroke until the pain became so blinding and concentrated into one piece of work that he threw it to the ground and never finished it.” She turned to face him, wanting more of his story. He kept his eyes focused on hers and began to point to the top right corner of the canvas, “you can see where it’s broken and cracked from the force with which it hit the ground.”

She laughed at their demeanor, disguising it as delight that he knew all of that, but in truth it was aimed at the way they were treating each other and this whole game they had going on. That didn’t mean she had any intention of ending it, though. She turned to see the crack, walked to the next painting, listened to another fact, and continued on with her own little journey of learning each time becoming more and more fascinated with this person she was conversing with.

She heard the bells she found so familiar and a faint intercom telling them that the museum would be closing in 10 minutes and if they would please end their viewing and exit through the main entrance. The two of them talked faster and faster, more excited by each other every minute but as the last bell chimed neither of them seemed to have the capacity to continue things. They both walked to the main doors, both exited them, and just as they had never exchanged names they never said good bye to each other.

Respectively he walked to one of his favorite small restaurants and enjoyed a meal by himself and she walked back to her apartment where she made herself dinner and also enjoyed it by herself, hating every step she took away from him without saying anything.

Later at home she realized how strange this was, how sitting there and thinking about him was just plain odd and more than that was rather girly. She hated those times she’d find herself dreamily thinking of a boy and then heaved a sigh.

He on the other hand was trying to figure out why he was thinking about her in the first place. He’d met her for all of twenty minutes and yet he couldn’t get her out of his mind. She intrigued him. He wanted to watch the way her eyes would get lost in another piece of art unable to focus on anything but the details of that painting and the thoughts going on in her head.

It was even more strange, then, that the two of them decided to go back to that museum at the same time, to the same gallery, the next day. They both knew it was cliché, but they were both hoping that each other would be there.

He was a few minutes later than she as he walked in the door to the gallery she caught him out of the side of her eye, suddenly her face pinked up and she wasn’t sure why she was there, this must have seemed like she was stalking him. But today she brought a pad and a pencil and she was drawing as she tried to avoid him, trying to walk around him and back out the door so she wouldn’t have to face him.

She heard the scuffing of shoes behind her. She heard the low tones in his voice and the second she turned to face him she realized at that moment just how silly this was. In that same exact moment, as his hands pushed themselves deeper into his pockets, he too realized how ridiculous this was, and how terribly awful he felt about that.

Each of them had this pit in their stomach that they couldn’t get rid of. He had managed to mumble a greeting, she had smiled in return, but the two were absolutely baffled at how their logical minds had led them here.

He sat on the bench next to her and looked over in her general direction. He took in a deep breath and got rid of the feeling plaguing him, speaking, “I know why I came, why did you come?” She almost choked on the air she was breathing. She closed her notebook and put the pen in the spine and looked over at him, trying her hardest to make eye contact. She spoke quietly at first, but gained volume as she went on, “I had this insane thought that you would be here, that we would get into another conversation, because as much as I don’t know what I want, I know that I had so much fun yesterday.”

They both sighed in relief and laughed at each other’s releases. He paused for a moment, looking like he was about to talk, and eventually asked her, “well then, let’s make this easy. There’s another museum, outside the city, that’s a lot bigger, but it’s all a modern gallery, and there’s some beautiful stuff there—perhaps sometime this week you’d like to go see it with me?”

Her hand moved to her upper arm and began to rub it up and down, feeling the soft material of her sweater as she thought about what she had wanted so badly to happen and what she was letting happen.

She eventually told him yes, that she’d love to in fact, and after numbers were exchanged and they each found themselves walking down their respective uneven concrete sidewalks they both sighed and felt relieved that the whole moment was over.

---

The moment she walked into her father’s office she felt her throat tighten as she realized she had succumb once more to him, wearing her argyle pull over sweater and matching brown skirt and cute heels, her books carefully in tow. She walked past the front door and set her things down on the front desk, noting that the clock read 6:50 am, and that he was not yet in the office as she put on her head-set and pushed the dial button, clicking some three number extension, “Randy, you can unlock the main doors now,” she said in an almost sing-song voice to the sweet security man she greeted every day, “sure thing Miss Johnston.” She paused, smiling as she completed her usual ritual, she pressed the button down again, “Randy, it’s Cate, not Miss Johnston.” He laughed on the other end and replied with an, “alright,” as she clicked the extension off and took off her head set to go to the break-room.

