this blog fucks

Gripping her coat closed like she had just come out of a blizzard and not a cool spring day — judging by the scrubs, she had just come off shift — the woman shook her head frantically. “What? Sorry. I didn't mean — only for a few minutes."

"Now I’m already being broken up with? Give a guy a chance.”

He’d thrown her off, and her eyes went wide as her mouth opened and closed a few times.

“No, no, no. It’s just—” She glanced furtively over her shoulder, and her voice dropped into a low whisper. "This guy is following me."

Across the diner, the door opened as a tall, long-haired man pushed through. As the actual situation became clear, Frank's whole body tensed and his desire to tease faded abruptly.

"Of course." He gestured to the neon lime bench on the other side of the booth. "Have a seat."

Sliding into the booth, she leaned over the table and whispered: "I’m Mel."

Frank leaned over the table and whispered back: "Hi, Mel."

Mel was not young enough to be a med student — a resident, if Frank were to guess. Her hair was pulled back severely, but a few rebellious stands had wrenched themselves loose, sweetly framing her face after what was probably a hard shift. It made her look serious and soft at the same time. It was also devastatingly attractive, but Frank shelved that thought.

Across the diner, the stalker sat himself at the counter, where he unfortunately had a direct line of sight to them. Frank tried not to look over but could feel the man’s gaze burning into him. The loud clangs from the kitchen and the noisy breakfast crowd provided an auditory shield of a sort, if they kept their voices down.

When the diner had changed ownership last year back, they’d refurbished the place, decorating everything in bright greens and shiny chrome — trying to be more than the default for hospital workers and patients, but not really succeeding in Frank’s opinion. The old run-down place suited Frank better; it was often empty, and he could hide in there, alone with his thoughts, after his shift when he wasn’t quite ready to go home. The new place was popular; that could not be denied.

Mel continued in a harsh whisper. "This patient followed me from the hospital, and it kind of freaked me out. I think he, um, grew overly attached to me?” Mel’s breath hitched and she waved her hands expressively. “If you could just talk to me for a few minutes — make it seem like I’m with someone — I think he’ll just move on.”

This was something he could do; he had a little time to play pretend. He would accept her assessment of the situation for now, and if the man came over here, or the situation escalated — well, then he’d have to change plans.

The waitress popped up almost as soon as Mel joined him.

"I’ll have a water," Mel said, then tacked on haphazardly, “...and pie!"

Her naked enthusiasm was endearing.

The waitress started listing off options mechanically. "Apple, peach, banana cream, chocolate—

"Get the chocolate," Frank suggested decisively.

Mel nodded. "Chocolate."

"And two forks," Frank added. There was that flustered look again. After the waitress left, he leaned over conspiratorially. "Got to sell it."

That earned him a small grin. "Good idea."

"So…" Frank kept his voice low. "How long have we been a couple?”

The best thing to do was keep her talking, distract her from the creep watching them.

Mel took a moment to ponder this earnestly. "Five years,” she decided.

"So it’s serious."

Mel nodded. "Serious enough that you won’t tolerate anyone coming between us.”

"That’s true.” Frank couldn’t help a smirk. “I won’t tolerate it."

Not from an unhinged stalker, anyway. If an actual boyfriend or kind friend were to appear, he would gladly step aside. This answer seemed to please her.

The waitress laid a comically large slice of chocolate pie between them, with a thick gram cracker crust and a tall dollop of whipped cream. Two forks lay on either side of the plate for them.

Frank immediately dug into his side of the pie. Why not add sugar to his caffeine jitters? It wasn’t like he had the most important meeting of his life in half an hour. It wasn’t like HR held the fate of his career in their hands.

Melissa King approached her side of the pie with apprehension, taking a tiny amount like she was testing it for poison.

Time to put on a performance. Frank raised his voice to normal volume.

“Where should we go on vacation this summer? Italy?"

Mel shook her head. "Becca doesn’t like to fly."

It was unclear who Becca was or why she was intruding on their imaginary plans.

"How about a cross-country road trip then?"

A dismissive wave of her hand rejected that idea. "Noooo way. Becca could never deal with a car trip that long. We made it from Minnesota in a U-Haul because we had to, but it wasn’t fun.”

Hmm. The mysterious Becca who can’t be left behind and will definitely be joining them on all their romantic excursions.

“We put all our belongings in that U-Haul. Everything we owned. Which was mostly a couple mattresses and some chairs. One solid oak dresser that belonged to my grandmother.” Her hands were ripping a napkin into tiny pieces as she rambled. “900 miles in two days. Becca was great under the circumstances, but, you know, it was very hard on her.”

Frank wanted to reach across the table and still her hands, but it felt like a bad idea. Instead he laid his hand face-up between them, an offering.

Mel froze for a moment, then a grateful smile spread across her face as she reached out and held his hand. He enjoyed the weight of it. It had been a while since he had freely enjoyed holding a woman’s hand.

It struck him then — that this strange girl was someone he’d like to get to know better. Maybe he was just lonely, sleeping on a mattress on the floor of a near empty apartment, and he needed to get himself together. This was about helping a stranger, not jumping into something new.

"Do you have bed frames now?”

She blinked at him.

"You said you only came here with mattresses. You need a ride to IKEA, help putting some furniture together?” Wow, that was too much, had he gone insane?

“We have bed frames now, and a desk. You might say I’m an expert at putting together IKEA, actually. So if you ever need help…"

He didn’t want to admit how much help he needed.

Frank squeezed her hand. “I just might take you up on that.”

The door slammed aggressively at the other end of the diner, and outside the window, the long-haired man could be seen stomping away down the street.

“We did it.” Frank grinned.

Mel grinned gratefully back, and they sat there, holding hands and gazing at each other for far longer than necessary.

Mel pulled back, blushing and folding her hands in her lap.

“Well, thank you.” She was looking past him out the window. "That’s my bus."

Indeed, following her gaze, a blue and yellow PRT city bus could be seen creeping up from down the block.

"I’ll walk you over there.”

"No, no,” Mel protested. “I’ll be fine. It’s right outside. Look, you can watch me from the window. Stay.”

Frank would rather go with her, but he didn’t want to seem pushy or for her to think she had traded one stalker for another.

Instead, he grabbed the pen the waitress had dropped off with the check, scribbled on a napkin, and handed it to her.

Frank Langdon

Fake Boyfriend Extraordinaire

555-223-5465

"Here’s my number. If you ever need a fake boyfriend again."

"Oh, um, right." Her smile was genuine and blinding. "I’m sure I could figure out a reason."

Mel faltered, maybe realizing what she had just said — too honest by half — then stumbled backwards and gave the cutest little wave. "Bye."

Then she was gone.

He hadn’t asked what department she was in. If he got his job back — maybe he’d run into her.