Vacant Heart

Chapter Twenty-Four

I lift the menus the hostess left us, and hand one to him.

"What's good here?" he asks, scanning the front page.

"Everything."

"What do you get?"

"Um," I glance over the menu, "pancakes, fruit, some eggs, some bacon, sausage...orange juice." He's listening to me speak, nearly laughing, I'm sure of it, and my face heats up as if the sun were beating down on me. "I mean, I usually have leftovers...of course."

"I like your appetite."

"Liar."

"I'm serious," he presses. "I love that about you."

I catch onto the important word in that sentence, and let the infamous 'L' word jolt my heart into warped speed. "Yeah?"

He nods, his skin golden, and glowing in the warm light of the establishment. Not wishing to give away how desperate I've been to feel him, see him this week I've been on my own, I focus on the menu until the waitress arrives again, despite knowing that he's pouring over my every movement.

Aidan orders St. Nicks breakfast, which has a bit of everything, listening as I relay my own intricate order. She pours us both coffee, leaning between us to fill our mugs. The woman against my back taps on me, needing her coat that's on the spine of my chair, and as I reach for it, I hear Aidan politely hail the waitress to bring cream and sugar for my coffee, which effectively stuns me right into silence.

I turn back to him, pulling on the sleeves of my sweater awkwardly. It's a little thing—him remembering how I make my coffee—but it's nevertheless another moment to tack onto the many, many moments Aidan has surprised me.

"What made you come here? What made you change your mind?" I have to ask.

The man bumping into his back doesn't seem to faze him, or the incessant Christmas tunes blaring from the ancient jukebox in the corner of the room. He stops my fidgeting by taking my hand, nudging my fingers to slacken so he can hold them.

Wow, I'm worse than I thought. My chest is physically hurting.

His smile is miniscule, a ghostly hint of remembrance. "I realized memorizing you wasn't enough."

I don't think he really understands how forceful, how weighty his words carry. For a man who has trouble opening up, when he does—it's glorious. It's intimate. Regretting this venue when the waitress interrupts us to offer me my coffee elements, I'm forced to retract my hand so she can deposit the items.

I'm pouring creamer into the fragrant liquid caffeine when Aidan speaks, asking a question with an answer more difficult than he can possibly imagine.

"How did your boss take it?"

I glance up from the coffee, giving away so much with the pause I take to answer. I'm going to lie to him. I refuse to make it a habit, but this is one reaction I'm sure he'll not mind remaining in the dark of.

"There's always so much going on in the world. He understood."

"Did you tell him about us?"

"No, he guessed by my adamancy."

With a nod, he deems that enough for him. His eyes distractedly follow the flighty waiters behind the counter. The kitchen is a congestion of people and noises that make indoor voices hard to hear.

"It was...um...only after I arrived that I began to think I should have found a way to call before just showing up here. I mean, you may be busy. It is right after the holidays. Are you going to get in trouble for leaving?"