3. CHAPTER THREE
961 Words
Five minutes.
That's all he said.
And somehow… that was enough to make her legs stop moving.
Irene stood there for a moment that felt far too long, her tray pressed against her chest like a shield. The café was quiet. Her manager was still in the back. No one was watching.
"Five minutes won't kill you, Irene" he said.
She pulled out the chair slowly, almost reluctantly, and sat down.
Like she hadn't just broken her own rule.
He didn't smile like he'd won something. He didn't make a big deal of it. He just picked up his coffee, wrapped his hands around the mug, and leaned back like this was the most normal thing in the world.
That somehow made it worse.
"I don't usually do this," she said quickly.
"Do what?" he asked.
"Sit with customers."
"I know," he said simply.
She looked at him. "Then why ask?"
His eyes met hers over the rim of the mug. Steady. Unbothered.
"Because you looked like you needed five minutes too" he said.
Irene opened her mouth. Then closed it.
He wasn't wrong.
She hated that he wasn't wrong.
She wrapped her hands around the second mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers, and stared down at it.
"I'm Chris," he said.
She looked up.
He said it so casually. Like they hadn't spent three days in this strange, wordless back and forth. Like he hadn't been watching her. Like she hadn't been watching him watch her.
"Irene," she replied. Then caught herself. "Which you already know."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
There it was again. That almost-smile. The one that wasn't quite a smile but did something to her chest anyway.
"Chris what?" she asked.
"Just Chris for now," he said with a faint smile.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "That's suspicious" she said.
"Or mysterious," he offered.
"Same thing" she countered.
He laughed at that. A low, quiet sound. Real though. Not performed.
Irene felt something loosen in her chest without permission.
"Stop it, he's a stranger" she told herself in her mind. A customer. That's it.
"So what do you do?" she asked, mostly to fill the silence. Mostly to stop thinking about the way he laughed.
"Music," he said.
She blinked. "Like… you play?"
"I travel," he said. "With a band. All over Ireland mostly. Perform, record, move on to the next city. Sometimes further. London. Amsterdam." He paused. "It keeps me moving."
Irene looked at him differently for just a second.
There was something in the way he said it keeps me moving that didn't sound like bragging. It sounded like something else entirely. Like a reason. Like a quiet kind of running.
She understood that more than she wanted to admit.
"Sounds… freeing," she said carefully.
"Sounds like it," he agreed. And left it at that.
The café door opened briefly. A cold rush of air came inside. A couple walked in, laughing, shaking rain off their jackets and murmuring inaudible words.
Irene glanced at the door out of habit, then back at her mug.
"You're not from Belfast originally," he said. It wasn't a question.
She looked up. "How do you know that?"
"You go quiet when the city gets loud," he said. "Like it doesn't belong to you yet."
Irene stared at him and asked who says things like that?
"I grew up moving around," she said after a moment. Keeping it vague. The way she always did. "Ended up here."
He nodded slowly. No follow-up questions. No oh that's interesting, tell me more. Just a nod. Like he heard what she said and what she didn't say.
She didn't know if that made her feel seen or exposed.
Maybe both.
"You've been coming here three days in a row," she said, steering herself back to safer ground.
"Have I?" he said, completely straight-faced.
"You know you have."
He picked up his mug again. "Good coffee."
"It's average coffee," she said flatly.
He smiled again. Properly this time. And Irene felt her heart do something completely unreasonable.
"Oh no. No no no" she exclaimed.
She stood up, faster than she intended. "Five minutes are up," she said, her voice coming out steadier than she felt.
He looked up at her, completely unbothered by the sudden exit.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
Irene grabbed her tray. "I didn't agree to today."
"And yet..." he said quietly.
She turned and walked back to the counter without answering.
But her heart was pounding the whole way there.
That night, lying in bed again, staring at the same ceiling…
It wasn't just his face she kept replaying anymore.
It was the way he listened. The way he didn't push. The way he said same time tomorrow like it was already decided, like she'd already said yes, like he knew.
Just Chris for now.
She pulled the blanket up to her chin.
"You're in trouble, Irene," she whispered into the dark.
And this time…
She didn't argue with herself.
She stared at the ceiling for another minute.
Then she reached for her phone on her bedside table and dialed a number.
It rang twice.
"IRENE" a female voice came through the speaker like a small explosion.
"Hello to you too," Irene said dryly.
"Don't hello me," June (Irene's dramatic best friend) said. "It's almost midnight. You only call me at midnight when something happened. So TALK."
Irene pulled the blanket tighter. "Nothing happened" she said.
"LIAR!" June shouted.
"June—"....
"Irene Adele I have known you for six years and you have never for once called me after eleven unless the world was ending or a man was involved." A dramatic gasp. "Is it a man?" June asked in an excited and curious manner.
- Writer
