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Brian. It feels as if I’ve known him before. In another time, another place. With another face. I am acutely aware of the little butterflies in my stomach as I prepare for my first service visit to his home.

I wonder if he felt it too…the wave of energy passing between us. Every time our eyes met–they locked, with a familiarity that made us both smile–like we shared a secret. It makes me feel dizzy…expectant–as if every moment alone together is ripe with possibility.

I text him from the elevator.

“Good morning, Brian! On my way up!”

He is already waiting in the hallway.

Grasping my bags, he leads me through the large foyer, beyond which I can’t help but notice the floor to ceiling sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the ocean.

“What an amazing view, Brian!”

“Yeah, well, I wish I was around to enjoy it! I’ve been spending most of my time at the office these days…”

He sets my bags down in the kitchen, slipping off his running shoes before crossing the silver-white carpet to slide open the doors. The room is silent but for the whispering roar of waves in the distance. I allow a moment to admire his strong, broad shoulders, his outstretched arms spread between the panes of glass, gazing out across the beach like he is waiting for something. Or someone.

Taking a deep breath, he turns away and rejoins me in the kitchen, smiling brightly.

“I hope I have the equipment you need…I’ve haven’t lived here that long, and well, I just have a few things…”

He takes me on a full tour of the kitchen. We peek inside the cabinets and drawers, and he opens the fridge to show me how empty it is. We both laugh at the sight of a lone carton of milk, a partially collapsed loaf of bread and a few condiments.

“And I just went shopping. I told you, I hate to cook!”

He closes the  door and we are left in awkward silence, but this time his face is but a few inches from mine. I hadn’t noticed how blue his eyes are. We laugh again, nervously and I don’t know who blushes first, but here we are again–grinning stupidly at one another.

“Are you coming home for lunch?”

“If you don’t think I will be in your way…”

“If all goes smoothly I should be just about finished by then…”

I direct my gaze pointedly–penetrating meaning into his eyes as if by telepathy.

Can he read the message I am sending?

To be continued…

 

 

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