Page 4 of True Sight (Nat. 20, #4)
CONRAD
M y fingers click across my keyboard as I work to finish the line of code I’ve been working on for the last several hours.
What my current project lacks in complexity and difficulty, it makes up for in monotony and repetition.
The current client I’m working for has asked me to reset certain parts of her site to make it more user friendly and responsive across all platforms—something I can do in my sleep after years of being in this line of work.
While many people find what I do to be mind numbingly boring, I find comfort in my keyboard and the inner workings of all things digital.
Computers and phones are as black and white as you can get—there is no guessing with them.
You either have it right and everything works or you don’t and you need to figure out what the issue is.
One or the other, no weird in betweens like you get with people.
And while Hanna might say that my line of work protects me from getting hurt again, I’m okay with that because it also helps me pay my bills.
Even a few weeks later, her words from our first session still stick in my brain.
So much so that I feel like they’re starting to scream at me which is why I relocated to my favorite coffee shop to work for the day.
That, and because I can get a triple shot of espresso here which I need after another tumultuous night of sleep because of a nightmare.
Normally I have to work from home at my full setup but the occasional project allows me to work just as easily from my laptop.
So when I woke up this morning and couldn’t shake the lingering darkness of my nightmare, I packed my bag and headed here.
Now I’m tucked into the corner of a woodsy coffee shop with high ceilings and old restored floors.
I like this coffee shop most because people tend to leave you alone as they’re too busy bustling through their day to notice you in the first place.
It’s the kind of place that people come to for meetings, work on their computers, or meet with friends on the random day off.
There’s a buzz to the place that makes it feel alive without also being distracting.
A ding comes out of my computer indicating that a new email has just manifested in my inbox.
As an ‘inbox zero’ kind of guy, I expand the tab I keep open with it to find a new email from a client whose project is set to start in the next week.
After agreeing to take his project, we’d signed the necessary contracts and agreed to start once he is settled in the Lowcountry.
Pulling Henry’s email open, my eyes start to scan over his words.
Conrad!
I’m so very excited to get started on the development of my app and studio tech.
I’ve been in Charleston for a week now and things are well on their way at the studio.
My contractors have assured me it will be up and ready to take students by the first of the year.
Is that enough time for you? If the app isn’t ready by then, that’s okay, we will keep working on that after the grand opening.
I was hoping you wouldn’t mind meeting in person sometime soon?
I’m very much a face to face human and love chatting IRL rather than online, which is funny because that’s how my whole business runs!
Online! Anywho, let me know if you have some time next week to meet for a spot of tea (or coffee, as I’m sure you might prefer).
All the best,
Henry Baker
What the hell does ‘IRL’ mean? I pull out my phone and send a text.
What the hell does ‘IRL’ mean?
Margaret, my only friend outside of the guys, responds quickly.
‘In real life’, honey. It’s shorthand.
It’s idiotic. Just take the five seconds to write it out.
You really need to get up to date with how people communicate these days. You’re sounding a little like an old man.
Add it to the list of ways I could improve.
Not wanting the email to linger in my inbox too long, I set my phone down and type a response letting him know I’m free to meet on Tuesday next week.
I hardly ever meet my clients face to face as so many of them lived outside of the Charleston area.
I guess things will be different with this Henry Baker.
Pulling my coffee cup to my mouth, I take a sip and lean back on the bench I’ve been sitting on for the last several hours.
I scrub my eyes with my hands after staring at my screen for far too long and push out a heavy breath.
Only a few more hours until you can log off for the day and head to campaign night, I think with my eyes closed.
Digging my palms into my eye sockets one more time for good measure, I open my eyes to discover there’s a stranger standing on the other side of my table.
I can’t stop my face from screwing up in confusion as I take in her image.
“Hello.” The mystery woman smiles widely at me. She has short blonde hair, similar to Bailey’s, and is leaning her hands on the back of the chair that’s tucked in under my table.
“Hello,” I reply, trying to be polite. There have been enough times where my true thoughts have slipped out and resulted in one of my friends scolding me for being too blunt.
Their favorite thing to do is smack me upside the head when I’ve said something out of line so I’m trying to be better about choosing my words wisely.
‘Hello’ seems like a perfectly appropriate response.
“Is anyone sitting here?” Her voice perks up at the end. Before I can answer, she pulls the chair out and takes a seat. The screeching sound of its feet scratching against the old hardwood floors causes some of the people around us to stare.
“Uhh, I guess you are.” I look around the coffee shop and count at least three open tables. Why the hell did she ask to sit at my table when she could have chosen any of the other open ones?
“What’s your name?” Her voice is light and energetic, almost like a child who’s been given too much sugar. With her arms crossed in front of her on the table, she’s nearly bouncing in her seat as she looks at me.
“Why do you care?” I gruff, annoyed that she’s cutting into my work day. I’m hoping to finish this coding project before leaving to head home and get ready for game night.
“My name is Allie.” She extends a hand across the table and smiles even wider.
I don’t offer her my hand in return. “That’s nice.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?” She recovers quickly and tucks her hand back under her other arm. The smile she’s giving me never fades as she waits for me to respond.
“I already have a coffee,” I explain, lifting up my coffee cup to show her. My eyebrows push into the center of my face as I do.
“Oh”—her shoulders droop—“well what about a pastry? They have some really yummy baked goods at the counter. We could go look together.”
“And why would I want to do that?” My voice comes out flat with a tinge of annoyance in it.
Don’t be an ass, your friends would tell you you’re being an ass .
Her face falls at my words and I realize I may have hurt her feelings.
“Look, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’m really busy trying to finish up a project before the end of the day. Thank you, though.”
The stranger—Allie—purses her lips together and ‘ humphs’ in her seat.
Without saying another word, she stands from the chair and walks away.
As she goes, I wonder how my friends would think I handled our exchange.
I thought I was plenty nice and upfront with her about the fact that I’m not interested.
I’m unsure why I’m not interested; she’s pretty enough compared to the other women in my life.
She just isn’t my type, I guess, seeing as how my body had no physical reaction to her when she sat down.
That wasn’t unusual though, I rarely have any kind of similar reaction that my friends do when there is an attractive woman around.
Sure I have questioned it before but just chalk it up to being the kind of person who doesn’t do emotions in general.
Emotions lead to disappointment.
And I, for one, have experienced plenty of disappointment to last me a lifetime.
“Connie,” Malcolm’s voice booms from down the hall as I approach the dining room table we spend every Wednesday at. It is nearly seven thirty and traffic has made me late which always annoys the hell out of me. My friend calling me the nickname I hate most doesn’t help my irritation level.
“Dude, you know it’s almost seven thirty, right? Like, you’re one minute early, what do you have to say for yourself?” Malcolm looks at his watch and then to me with a sly expression.
“I say that you’re an annoying prick for calling me Connie even though I’ve asked you for years not to and that it’s traffic’s fault. People here don’t know how to drive and there was an accident on the bridge,” I grumble, yanking a beer from the fridge and popping the top off.
“Hey, it’s no sweat, dude, we’re just happy to have you here,” my other best friend, Kolbi, says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Beer in hand, we both move towards the table and take a seat.
“Something else bothering you? You look, well, you look even more out of sorts than normal,” the third and final friend in my little group, Hank, asks from across the table. I force out a breath and take a sip of my beer.
“No, I’m fine. Just annoyed by the traffic is all. I had a weird day, I guess.”