I stood in front of her, kind of. I say “kind of” because I leaned my back against my car and only had my head turned towards her. She leaned against my car trying to mimic my stance, but she had her whole body turned towards me. I wondered about the jeans she had on. Did they have those little metal tabs on the pockets that might scratch the paint on my fender? I guess I shouldn’t have cared about that, but I couldn’t help it.


She smiled the entire time, telling me about her week. I smiled too, genuinely interested in her stories. We didn’t talk much anymore, not since she quit, but that night was catch up time and I enjoyed every second.


Somewhere in our friendship I might have realized I wanted her, and held onto the feeling because letting it out, that is, letting her know, would have been disaster. So, it came out in a not so subtle way, unnoticeable to a fool in love. I guess I came on too strong at times. She would never say, but I knew.


She continued with her stories, and then her alarm went off. Bedtime. We said our goodbyes, and I wondered if I’d ever see her again.


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