She walked back through the corridors and turned on the lights as she went, making her way back to a small green room. There she turned on the light and reached up to a cupboard to grab the coffee and she proceeded to fill the pot with water and turn the little machine on. It was her ritual for close to a year now, ever since she had worked for her father, that she would come in early and get the office started and get things ready for him and his co-workers when they would arrive (even though he wouldn’t be there until seven-thirty and they wouldn’t be there until eight).

She went back to the front desk and looked at some papers that had been deposited there the night before, carefully stowing them with their appropriate names in her file cabinets as she put her books in the very last drawer, out of sight. She got out her appointment books to see who was going where today and began to acquaint herself with her whole day. She always came in early, left for class at 3 and then returned if they needed her at 8.

She heard the door latch start to turn as she looked up a little, not a bit startled, from her appointment book. Her father, silver haired, very distinguished looking, with broad shoulders that used to complete his six and a few inch frame (now had diminished to about six) was walking through the door, not at all surprised to see her there early. He walked past her, smiling, but not saying a word as she heard him unlock his office door and turn on the light, putting his briefcase down and heading back out the same door for coffee. She sat in silence as she heard him search for and fill his cup, walking back out and to his office, the door shutting again.

She put her headset back on and called the local voice mail extension for the office to answer all of the messages from last night, she marked each one under whichever lawyer they belonged to as she took down the details and started writing out message cards. She finished soon and grabbed the stack bearing her father’s name, walking them to his door she knocked, “come in,” he replied in almost a gruff tone, she cringed. She walked through the door and handed him his messages very politely, “these are from last night.” He grunted and nodded but continued writing; she turned and walked out the door heaving a sigh as it shut.

He had always been very cold to her. It was obvious to her why he did it but she often wondered why he was never aware. She grew up all of her life rather privileged, in a very nice house, with very nice things and a private education for the most part. When she announced, though, that she wanted to go to the west coast for her education and worse than that—wanted to be a teacher, her entire family lost it. Her mother let her jaw drop and her father scolded her on her poor decision making skills. To this day she could remember him screaming, “Cate, you have no idea what you’re doing, you’re just going to end up being a big failure!”

She “got over it” though and decided not to move west and decided not to teach and decided that instead she’d go into architecture. Her father was satisfied at this and chalked her experience up to being a teenager and being stupid. Though he knew she was far from it. Throughout school he watched her leave her books in a pile, never study, but pay attention in class, and she’d be rewarded with good grades every time they’d send him a report. He was curious how she managed to balance all of these things in her life and still manage to get along and he figured she just had a natural aptitude for it.

All of these memories came back to her as she walked back to her desk, sitting down with another sigh. She continued working as she heard his footsteps down the hall, he sat a package down on her desk and put down an envelope, unmarked, with it. “Joseph sent this for you last night at the club.” She knew by his reference that he meant Joseph Sullivan, the son of a very wealthy Boston socialite, had given it to him last night at the Country Club dinner that they have every month where they laugh haughtily and make fun of lower classes.

“Oh,” she replied. In all the ways she had bowed to him (not going west, not being a teacher) she refused to bow down when it came to relationships. He insisted that she date ‘one of her kind’ and by that he meant nice, well groomed, well bred boys. Like Joseph. She gagged at the thought and told him thank you as he began to walk back to his office. She got out shipping labels and marked the package he had handed her for sending and set it aside, sighing as she reached for the envelope.

She opened the sealed edge and daintily pulled out a piece of paper with his handwriting on it. It was written on yellow legal pad (in his family this was the holy grail of all paper). She read through it catching words like, “your beauty” and “you delight me.” She couldn’t help but be reminded of all the traditional courting that had been dumped by the Europeans in the mid 1700’s and how much this reflected it perfectly.

Love, she had always felt, was the most important thing in a person’s life and that one should always follow his or her heart. She had always done that – dating the boys she wanted to date, falling for the ones she chose, and making good and bad decisions along the way. Slowly, though, she had grasped what she had wanted in a person she planned to marry.

She put the card in the drawer with her books and her purse and continued on her day as her father’s co-workers entered one by one and received their messages. Cate spent the rest of the day answering phones, directing calls, and letting clients into offices. She also spent it compulsively watching her cell phone, waiting for him to call.

