Touch

Noelle eagerly awaited Graham's arrival each morning. He had been coming in for the past four years, never missing a day after having stumbled upon the shop during one of his early morning walks. She found him odd, but sweet. It was the gloves, of course, that raised an eyebrow with her. He seemed so normal, but he never took them off. He never explained why, either. She had never really asked, beyond a single exchange long ago when she asked him if his hands were cold and he told her they weren't. He was never condescending to her, and hung on to every word she said. She noticed the way he looked into her eyes, and sensed that he had more than just a passing admiration of her. She suspected he might love her, but that was not a conclusion she really wanted to jump to without knowing the distance, or perhaps depth of the leap. The bell on the door rang signaling Graham's entrance and Noelle's eyes lit up at the sight of him. He smiled at her, a smile which was contagious enough to cause her to return it with her own. They were alone. They always were. He asked for his usual and she gladly obliged, directing him to his usual seat near the window that looked out to the city street bustling with commuters while she prepared his breakfast and retrieved his newspaper. She served him proudly, then joined him at the table, as she always did, and so began their morning conversation. He joked about the morning rush of coffee drinkers that seemed to be lost, a stale joke that never seemed unfunny to her, which is why he repeated it. He knew it was stupid, but knew better than to break routine when it causes a beautiful woman to smile in his direction. He asked about her ex-boyfriend. Was he still coming around? She told him things seemed to have settled. That was a lie, but she knew you never bring the baggage of your old relationship with you when you're talking to a better deal. He knew she was lying, but you don't tell someone that when they're trying to do the two of you a favor. It was close to the anniversary of the death of her mother and he asked if it still affected her as deeply as it had the year previous. She told him it did, if not more so. He nodded, although he didn't really understand the feeling. He had no sadness about his father's death, and hadn't for many years. She pitied him for that. He told her not to, that it felt like his father was still a presence and it was not the most positive thing for him, but she still felt sorry that he didn't have the connection to his parents that she had with hers. She regretted for him that he did not know his mother. He regretted more that he had ever been born to either one of his parents. He always stopped himself before fully boarding the pity train, and did so again this day, switching the topic to more trivial matters such as the weather, or the funny-looking man running the hot dog stand a few blocks down so early in the morning when no one could possibly be in the mood for one. She hung on every word, matched his eyes with hers, and realized that today was the right day to finally clear the air. "What's with the gloves, Graham?" she said, feeling none of the hesitation that usually kept her from uttering the words. Once they were out, it felt like a thousand weights had been lifted off of her shoulders. He paused, mumbled, searched his brain for a response that would sound less insane than the truth. Nothing. She filled the silence. "Are you a germaphobe? Burn victim? Have bad circulation? Afraid to leave fingerprints? Just like sweaty hands? I mean, you seem like such a sweet and put-together guy, but c'mon, it's the middle of summer, and you're ready to pack snowballs." "We all have our quirks, I guess," was all he could manage, and he felt like an idiot the second the words began to pass through his lips. "Yeah, but some people bite their fingernails, or pick their noses, or click their tongues, or scratch itches that don't exist. Most people don't dress for the wrong season nine months out of the year." "I try not to focus too much on it," he said. "It seems to keep others from doing so." "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it," she said, starting a sentence she couldn't finish. If there wasn't anything wrong with it, then why was she asking him? She wanted to kick herself. His discomfort made her want to use steel-toe boots to do it. Graham started to shift in his seat, his eyes not meeting with hers anymore. He wanted a way out of this conversation in a hurry, but he didn't want her to think him a freak by darting out like a child. Noelle could tell she'd raised a subject she wasn't prepared to control, and she resolved to calm him down. She took his gloved hands in her naked ones, and she grasped him tightly, comfortingly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel weird. You have your reasons, and that's okay, and if you want to share those reasons with me someday, then that's okay too, and if not, then, well, you get the idea. It's just that you're probably the best friend I have, the only friend, and I just wanted to know. I'm sorry if that makes me a bad friend." Graham heard her words, but could not process them just yet. All he could focus on was her hands clutching his. His eyes could focus nowhere else. She noticed, and asked if it was okay, what she was doing. His words were quiet. "I never let people touch me." She started to retrieve her hands from his, but he clutched back, stopping her. She smiled, eyes misting with tears for the moment she anticipated was coming. "I've been so careful to keep contact with other people to nothing, but this feels so good, I don't want to let go." "Do you want to kiss me?" she asked, hoping he did. "I do," he said. "I really do." Her cheeks nearly hurt from the width in which her smile grew. She knew this would happen, had planned it over and over, and while this wasn't really when and where she thought it would happen, she just knew it was right and that one kiss was going to tell the both of them that their feelings for one another were real and perfect. She closed her eyes, leaned forward, slow enough to not rush it, but fast enough to not look like she was afraid. The split second before the two of them had lost themselves entirely, Graham pulled himself back away from her and removed his hands from hers. He sat with his own back pressed into the chair back, as if trying to get as far away from her as he could without trying to make it look as such. She opened her eyes and retreated her pursed lips to form the look of confusion that had replaced her happiness from a moment ago. They sat in silence together for a moment, neither sure of what to say. He said nothing as he got up from the table, and she said nothing as he quietly left The Nook. She fought every urge to chase after him and demand an answer for his rejection, and that just made more tears come. She gave herself enough time to get herself together, washed the evidence of sadness from her face, then sat down by the cash register, and settled back into her loneliness.