“Why did they downsize you? It seems like you would make an incredible accountant.”

“I don’t know that either. My friend Kat- she still works there- she was going to try to find out but hasn’t been able to find the reason.”

He took a sip of his coffee then said, “Has anyone else been let go?”

“No. I’m the only one. But you have to admit, I’m pretty strange. Maybe they were just looking for an excuse to get rid of me. I have a tendency to make people uncomfortable with- you know- trivial facts.” I was about to air quote ‘freakishness’ again but successfully suppressed the urge.

“Hm.” His clear blue eyes narrowed as they studied me. “Are you-” he set his cup down and leaned a little closer, “Do you have a photographic memory?”

I laughed despite myself, mostly due to nervousness caused by his proximity, “No, God no. I’d forget my name if it weren’t on my driver’s license.” Then I frowned at the inaccuracy of my statement, “Actually, I don’t have a driver’s license since I moved to the City, but my name is on my credit card and my state ID.”

He continued to survey me for a long minute then asked, “Have you found a job yet?”

I shook my head and rolled my lips between my teeth. Even though it had only been a week and half and I was eligible for unemployment, I felt anxiety about my current state of being out of work.

He reached for his coffee and watched me over the rim of the cup as though he were considering something, considering me. When he put his cup down he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card and a pen, “I think I might be able to help you.” He wrote on the back side of the business card.

“What? Do you think I should get into the security guard business? I am pretty tall, for a girl. And I can be fierce when needs be.”

He tilted his head to the side in the same way I was becoming used to then handed me the card, “I don’t doubt it but my company always needs someone good in the business office.” He closed his pen and set it on the counter, “I’ve written down the name and number of our Director of Business Operations. You should call him, send him your resume. I can get you the interview- if you want- but you’ll have to get the job on your own.”

Viki returned with our food as I studied the card. I turned it between my fingers and read the front:

Quinn Sullivan- Cypher Systems, Inc.

Under his name was his phone number and business email address. I flipped the card to the back and stared at his handwriting rather than the name and number and information he’d written. His letters were all capitals, severe and precise; he put little dashes through his sevens but not through his zeros; his words were in a straight line rather than drifting up or down in the absence of lined paper. I liked his handwriting. I imagined reading a handwritten letter from him. I thought about him writing it, taking the time to sit and write and think of me. It made a volcano of warmth erupt in my stomach.

When I looked up he was frowning at me, his gaze guarded, “Of course you don’t have to apply if you don’t want to.”

I placed my hand on his arm without thinking, “Oh, no! I’m going to apply. Really, thank you. Thank you for thinking of me.” I withdrew my hand when his eyes moved to my fingers and I tried to tuck my hair behind my ears as I turned to the plate of greasy food left by Viki. I stared at the plate for a moment before I spoke, “I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Last night and-” I swallowed a building lump in my throat, “and this morning and now this.” I gestured to the card on the counter. I met and held his gaze as I added with a thankful smile, “You’re a really nice guy.”

His frown deepened as though I’d just insulted him. His attention moved over my face, hair, neck, then stopped; he closed his eye-lids before he sighed and looked upward in an almost stealth eye-roll.

He half said, half mumbled, “I’m not that nice.”

Despite one more extremely awkward moment where Quinn wanted to drive me home on his motorcycle and I somewhat freaked out, stubbornly refused, and insisted on taking a cab, the rest of the breakfast was actually really nice. Rather, more precisely, it was as nice as it could be considering I spent most of our time together distracted, attempting to think of a way to get him shirtless again. During one weak moment I contemplated throwing my coffee at him.

Later that night, as I lay on the couch in Elizabeth’s apartment trying to concentrate on reading my book and failing, I thought about my debate with Quinn about the motorcycle. If he’d offered to drive me home in a car I likely would have said yes.

As it was, he owned a motorcycle.