---

He put the small piece of paper with her number scrawled on it on the small black table that held his phone, right by the front door. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his coat and scarf on the couch as he passed it, getting a coke from the fridge and falling sideways onto the couch, over the arm. He opened his drink and turned on the tv and proceeded to think, but not fully process.

He glanced at the mantel and the pictures of him and his friends that he had amounted over the years, looking at one fond one of him and his mother a few years ago. Six years actually, and he was well into the seventh as he thought more on it. Though four years ago she had passed from cancer he still thought of her daily and the support she brought.

She raised him and his brothers all by herself as his father had left him at a rather young age to be cared after by his mother and his aunt. She taught each of them that no matter what they did as long as they did what their heart wanted to and what made them happy then they were making wise decisions. He was the usual boy in most senses, he loved to climb trees and light things on fire, but as he went on to high school he found himself in mandatory art classes. The brushes always felt like they were meant to be, kind of as if an extension of his hand.

He glanced around the room at all of the portraits that stared at him. All of them were female. All of them were edgy and hardcore, and more than that—had this look in their eye. He mused over his past relationships and the faces he saw as he compared it to the soft one he’d met that day. To the way her sentences trailed off when she talked and the way her cheeks turned red and she got flustered when she was excited about a certain painting and its meaning.

He laughed as he thought of how she’d scrunch her eyebrows as she’d think and move her mouth from side to side—she was just so expressive and he couldn’t get enough of it. He planned to call her the next day with plans.

He fell asleep on the couch looking at one of the paintings, his last girlfriend, the only girl to ever dump him – the only one to walk out on him and claim to be ‘too good’ by leaving. He had led a life of heartbreaks and sadness, walking from one woman to another looking to find some sort of solace. The girls he seemed to meet and frequent, though, never turned out to be any good for him. He smiled and drifted off as he thought of her different demeanor, different smile, different attitude, and the great things he hoped that could bring.

His phone jolted him awake. Taking a second to blink and clear his vision he walked over to the telephone table and reached for the phone. He hated screening calls, hated hanging up on people, and wasn’t a big fan of voice mails either. He clicked the talk button and put the phone to his ear, “hello?”

In the small pause before the reply he looked outside and noted the changing color of the sky, the clouds he could see just outside of his window, and the faint ridge of what looked like a storm coming up over the horizon. “It’s me.” Adam paused and breathed in deeply, “Megan, I can’t keep doing this.” On the other end she whimpered a little, “Adam, you were the best thing that ever happened to me.” He scoffed and replied, “no, I was the only person who came running back to you time after time, broken hearted and willing to take any scrap you would give me. Look, Megan, I just can’t to this anymore.” He heard her start to breathe like she was crying, small pants, before she sniffled and said her last words, “you don’t call me Meg anymore…” he interrupted her, “it’s because your name is Megan and I’m just simply not in love with you anymore. I won’t fall for this, so please stop. Have a good night.” He dropped the phone to his side and sighed, pressing the off button and setting it back in his cradle.

Walking to the couch he grabbed his jacket and his scarf, throwing them on as he grabbed his sketchbook just before turning the door handle and exiting his apartment. He had barely taken a sip of his coke that was now sitting next to his couch.

He tugged a cigarette from the cigarette case in his back pocket and lit it as he walked. Tucking one hand back into his jacket pocket he watched as white came from his mouth, the perfect mixture of smoke and moisture from his exhaling hot breath. He wandered a few streets south, a street west and went through a small alley to get to the side of a building where he tugged open the door and trotted up the stairs, tossing his cigarette into the small bowl to the side of the door.

Ten minutes later he was sitting at a table, surrounded by the rest of the tea shop, his own pot of tea, his sketchbook and his jacket, balled up on the chair next to him. His pen drew lines over and over. The page looked like a mess of scribbles as he had scratched every image he had tried to create of her. He had spent the past two days with her in at least some form and just couldn’t get her face down. He’d get close but as he looked at it her chin was too harsh, or her shoulders too upright and bold, or her smile to devious. Turning the paper over he huffed and remembered the way she had looked up at him, putting her hand on her sweater, running it up and down, the look in her eye and the warm smile, teeth showing, that she had.

