Thursday, March 19, 2015

our love story/ part 7

Our love story is a keeper. It begins before we met and I pray it'll continue for all of time. 
Someday, I want to be able to look back at the details that have been overlooked when life happens. Because this...is real.

You can read part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here, part 5 here and part 6 here.

via 
“Who was this guy?” I asked myself. 
My mind was reeling. 
I felt the walls of insecurity go up and had lashed out, but he didn’t seem fazed. He seemed annoyed that he’d had to explain her and that she’d taken up even a minute of the conversation. He had such conviction when he spoke, I couldn’t help but wait with him as he pulled some cash out of the atm.

The heat, the arcs, the electricity was gone as the three of us walked across the street to the Starbucks. We were an interesting trio. 
Bubbly, energetic A., super attractive and intense D, and insecure and interested me. 
The weird silence between us was broken when after ordering a vanilla latte, I heard him give his order: nonfat, peppermint mocha no whip. I smiled and stifled a giggle at the thought of this guy who was all male ordering a girly drink. He caught me with a sideways glance. 

This was his opening. He turned towards me and said, “ What? it’s good. Have you ever tried it?” Calling me on the giggle caught me off guard. And oh my goodness they way he said “It’s good” had me melting back into a puddle of lustful mush.

He handed me his warm drink when it came out and said, “Take a sip.”  I felt the warm drink slide down my throat and when I looked up I saw him watching me. He was watching as an “mmm” escaped from my mouth. Oh geez, the energy was back. 
How could a girl avoid it with that intensity? 
It was palpable. 

Our private moment was feeling anything but private. Could other people see it? Could they see my legs feeling shaky or the heat on my neck?
He looked at me like he wanted to devour me and I could barely breathe.
The lights in the Starbucks felt too bright, his lips curled up slightly on one side, and his dimple reappeared as I handed the cup back to him. 

Our fingers brushed as he took the cup out of my hand. It was the most intimate experience I’d ever encountered.  The air in my throat caught and my fingers were buzzing as I looked at him. 

He was looking right at me. His eyes piercing mine.
He’d felt it too.

My heart fluttered and jumped into my throat. Oh crap I was back to the not having anything to say mode. Thank goodness for my outgoing friend who was at this point carrying the conversation…again.  If it’d had been up to me, I’m afraid I’d been in an awkward  staring contest with words trapped in my throat.

He looked down breaking the stare. As he looked towards our feet, he saw into my opened purse. My travel Bible was on top. He looked at it, looked up at me with questions in his eyes. He eyebrows were cocked and he asked me seriously, “Do you go to church?”

Church? Are you seriously asking me about my faith, my bedrock, my worship when I’m about to die from lack of oxygen staring at you?


I managed to mumble something about my church, coming home and trying to find a new church family since moving back from Chicago. And soon A. saw me floundering again. 
She was my lifesaver that night. 
I was a hot mess.

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