I’ve never been on a motorcycle and, since my mother died on one, I have absolutely no desire to ever ride on a motorcycle. Obviously, I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t like to think about much less talk about my mother’s death and I doubted Quinn, already thinking I was a complete nutcase, much wanted to hear about it.

“Janie? Janie, are you here?” I heard Elizabeth burst through the door just as I was getting up to brush my teeth, for the tenth time that day, and go to bed. There was an unexpected urgency in her voice so I met her at the hall.

“Yeah- I’m here, are you ok?”

When she saw me she stepped back and closed her eyes, her hand was over her chest; “Oh God. I’m going to kill Jon.”

I lifted my eyebrows in confusion. “Jon? My Jon? What happened?”

Elizabeth let the bag on her shoulder fall to the ground and she sighed, “He called me, like, eleventy thousand times today, he kept paging me. He said the two if you were supposed to meet today and you didn’t show up.”

It took me approximately five seconds to remember my meeting with Jon, that I’d promised to meet him, and realize that I completely forgot all about it. The sight of Quinn’s bare chest must have wiped my memory.

“Oh geeze, I totally forgot!”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, “You need to get a cell phone. I’m blocking his number from mine.”

“I am so sorry, Elizabeth. I’m sorry he bothered you at work.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was more worried about you.” She laughed lightly, pulling off her work clogs, “But you might want to send him an email or call him on Skype. He said something about calling in a missing persons report.” She stopped to give me a brief hug before walking to her room, “I’m glad you’re ok.”

I nodded and turned to my laptop. It was already ten. I knew he would be up but didn’t particularly want to speak with him so I opted to send him an email instead. When I opened my account I saw that he’d already emailed me five times, each message progressing in level of anxiety, the last was sent less than a half hour ago and read:

Would you please call me and let me know you are ok? I am going crazy with worry. I love you, Janie, and just want to know you are ok. I get that I hurt you and that you are mad, but please don’t punish me like this. This isn’t like you. If you’re trying to make me upset then, you’ve succeeded. If you don’t want to see me then you can just say so. I’m scared to death that you are somewhere hurt. If you get this and you are ok then we really need to talk about getting you a cell phone. Please call me. –Jon

I sighed and gritted my teeth, annoyed both by his presumption that ‘we’ would talk about cell phones as well as at the pinch of guilt that I felt, as I typed my email:

Jon- I’m ok. Honestly, I forgot about meeting you today. I’m sorry I didn’t call, there is no reason to worry. Elizabeth just came home and said that you were calling her at work. Please don’t do that again. You know that I usually check my email at least once a day and you also know how I feel about cell phones. I have no problem meeting you, I don’t want to upset you, and I’m not punishing you. I really do want us to be friends. Let me know if you want to try to meet up next week sometime. Talk to you soon, Janie

I stared at my cursor and re-read my email. I decided to delete “Talk to you soon” then I sent it. I didn’t want him to think I was promising to speak with him soon. I took a moment to read through my email and noted, with a great degree of frustration, that my inbox did not contain any responses to the hundreds of employment queries I’d sent.

My thoughts drifted back to Quinn and I remembered the card he gave me at breakfast. I reached to the coffee table in front of me and pulled out the card, letting my thumb caress his name before flipping it over to the Director of Operations’ contact information on the back. My mouth curved into a wistful smile when my eyes met with the image of Quinn’s handwriting. I really was ridiculous.

I clicked the ‘compose’ button and attached my resume, typing a quick letter of introduction in the body of the message. As an afterthought I decided to cc-Quinn on the email. I wanted him to see that I was actually very interested in the position and thankful for his recommendation.

Just as I hit send on the email my account chimed with a new message from Jon. I stared at the subject line:

“I’m sorry, I love you.”

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. Shaking my head I closed my laptop without opening his message. I was tired. I huffed again. I wanted to brush my teeth and go to bed. I didn’t like how uncomfortable, and guilty, Jon made me feel when I was certain- well, mostly certain- that he was the reason we were no longer together.