His eyes darted back and forth, his pen moving side to side as he drew her hand first, starting from that point and moving to her shoulder, her head slightly cocked over it to look up at him. He drew her eye contact, her eyes sweet and smiling (small lines to the side of them as he remembered the light creases she had every time she had smiled at him). Soon she was a mass of black ink, this dark surrounding her, but herself very light, her hair trailing over her shoulder and her cheeks beaming with happiness.

He finished the drawing and his tea and walked with a quick pace back to his apartment, grabbing a canvas and setting it on his easel, the drawing on it, quickly tracing out his image in pencil.

The next morning before he left for work the coke was still next to the couch, the canvas had an elaborate pencil sketch and his eyes had dark circles beneath them as he shuffled out the door.

---

He put the small piece of paper with her number scrawled on it on the small black table that held his phone, right by the front door. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his coat and scarf on the couch as he passed it, getting a coke from the fridge and falling sideways onto the couch, over the arm. He opened his drink and turned on the tv and proceeded to think, but not fully process.

He glanced at the mantel and the pictures of him and his friends that he had amounted over the years, looking at one fond one of him and his mother a few years ago. Six years actually, and he was well into the seventh as he thought more on it. Though four years ago she had passed from cancer he still thought of her daily and the support she brought.

She raised him and his brothers all by herself as his father had left him at a rather young age to be cared after by his mother and his aunt. She taught each of them that no matter what they did as long as they did what their heart wanted to and what made them happy then they were making wise decisions. He was the usual boy in most senses, he loved to climb trees and light things on fire, but as he went on to high school he found himself in mandatory art classes. The brushes always felt like they were meant to be, kind of as if an extension of his hand.

He glanced around the room at all of the portraits that stared at him. All of them were female. All of them were edgy and hardcore, and more than that—had this look in their eye. He mused over his past relationships and the faces he saw as he compared it to the soft one he’d met that day. To the way her sentences trailed off when she talked and the way her cheeks turned red and she got flustered when she was excited about a certain painting and its meaning.

He laughed as he thought of how she’d scrunch her eyebrows as she’d think and move her mouth from side to side—she was just so expressive and he couldn’t get enough of it. He planned to call her the next day with plans.

He fell asleep on the couch looking at one of the paintings, his last girlfriend, the only girl to ever dump him – the only one to walk out on him and claim to be ‘too good’ by leaving. He had led a life of heartbreaks and sadness, walking from one woman to another looking to find some sort of solace. The girls he seemed to meet and frequent, though, never turned out to be any good for him. He smiled and drifted off as he thought of her different demeanor, different smile, different attitude, and the great things he hoped that could bring.

His phone jolted him awake. Taking a second to blink and clear his vision he walked over to the telephone table and reached for the phone. He hated screening calls, hated hanging up on people, and wasn’t a big fan of voice mails either. He clicked the talk button and put the phone to his ear, “hello?”

In the small pause before the reply he looked outside and noted the changing color of the sky, the clouds he could see just outside of his window, and the faint ridge of what looked like a storm coming up over the horizon. “It’s me.” Adam paused and breathed in deeply, “Megan, I can’t keep doing this.” On the other end she whimpered a little, “Adam, you were the best thing that ever happened to me.” He scoffed and replied, “no, I was the only person who came running back to you time after time, broken hearted and willing to take any scrap you would give me. Look, Megan, I just can’t to this anymore.” He heard her start to breathe like she was crying, small pants, before she sniffled and said her last words, “you don’t call me Meg anymore…” he interrupted her, “it’s because your name is Megan and I’m just simply not in love with you anymore. I won’t fall for this, so please stop. Have a good night.” He dropped the phone to his side and sighed, pressing the off button and setting it back in his cradle.

Walking to the couch he grabbed his jacket and his scarf, throwing them on as he grabbed his sketchbook just before turning the door handle and exiting his apartment. He had barely taken a sip of his coke that was now sitting next to his couch.

He tugged a cigarette from the cigarette case in his back pocket and lit it as he walked. Tucking one hand back into his jacket pocket he watched as white came from his mouth, the perfect mixture of smoke and moisture from his exhaling hot breath. He wandered a few streets south, a street west and went through a small alley to get to the side of a building where he tugged open the door and trotted up the stairs, tossing his cigarette into the small bowl to the side of the door.

