The Art of Moving On | ✔

CHAPTER TEN; part two

     In my defense, I really do want things to be normal. I'm all for going to work and pretending nothing occurred between Dres and I. But by the time my evening shift gets here, I'm somehow less inclined to play it cool.

     I've come to the conclusion the best thing I can do for myself is try to get over Dres. But the only way I can ignore my feelings for Dres is by ignoring Dres altogether. So that's what I'm going to do. Because he'll survive the silent treatment, but I don't know that I'll survive his pity friendship.

     So I pretend not to see him when he nods at me from the kitchen and I'm deaf to the familiar "hey" he sends my way when I go to clock in. I have to look away when Dres comes into the main room toting trays of cupcakes, muscles straining under the white tee shirt he's wearing.

     "How was practice?" he asks as he fills the displays. I should help him. That is what I would do on any normal day, but the proximity that would put me to him keeps me in my spot by the register.

     "Fine," I say, staring down at a textbook I'm unable to focus on.

     Dres may glance at me, but I'm forcing myself to stare at the word sternocleidomastoid so I can't tell for sure. "And how were your classes?" he asks after a moment of silence.

     "Fine," I repeat, turning the page so I can do some more intense staring. Things are clearly going so smoothly. A moment later, Dres finishes filling the displays and I think I may breathe again.

     But then his voice breaks my focus. "You're different today."

     I look up and he's there, in front of the counter, leaning on it, staring up at me. "Different how?" I ask, my tone just a little too cold to go unnoticed.

     He's leaning over the counter enough that we're just the length of my textbook away. "Angry, maybe?" He's not sure of this.

    I step back from the counter to remedy the space problem. Flustered, I say quickly, "I'm not angry."

      Dres relents. "Okay, annoyed maybe."

     "Nope. Just trying to do my job, boss," I say stubbornly as I pick up a rag and wipe down the counter to prove my point.

     He lifts his arms so I can wipe under them then he goes, "I take it back. It's definitely angry."

     I stop cleaning, and look at him, meet his gaze rather boldly when his stare is intense enough to make me forget my name. I want to refute his statement but decide to ignore him instead, glancing away.

     He goes, "Why are you upset?"

     Shaking my head, I drag my textbook closer to me so I'm farther from Dres. "I actually have an exam to study for so..."

     Dres stares at me, something like surprise in his expression. I think that this is the end of our conversation so I turn my face back to my book.

     It's been raining most of the evening, streaks of lightening cracking the sky every so often, so there aren't many customers here tonight, giving me the opportunity to focus on my work.

     At least, I would be, if not for Dres.

     He's still leaning against the counter. I know he's staring at me and I know he's waiting for me to acknowledge him. So, finally, I give in and look up.

     "If you tell me why you're angry, maybe I can fix it," he says softly. I think maybe there's some truth to that.

     "I'm not angry, and there's nothing to fix, so," I insist.