“Oh, uh... no.” Shaking it off, he hands the phone to me, screen still intact. “Whoever Andrew is wants a time.”
What time should I pick you up?
The text is prominently displayed. My stomach bottoms out. My hands are still shaking, and I shove the phone in my back pocket without answering that question.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought you left town.”
“I did,” he says. “I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know you meant that quick. I wouldn’t have noticed you left. Why’d you even tell me?”
“Figured you should know.”
“Why?”
He shrugs, like maybe he doesn’t understand it, either. Before either of us can make sense of things, a feminine voice rings out in the aisle beside us, calling my name. Bethany. Panic flows through me. I don’t give it much thought, acting in the moment, a knee-jerk reaction to her approach.
I grab ahold of him, gripping tight to his arm and take off in a hurry. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t put up a fight as I drag him down the aisle, away from the sound of her voice, and shove him into a small back stockroom. I dart inside and shut the door, casting us in near total darkness. I can’t see Jonathan anymore, but I can feel him, right behind me, pressing up against me, his hand coming to rest on my hip. His touch heightens my panic. I shove away from him, putting space between us.
“Why are you here?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “You can’t be here.”
“I, uh…”
“Kennedy?” Bethany calls out from the other side of the door. “Are you back here?”
“Don’t talk,” I hiss at Jonathan. “Don’t even breathe.”
I open the door again and slip out, leaving it cracked behind me as I come face-to-face with Bethany. Her brow furrows as she looks into the pitch-black room behind me. “What are you doing?”
“Inventory.”
“In the dark?”
“Yeah, I, uh… yep.” I glance behind me before turning back to her. “Did you need something?”
“Marcus told me to find you.” Her face twists into a fake pout. Oh god. “I asked for the Saturday off in two weeks, and he said the only way I can have it is if I find someone to cover.”
“And you want me to do it?”
“Please?” She pokes her bottom lip out. “I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important!”
“Okay.”
“Breeze-Con is that weekend, and they’re having this big thing for the tenth anniversary of Ghosted.”
“Okay.”
“And I know it probably sounds silly to you but—”
“I said okay. Go. Have fun.”
“You mean it?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
She lets out a squeal and hugs me. “Thank you, Kennedy! Oh my god, you’re the best!”
“You’re welcome,” I say, prying her off. “I’m gonna get back to, you know, stuff.”
I nod toward the stockroom.
Her eyes narrow. “What are you really doing?”
“Bye, Bethany.”
I slip back in the room, slamming the door and leaning up against it.
Humor tinges every syllable of Jonathan’s words as he says, “She sounds like you back in high school. How scary could she be?”
Rolling my eyes, I feel along the wall beside me, flicking up the light switch. It doesn’t make it very bright, but I can see him propped up against a crate, a smirk on his lips.
“She writes fanfic,” I tell him. “The self-insert kind.”
His smile only grows.
“I’m not taking about Breezeo. Oh no, I’m talking Johnny Cunning fanfic. Erotica.”
The first flicker of concern shows on his eyes, but he still smiles. “So did you.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s completely different.”
“Still, she’s just a girl with fantasies,” he says. “Nothing to hide from.”
“True, but do you really think she’ll keep it to herself? Come on, her idol shows up where she works? The only way it could ever be more fic-come-true is if we were working in a coffee shop here. Before you even made it out the door, it would be all over social media. But I mean, unless that’s what you want…”
He shakes his head.
Didn’t think so.
It grows quiet for a moment before he says, “Kale.”
“Kale?”
“That’s why I’m here. I needed to grab kale.”
“Oh.”
That’s all I say.
It grows quiet again.
Awkward.
There are no windows in here, making the room feel impossibly small. Just him and I, confined together after all this time, breathing the same air, the room filled to the brim with strained silence. So much to say, but no words strong enough to clear the air between us.
“I wish shit wasn’t so weird,” he says eventually. “I wish you weren’t so distant.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when people break up.”
“I know, I just wish there was a way we could…”
“Could what?”
He doesn’t answer right away, looking away from me like he’s struggling to find a way to explain. Forget? Move on? Start over?
“Be,” he says. “I wish we could just be.”
For such a talented actor, he wasn’t always good at expressing himself with me, but then again, I wasn't much better. Maybe that was why we worked so well. He spoke through the characters he played, and I… well, I used to create. The two of us always seemed to be on the same page until the day we just weren’t anymore, and there was no way to get back to that place once we struggled so much to communicate.
But for a time, we just… were.
It’s the most comforting feeling in the world.
When you lose it, though, it’s the most confusing. It’s like losing a piece of your soul.
“I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at me again.
“How many times are you going to apologize?”
“As many as it takes until you believe me.”
“I do,” I say. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He stares at me when I say that. He doesn’t respond, but I can tell he’s holding back some reaction.
“Anyway, we should get you out of here before you get spotted,” I say, pushing away from the door. “I can grab your kale for you.”
I turn to leave but he stops me, grabbing my arm as he stands up from the crate. I tense, letting out a shuddering exhale when he pulls me to him. It’s just a brief moment as he holds me there, a breath away, so close that if I stood on my tiptoes, I could taste his lips if I wanted to.
I do.
Or at least some part of me, deep down, does, a stirring in my gut that almost spurs me on. The moment he touches me, it’s like I’m drunk. But the moment is over just like that when he says, “I also need milk.”
His voice, those words—they sober me up. “Milk.”
“Yes,” he says, letting go of my arm. “If you don’t mind.”
“Uh, sure, no problem.”
I walk out, and he follows, diverting halfway through the store to head for the exit while I grab his stuff. I don’t hear any frantic screams, so I assume he made it out.
Bethany lingers at her register, not paying attention to any of her surroundings, flipping through the latest edition of Hollywood Chronicles.
“Anything interesting?” I ask, setting the kale and the milk on the conveyer belt.
Bethany sighs, tossing the tabloid aside. “Not really. I swear it’s like Johnny Cunning vanished into thin air. Nobody has seen him anywhere.”
My eyes flicker to the exit, catching a faint glimpse of him lurking outside. “I’m sure he’s… around.”
“I hope so,” she says. “Ugh, I hope he’s not like, dead in a ditch somewhere. That would suck.”
“Yeah, it would,” I agree as she rings the stuff up.