Ten minutes later he was sitting at a table, surrounded by the rest of the tea shop, his own pot of tea, his sketchbook and his jacket, balled up on the chair next to him. His pen drew lines over and over. The page looked like a mess of scribbles as he had scratched every image he had tried to create of her. He had spent the past two days with her in at least some form and just couldn’t get her face down. He’d get close but as he looked at it her chin was too harsh, or her shoulders too upright and bold, or her smile to devious. Turning the paper over he huffed and remembered the way she had looked up at him, putting her hand on her sweater, running it up and down, the look in her eye and the warm smile, teeth showing, that she had.

His eyes darted back and forth, his pen moving side to side as he drew her hand first, starting from that point and moving to her shoulder, her head slightly cocked over it to look up at him. He drew her eye contact, her eyes sweet and smiling (small lines to the side of them as he remembered the light creases she had every time she had smiled at him). Soon she was a mass of black ink, this dark surrounding her, but herself very light, her hair trailing over her shoulder and her cheeks beaming with happiness.

He finished the drawing and his tea and walked with a quick pace back to his apartment, grabbing a canvas and setting it on his easel, the drawing on it, quickly tracing out his image in pencil.

The next morning before he left for work the coke was still next to the couch, the canvas had an elaborate pencil sketch and his eyes had dark circles beneath them as he shuffled out the door.

---

Adam tilted the frame a little and sat back on the arm of the couch, looking at the painting centered over the fireplace. Here eyes gleamed back at him like they always had and the edges of her lips curled just the tiniest bit.

He heard her pitter patter feet down the hall, turning to look. She sat the box in her hands down as she made a funny face, widening her eyes and pursing her lips as she walked over to the couch. Putting his hand up to her face he wiped a few fallen bangs back behind her ear and sighed. She watched him animatedly with her eyes, speaking, “you sure have been into silence recently.” He mused back, “mmm?” She put one knee on the couch, “see, that’s what I mean. All of this ‘mmm’ business and the way you stare at me sometimes. I mean you’re allowed to stare. I mean you of all people are allowed to stare but,” she took a deep breath in and looked him in the eye, his intently staring back at hers, “you’ve just changed, I guess.”

He was in the kitchen getting a glass of water, his lack of response worried her. She paced over to the counter wondering if she had set something off. He smiled, “honesty?” She nodded up and down quickly, lightly biting her bottom lip, her eyebrows scrunched lightly and her mouth limp – which is how she always poised herself when worried. He took a sip of water, “in all honesty I can’t believe that you fell for me. I can’t believe that I’m this different of a person suddenly and that all of this is falling together,” he glanced around the apartment at half unpacked boxes of hers, “I’ve never been this lucky.”

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek telling him that he was truly silly but she had felt the same way. Her father wondered why sometimes her skirt wasn’t ironed perfectly. He knew that her lease had come up and he was curious where she had moved. She wasn’t one to share things like that with him (whether or not they lived in the same city). She still worked at his office and noted that as she glanced at the stack of mail on the table that needed to be sent out. She turned to him, “hey, I have to run to the post office, should I pick up a pizza on the way back?”

He put his glass in the sink, walking towards the coat rack, “actually, I really need to get down to the bar and get some paperwork done. How about you go to the post office and come back and work or relax or something and I’ll bring a pizza home in a few hours.” She walked to the rack with him as he offered her the tan wool coat she loved and slid his own leather one over his arms.

In typical fashion at the front stoop she leaned up and kissed him, telling him to be careful and to call her when he was on his way home. She walked south and he walked north. Her fingers were covered in gloves and his were alternating shoving themselves in his pockets and smoking a cigarette.

He reached the bar and fiddled with his keys to find the door unlocked. Peering in he looked around, “John?” An older man, 50 or so, with silver grey hair appeared from behind the bar and stacked a full box up on the surface of the bar. Adam closed the door and walked over to the bar, sloughing off his warm jacket in trade for the warmth of the bar. Pulling a few bottles from the box he started to place them on the shelf, “John, it’s Monday. Why are you here?” The older man scoffed a little and breathed deeply, “things always need to be done Adam, you know that.”

Adam paused and smiled at him. “I do.” They continued to put away boxes until one was left, Adam took 3 and placed them the man took 2. Leaning back on the bar he made eye contact with Adam, “I heard Saturday night went well.” Adam nodded, “I was just coming in to make final adjustments to the books but yeah, it went over really well.” John laughed, “not the money, Adam, the whole thing.” Adam flashed back to Saturday and the packed house and the band he insisted John book and Adam’s first whole week of managing the bar by himself. Admittedly it had been a few sleepless nights (more out of the ordinary crowds than every before). Snapping back Adam responded, “yeah, it went off without a hitch, actually.”

