Lacquered Tattoo

Chapter Six

Understanding slowly flooded my brain. This was the boss my new-found friend was talking about last night.

But what was he doing here?

His gaze swept behind me and thank god I tidied up the place yesterday and not put it off until today. I do have a tendency to procrastinate.

            “Just got settled in?”

            I nodded my head at him. Suddenly, I had become mute.

            “Funny, I live one floor up,” he continued pointing a finger to the ceiling. So, we are neighbors.

“Guess you forgot to exchange numbers with Jolie. She’d wanted to contact you but when she figured out that we live in the same building, she had this funny idea that I should just speak to you personally.”

            Monroe looked behind me again and I had the feeling he was hinting at something. One chancing look at his eyes confirmed my suspicions, and I cleared my throat as I motioned with a wave of my hand for him to get inside.

            “Sorry, where are my manners? Please, come in.”

            He trotted past me and I realize the only places he could sit in were my seemingly too small for him dining stools, or my bed.

            I hovered by the door, perspiration gathering at the back of my neck despite the cold. “You know what? I was just about to grab a coffee. Why don’t you come with me?”

            Monroe turned to me with amusement coloring his features and I was embarrassed for my choice of words. Well, I can’t take them back now, can I? I pretend not to realize the possible insinuation that I was asking him out in some form or another. Quite honestly, I really didn’t mean to. I just didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable in my apartment.

            More like I don’t want to feel uncomfortable around him in my apartment.

            “Sure. I know a great coffee shop not far,” Monroe replied.

            He waited for me in the hallway as I took my tote bag and locked my door, all the while I feel his eyes on me. It could just be my imagination, but it was almost a tangible thing running down my body and sending shivers that make the hair on the back of my neck rise up.

            I shrug off the tension. I felt silly feeling this way about a man I barely knew; it wasn’t like I haven’t seen good-looking people before. It was like I was a teenager once again, falling off my feet at the sight of my high school Trigonometry teacher.

            I followed Monroe out into the breezy morning, hands in my pockets and head swinging from side to side as I take in the surroundings. Everything looks more picturesque in the bright morning. Much clearer than yesterday when I was in the throes of jet lag.

            And that’s how I ended up having breakfast with my boss.

Yes, of course I accepted the job. It’s a three-hour shift every afternoon. I have an hour to myself right after school dismissal, so I’ll have time to do extra work before I go to the store. I get paid by the hour and I was upfront about this only being a part time job. I’d still prioritize my full-time job, but it’d be fun to get preoccupied by something else while also getting paid doing it.

            I was leaning more to have a job at the library, but I doubt they were looking for someone who couldn’t commit fully. This is the next best thing.

            I enjoy customer service and though I’m a shy person, I’m engaging when needed be. Also, I doubt the people coming and going in the shop would even remember me so that’s comforting.

            The reason why I pursued a career in education is because I love how at ease I am with children. I don’t have to hide from them or pretend, and they’re just so pure and genuine and they don’t judge so easily. They’re curious and fun and I love teaching them, I love how they rely on me for a lot of things and depend on me to take care of them.

            I love being at their service and I guess it was just in my blood, to serve people, only with grown-ups like myself, I get more intimidated. People tend to get mean and unfiltered and I have onion skin.

            Literally thin and figuratively sensitive.

            Children, I can handle.

Adults handle me.

Like how I thought about Monroe seemingly to do so when we were sitting across each other in a dainty rustic coffee shop.

“What do you think?” Monroe had asked me once we entered the premises.

“I love it,” I said without hesitation, the words just slipping out of my mouth.

Well, it’s true.

The place was roughened and looked worn out, but I can see past its appearance. It was intentional. A designer must have been hired to make the place looked ruggedly handsome, picking the right furniture to match the naked varnished wooden walls, much like a cabin in the woods but built with aesthetic on mind.

Touches of sleek decorations were placed here and there to balance out the raw atmosphere and one might consider it too masculine, but I actually liked the interiors. I could see my aunt liking it as well; it couldn’t be just for men.

There weren’t too many people around. We were the only ones sitting apart from a guy with his laptop on the table, scribbling on the notebook laid beside it. The was a short line of five people waiting to get their morning shot and a couple took a seat at the far corner right after they ordered.

Monroe sounded confident as we negotiated the terms of my employment. He was also the owner of the retail shop as well as the manager, but he wasn’t around much as he has other business to attend to.

Naturally.

He said that something came up that needed more of his time, so he was searching for another pair of helping hands to work in the shop just before night most especially since he’d be back at work for the evening to see to things.

I was offered the job of a manager after he inquired about my educational background and work history, insisting that I was overqualified for the position anyway when I expressed hesitation on my part.

Right then I revealed to him that I already have a day job and wasn’t looking for long hours. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He did, however, made compromise with the schedule when we talked about my teaching job at the school.