Vacant Heart

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time the elevator doors part, I've managed to rid myself of any unease, allowing myself to feel the full force of his inspired return.

And when I see him, seated in the massive lobby of chairs, his leather bag between his legs on the floor, looking incredibly uncomfortable around the usual chaos of the city, and by the overwhelming amount of businesses in this building, my heart re-starts itself. I walk toward him, noticing his leg is bouncing reflexively, his anxiety showing through.

He stands when he catches me approaching, smiling softly. Unlike before, where I allowed my euphoria to implode and project all around us, I feel unreasonably shy. Maybe it's because he clearly is nervous too.

The height of the reunion is over, and now, the real questions are present.

How do we do this?

Now that this is real, now at we are together, deciding to try and make this work, how do we start?

"Are you hungry?" I ask. He places his bag on his shoulder, adjusting the weight of it, with a thoughtful nod.

"I could eat."

"How do you feel about breakfast in the afternoon?"

His smile warms, as if he's glad it's not something conventional. That wouldn't suit us. "I'm into it."

I smile, wider and wider until I'm a complete idiot. "Good. I know a place nearby."

It's amusing in a pathetic kind of way how we falter in who steps first, shuffling longer than necessary, how my laugh becomes neurotic when I thank him for holding the door open for me.

He follows my lead, glancing at me often as we move into pedestrians, out in public together for really the first time. I could count the diner, but I didn't even know him then.

Now I know how uncomfortable he must actually be. And it only emphasizes the truth more.

The beautiful truth.

That a man who had believed his life to be past the point of repair has taken the first steps to freedom, to healing. In coming here, in coming to see me, he's declared he hasn't given up.

He has hope, and because of that, I do too.

The display windows of the small hole in the wall café are still painted festively with Christmas drawings, the edges of the windows dusted with white swirls meant to be snow. The décor inside is just as cheerful, which with the crowded tables and lack of space, cozies the room considerably. A woman greets us, and tells us there is room at the counter, only two benches. She leads us through the people, who have to inch their chairs closer to the tables to accommodate people in the aisles.

As we wait for a woman to grab her child blocking the way, Aidan's hand slips into mine behind my back, simply to touch me. I flush, affected by the innocent touch. When the aisle is clear and the woman is apologizing, he lets go, and we finally reach the high top chairs.

"Your server will be right with you."

"Thank you," Aidan says when I'm seated. My back is literally touching another person. I notice he will have to do the same thing, and grimace.

"Is this okay? The food is really good."

He nods, removing his coat. My eyes instantly zone in on the v-cut of his sweater, which reveals a small portion of his chest. It's enough to torment me. His long, lean body is perfectly tailored in his clothing, clothing that is casual, but studious enough to show he has money—quite a bit of it.

His legs are long enough that he sits with more grace than I did, and because we are in such proximity to strangers, he turns his back to the man beside him, and forks his legs with my own.  I'm glad I wore pants today, or this move would be rather taboo in a room full of screaming children.