For a second he could see Cate watching from the front row as he looked out from the stage and down onto her he came back to find John flattening boxes. Adam had worked at the bar for 3 years now, originally just bartending then he got to do all of the front of the house stuff and now John, close to 54 and tired, had started handing over just about everything to Adam. That’s why Adam was there at 1in the afternoon on a Monday.

John shuffled off towards his coat, “well, I’ll let you do those books and what not,” he walked back towards Adam as he slid on the second arm of his coat, offering his hand for a shake, “really, Adam, you did a great job.” Adam almost blushed as he shook his firm and rough hands, “thanks.” The man nodded and tipped his hat a little, walking back out into the frigid air.

Adam piled the last two boxes by the back door, making a note to take them out when he left, and walked back to the office, pulling out his pencil and his sheets as he began to make order counts for inventory.

---

It wasn’t too long before Cate’s father found out about Adam. After a slightly heated debate where he threatened to fire her and she told him to do it they both got over their differences as he realized he’d never change her mind and she realized she’d never let him change her mind. They sat at their stalemate, cold but honest with each other, continuing on their daily lives.

His smile was a little warmer as he walked in one day, though. He walked in and straight back to his office, she heard the familiar door unlock, coat on the rack, briefcase open, and then she heard him start his journey to get coffee. His steps passed the break room and came towards the front desk. He balanced a book on the corner of her desk’s wall. She looked up at him skeptically as he leaned the book her way, “your yearbook.”

A keeper of just about everything she had been looking for this particular book for close to three years, she looked over the cover almost as if she doubted its validity. Peeling back the cover she saw the familiarity of faces and scribbles and as she flipped pages it automatically opened to the one page it was almost always opened to. Marked with a letter (scribed in messy hand) was the senior picture of Jacob. Jacob, while truly a creative boy at heart had gone on to a rather successful start as a businessman before he decided to join the marines. Cate’s father had supported his decision but always made it look to Cate as if he didn’t support Jacob at all.

She opened the letter and small tears came to her eyes as she remembered how sweet his face was and how wonderful his voice sounded (she remembered when he made state as a baritone). She browsed over the letter – she had, after all, read it a million times and knew it letter for letter, even the part he scratched out and tried so hard to cover up which used to read ‘I love you’ and now read ‘I’m in love with you.’

She remembered his old Impala and all those nights under stars. She remembered football fields and spirit days and waiting for him by his locker. She had fallen head over heels for the most amazing guy and then he joined the marines.

In all honesty his choice was sparked by the fact that they had enrolled at the same college and one night in a set of poorly chosen words she had asked for a break from him, to ‘enjoy college,’ but hadn’t realized the reticence in his voice that night or really realized the consequences to her actions until within the next two weeks he wasn’t on campus but rather in boot camp.

She heard her father’s mug clank as it came down from the shelf, he spoke loudly, “he’s back in town, you know.” She closed the book speedily. He continued, “he didn’t know how to contact you since you…changed your address. He still remembered my number. I didn’t know what to tell him.” She tried to mutter words but hated every hypothetical sentence she came up with.

She darted to the opening of the room where he was pouring his coffee, “he’s back?” He placed the carafe back on the machine as he picked up his cup and sipped, one hand in his pocket, nodding his head up and down. She didn’t want to give in, “what did he say?” Walking past her he headed to his office, she followed, “he said that his tour was over and that he had received a very nice job offer from a firm here in town and that he was permanent now and felt it was time to get back in contact, you know, mend some bridges. He wasn’t all too specific.” She looked down and sighed lightly, usually her father, for brevity’s sake, disclosed everything. He pulled a sticky note from his planner, “and he left his number. Said he didn’t want to bother you but wanted to leave it up to you.”

He offered the note to her, her body not moving at first, arms crossed and leaning on the door jam. Leaning forward she took the note hesitantly and stuck it to her finger, relishing the area code. She started to turn, “thank you.” He offered no response as she walked back to her desk, greeting another lawyer as he entered.

She kept the sticky note stuck to her desk all day long. At the end of the day she put it on her own planner and started to pack her things. Starting her walk to campus she pulled out her planner and her phone. Timidly she dialed the number, but as she neared the last two digits she didn’t care and entered them with force, hitting the send button.

