easy to spot
himself. If Sarah was here, he didn’t want to spook her away before he got the
chance to talk to her, to ask her why she didn’t keep in contact or answer his
letters.
They settled at the table and Pete shuffled through an
abandoned section of the morning paper that had been left on his chair.
“Now can we get some food? I smell soup.”
“A few more minutes.” Trav scanned the crowd, looking for a
familiar face. Sarah’s. Or even one of her old friends that he might recognize
after all these years. But as he carefully scanned one table after another,
nothing jumped out.
“Aren’t those the girls from last night?”
“What?” Trav’s gaze shot to Pete. “Where?”
“Over on the couch,” he said and pointed.
Over on the… Holy shit. It was. His Mackenzie from last
night was there. Who the hell would have guessed? And she was with the redhead,
Ellen. Of all the luck.
“Let’s go say hi, see what they’re up to tonight.” Pete
grinned and started to get up.
Trav grabbed his arm. “Hold up. Just…hold up. Let’s wait a
bit.” He needed a second to breathe or he’d sprint over there and scare the
shit out of her.
Pete shrugged. “Whatever.” He leaned back in his chair and
opened the paper. “Let me know when I’m allowed to eat and-or talk to women
again,” he said, his eyes laughing.
This meant something. It had to. No phone numbers were
exchanged, no plans were made. But they’d said maybe they’d run into each
other, and there she was.
Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, she wore a
green t-shirt and khaki shorts. Her legs were pulled up under her on the couch
and she had a thick book balanced on her knees. Ellen sat to her left flipping
through a magazine with rapid-fire speed.
Ellen got up and said something to Mackenzie, then got in
line to order. A few moments later she sat back down and Mackenzie stood and
stretched. Her shirt raised with her arms and he caught a glimpse of the band
of skin over her waistband. His fingers itched to get in contact with that soft
patch of skin on her lower back, her ticklish spot. Then she headed to order
coffee as well.
“Now?” Pete asked, raising a brow.
“Let’s wait until they’re settled with their orders. We can
go, get something to eat and then walk by and be surprised. Ask them to join us
at the table.”
Pete shrugged again, absolutely no sign of anxiety on his
face.
Trav, on the other hand, couldn’t keep his leg from
twitching.
“Mary Ellen!” a barista called from the counter and the
redhead they knew only as Ellen walked over to take the drink.
“Mary Ellen?” Pete asked. Then he smiled. “Well, I’d shorten
it too. Sounds like something nuns came up with. Probably doesn’t give guys her
full name when she meets them in case they’re creeps. Smart move, actually.”
“Yeah,” Trav said, but he wasn’t paying attention. He kept
staring at Mackenzie’s long legs as she stretched them out on the coffee table.
Her head was turned sideways and she laughed at something Ellen—no, Mary
Ellen—said, her ponytail bobbing.
“Ariel!”
Trav froze. His breath caught in his chest. The world
continued moving but it was like he was watching from an aquarium. His vision
blurred, the noise was muted, unable to reach him over the blood pounding in
his ears.
No. There was no way. His text-girl couldn’t be here. But how
many Ariels could there be in the world?
“Why is that name familiar?” Pete asked.
“Shush,” Trav muttered and kept his eyes peeled. He felt his
heart drop into his gut when Mackenzie stood, walked over to the barista, took
the cup and gave a smiling thank-you.
“No fucking way,” he breathed.
“Seriously, why is that name familiar?” Pete asked again,
annoyance in his tone.
“Shut up, Pete. I’ll tell you later.”
It had to be a joke. Some sick joke. Or a coincidence.
They’d already had the fluke of running into the two girls from the night
before. Could this be
himself. If Sarah was here, he didn’t want to spook her away before he got the
chance to talk to her, to ask her why she didn’t keep in contact or answer his
letters.
They settled at the table and Pete shuffled through an
abandoned section of the morning paper that had been left on his chair.
“Now can we get some food? I smell soup.”
“A few more minutes.” Trav scanned the crowd, looking for a
familiar face. Sarah’s. Or even one of her old friends that he might recognize
after all these years. But as he carefully scanned one table after another,
nothing jumped out.
“Aren’t those the girls from last night?”
“What?” Trav’s gaze shot to Pete. “Where?”
“Over on the couch,” he said and pointed.
Over on the… Holy shit. It was. His Mackenzie from last
night was there. Who the hell would have guessed? And she was with the redhead,
Ellen. Of all the luck.
“Let’s go say hi, see what they’re up to tonight.” Pete
grinned and started to get up.
Trav grabbed his arm. “Hold up. Just…hold up. Let’s wait a
bit.” He needed a second to breathe or he’d sprint over there and scare the
shit out of her.
Pete shrugged. “Whatever.” He leaned back in his chair and
opened the paper. “Let me know when I’m allowed to eat and-or talk to women
again,” he said, his eyes laughing.
This meant something. It had to. No phone numbers were
exchanged, no plans were made. But they’d said maybe they’d run into each
other, and there she was.
Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, she wore a
green t-shirt and khaki shorts. Her legs were pulled up under her on the couch
and she had a thick book balanced on her knees. Ellen sat to her left flipping
through a magazine with rapid-fire speed.
Ellen got up and said something to Mackenzie, then got in
line to order. A few moments later she sat back down and Mackenzie stood and
stretched. Her shirt raised with her arms and he caught a glimpse of the band
of skin over her waistband. His fingers itched to get in contact with that soft
patch of skin on her lower back, her ticklish spot. Then she headed to order
coffee as well.
“Now?” Pete asked, raising a brow.
“Let’s wait until they’re settled with their orders. We can
go, get something to eat and then walk by and be surprised. Ask them to join us
at the table.”
Pete shrugged again, absolutely no sign of anxiety on his
face.
Trav, on the other hand, couldn’t keep his leg from
twitching.
“Mary Ellen!” a barista called from the counter and the
redhead they knew only as Ellen walked over to take the drink.
“Mary Ellen?” Pete asked. Then he smiled. “Well, I’d shorten
it too. Sounds like something nuns came up with. Probably doesn’t give guys her
full name when she meets them in case they’re creeps. Smart move, actually.”
“Yeah,” Trav said, but he wasn’t paying attention. He kept
staring at Mackenzie’s long legs as she stretched them out on the coffee table.
Her head was turned sideways and she laughed at something Ellen—no, Mary
Ellen—said, her ponytail bobbing.
“Ariel!”
Trav froze. His breath caught in his chest. The world
continued moving but it was like he was watching from an aquarium. His vision
blurred, the noise was muted, unable to reach him over the blood pounding in
his ears.
No. There was no way. His text-girl couldn’t be here. But how
many Ariels could there be in the world?
“Why is that name familiar?” Pete asked.
“Shush,” Trav muttered and kept his eyes peeled. He felt his
heart drop into his gut when Mackenzie stood, walked over to the barista, took
the cup and gave a smiling thank-you.
“No fucking way,” he breathed.
“Seriously, why is that name familiar?” Pete asked again,
annoyance in his tone.
“Shut up, Pete. I’ll tell you later.”
It had to be a joke. Some sick joke. Or a coincidence.
They’d already had the fluke of running into the two girls from the night
before. Could this be
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