Chapter 12 Limerence
I cradle the coffee like it’s an anchor, heat seeping into my palms. Michael slides a bagel across the table toward me. I shake my head.
“Not hungry.” It’s the truth. I’m not sure I could even drink this coffee, every time I lift the cup, I set it back down again. Holding it is enough, it's warm and keeps me here. He doesn’t comment. Just reaches into his bag, pulls out my book, and offers it to me.
My gaze drops to the cover. I hesitate, then take it. He times it so our fingers brush, lingering a fraction too long. My glasses are still missing. They’re hooked casually into the front pocket of his jacket, like a trophy he’s decided to keep. He watches me quickly flip through the pages, waits.
“I looked you up,” I confess finally.
His brow lifts, a slow, amused arc. “Did you now?” He smiles. “I’m flattered.”
He watches my face for a second longer than necessary, like he’s weighing something. Then he exhales, “I looked you up too.”
The admission lands hard, and he doesn’t rush past it. “There was a photo,” he continues, voice lowering just enough to feel intentional. “You were smiling like no one was looking.” His gaze softens just a fraction before he adds, “I took a screenshot, and then I just stared at it longer than necessary.”
My pulse stutters. He tilts his head, eyes darkening, not apologetic. Almost pleased with himself. “Do you want to know what went through my head while I was looking at it?” His gaze flicks to my lips, then back to my eyes. There's an intentional pause, then...“Or what I did?”
The implication slams into me all at once...too fast, too vivid....and my mind betrays me with images I absolutely did not invite. Heat and closeness. Hands where they shouldn’t be. It’s enough that I finally lift the cup and actually sip the coffee, more to anchor myself than anything. I turn my head, stare at nothing in particular, painfully aware of the warmth creeping up my neck, my ears burning in that humiliating way they always do when I’m flushed.
I hear his satisfied chuckle, like he knows exactly where my thoughts just went. I need to steer this conversation somewhere else before I completely lose my footing.
“You’re impressive at your job, ” I offer, “All those authors and books you’ve made into something bigger than they were.”
For the first time, he looks away. It’s subtle but real. The confidence doesn’t vanish, it just shifts. I file it away.
“Last night,” I continue, quieter, “....you said you were starved for things that move you.” I meet his eyes. “Did your work stop doing that?”
He leans back, crossing his arms, studying me like I’ve just stepped onto thinner ice.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I frown, mirroring his posture. “Are you deflecting?”
A corner of his mouth tilts. “No.” He shakes his head once. “I’m making sure I'm not stepping on someone else's claim. That there's no surprises that get in my way.”
“Your way of what?”
“Of seeing where this goes.”
I set the mug aside gently, like it might shatter if I don’t. My heart starts pounding hard. I wasn’t sure what I expected when I came here this morning, but it wasn’t this. Not the clarity of it. Not the way he says it like a decision already in motion.
It’s too much, too direct and way too intimate for something that’s barely begun. And worse, it's filled with too much expectation. I shake my head, a small, helpless motion, as if that might dislodge the feeling from my chest.
“You’re wasting your time,” I tell him.
He doesn’t look offended. If anything, he looks interested. “Why’s that?”
I hold his gaze, searching for an answer that doesn’t sound like the truth. One that doesn’t translate to ‘I don’t have the luxury of beginnings.’ It comes up short.
So I pivot.
“What do you want from me? Really. Why are we even here?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me, eyes intent, like he’s cataloguing the question itself.
“Because I’m fascinated by you.”
That makes me huff out a breath. “Oh. Is that what this is? Fascination?”
He tilts his head. “What would you call it?”
“I just told you,” I say. “A waste of time.”
He nods once, like he’s accepting the word, turning it over. Then he leans closer. Not touching, but the intensity is worse than touching.
“At the Book Forum, you said you don’t like men like me.”
My stomach tightens.
“Could you expound on that? What kind of man do you think I am...exactly?” His eyes don’t leave mine. There’s no defensiveness there. No charm. Just a precise kind of attention that makes lying feel impossible.
“The kind who doesn’t stay,” I admit finally, because it's the first impression I got of him. “The kind who collects people like experiences. The kind who’s always got an exit planned.”
He nods slow and something flickers across his face. Not anger exactly, but close enough to it to mistake the two.
“And you?” he asks softly. “What kind do you think you are?”
“The kind who doesn’t get collected.”
He chuckles instead, lets his gaze drift around the cafe like he’s got all the time in the world before it lands on my hands. On the cup I’m still holding like it’s an anchor. His eyes narrow, just a fraction. His is half empty, mine’s pretty much untouched. I brace myself for the comment.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly and asks, calm....almost curious, “Have you ever heard of limerence?”
It hits like whiplash. That’s what it’s like talking to him, you’re braced for impact and he still manages to come at you from the side. My gaze narrows on instinct, trying to track where he’s going before he gets there. I nod once.
I have heard of it.
That obsessive, intrusive kind of wanting. The way a person can become an idea first, a fixation, a loop your mind refuses to release. Not love. Not even desire, really. Just intensity with nowhere safe to land. The kind of thing that feels profound until it eats you alive.
“Are you saying that’s what this is for you?” I ask slowly and he shakes his head, not defensive but certain. “No. Not at first.” His eyes stay on me. “When I first saw you, it was just interest. Curiosity.” A pause. Then, quieter, more precise. “Then I heard you teach yesterday. And it felt like I was listening in on something I wasn't meant to. It didn't sound like you were doing it because you had to.”
I open my mouth, and nothing comes out. I try to hold his stare and fail again. His eyes are too blue, too intent, like they’re asking things I don’t know how to answer. I glance away, buying myself a breath, and a thought slips in uninvited.... does he do this often? Go around dropping words like that on people like it doesn’t rearrange something inside the person on the receiving end?