Two hours later she was sitting on a bench smiling from ear to ear. Putting her hand to her chest she coughed lightly, on the other end he asked if she was alright and she, still grinning, replied that she was just fine that it was just getting cold.

He suggested dinner, that he come pick her up and they warm up and talk. Her breathing stifled. She realized in a matter of seconds what she had just walked in to. She started to breathe deeper and with more concern. She paused and responded only after she heard, “Cate?” from the other end, “sorry, I…look Jacob I’d love to but I can’t right now. Let me give you a call back, alright?” She had her hand headed for the end button and could faintly hear him say, “alright, I missed you” just as she pressed it and closed her phone.

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John all but never showed up at the bar. Adam counted bottles, ordered new ones, joked with regular customers, booked bands for the stage, and kissed Cate as often as he could.

They had become so close in the past month that their friends started wondering if something was going to come of it soon. At night she’d roll over into his arms and make sure he wouldn’t let go and in the morning he’d make her breakfast as she ran out the door. They bought dishes together. They went on their first vacation to Cape Cod where they rented a small house right on the water’s edge and spent 7 days not caring about a thing.

She smiled more intently these days, making sure to look at him every time she did, no matter who she was smiling for.

Their car neared the town which held the small cabin they had rented for the weekend in upstate New York. As they stopped at a light Adam shifted into first and looked around, Cate’s eyes immediately locked outside the window on a small sign, “puppies.” It was scrawled in almost a child’s writing and she gleefully looked over Adam’s way as she opened her eyes wide, “can we at least go look?”

Adam’s head tilted backward and shook from side to side a little as he smiled and laughed at her, merging with the nonexistent traffic to switch into the right lane. Pulling into a small parking lot he turned the car off and they both got out, their warm down jackets puffing them up and keeping them warm. Adam started to walk first, looking back at Cate, almost waiting on him as she put her hand down into his.

He knew this act, he knew it well as he gave in and looked over at her, smiling and anxious to see the small bouncing box a hundred yards or so ahead.

Adam was leaning on the truck the puppies came from as he watched Cate lean over with the brown eye patched dog she had been playing with for close to 15 minutes. Adam and the owner would trade words from time to time about the dog and its parents and what not. A farm dog at heart the puppy was as sweet as could be as the little thing almost knocked the bent down Cate over. Adam chuckled and asked the man what he was asking for the dogs.

The sign hadn’t said free so Adam assumed a certain price and began to pull out his wallet. The owner rubbed his chin as Cate fell backwards and Adam rolled his eyes and smiled, “I can’t charge for a good home. As long as you promise me that this little fella is going to be happy and well fed then I can’t charge ya.” Adam stared directly at Cate as she held the dog and made a pouty face, making the puppy wave his paw. Adam waved back.

Adam made eye contact with the gentleman, “you’ve got a deal.” Looking back at Cate he spoke louder, “he’s yours.” Overjoyed she picked up the puppy and began dancing and jumping around with him. As Cate neared the car Adam turned back to the gentleman, offering his hand to shake. As he turned around to walk back to the car the owner spoke up, holding the bill Adam had slipped into his hand, “I told you it was no charge.” Walking backwards, his hands in his pockets Adam shrugged, “you didn’t get it for the dog, tell your wife you just gave it away to a nice couple, then bring her home something.” Turning back to the car he chuckled as he saw Cate and the dog waving at him from the front seat.

Stepping back into the now cold car he turned it on. She smiled at Adam and leaned over to kiss him, the puppy joined in too. Laughing she looked at him, “grocery store?” He nodded and they headed off to find the new mutt a meal.

The rest of the weekend was filled with puppy oopses and laughter and learning as they looked at each other with deeper glances and brighter happier smiles than every before.

The puppy, now termed Prescott by Cate, grew to love the apartment and once out of his chewing phase all of the styrofoam that she had wrapped most of the furniture in could be removed. Now awkward and long legged the two of them walked him daily to the park where he found many new friends and marked many new trees.

As the dog would run off Cate found herself wrapping her arms around Adam’s chest and cuddling in, watching her breath come out in white puffs as she watched the dog run from distraction to distraction.

They watched movies on the weekends when Adam didn’t need to be at the bar and did crosswords on Sunday mornings.

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