I look at my reflection in the mirror as I cross the thin slip of royal blue silk to the right. The soft fabric slips through my fingers as I pull the tie up toward my neck, loop from underneath and tug down on the wide end to tighten. I smoothly glide the knot up and adjust. I take a step back and examine my work. This would probably suffice, but it's about a centimeter and a half shorter than I prefer. I sigh and glance down at my watch. I still have five minutes. I tear the tie from my collar and start again.

This time when I step back to admire my work, it's perfect. I peek back down at my watch. Two minutes. I slip my tablet into its sleeve and place it in the center compartment of my worn, brown leather messenger bag. I confirm my reading glasses are in the front right compartment. I place my cell phone in the front left compartment and secure the latch. I glance down at my watch again. One minute.

I grab my keys off the hook and head out the door as my cell phone rings from the recently latched pocket. Of course. I hold my keys in my mouth as I unlatch the front pocket and pull out my phone. I answer it on speaker as I walk out the front door.

"Hey Charlie, you know I'm going to see you in about twenty minutes, right?" I ask as I open my car door.

"I'm running behind man, can we make that thirty?" He laughs. I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"No Charlie. We have a staff meeting in twenty minutes. I expect you to be there. On time." I emphasize. Charlie is an incredible friend, but a shit employee.

"Come on, man. You're the boss now. You can push the meeting back just this once," He pleads. I can't see his face, but I know Charlie is flashing his signature smile. Unfortunately for Charlie, I'm a grown man, not a young coed, so I don't fall for his charms.

"Charlie, I can't make special exceptions for you. Twenty minutes." My career is the best thing about my life right now, and I won't jeopardize it for anyone, not even Charlie.

I have spent the last year channeling my anger, frustration and heartache into work. I brought in more incoming freshman and transfer students last year than any other admissions counselor at Adair University, and did it while increasing the average GPA and standardized test scores of incoming students. When our former Director of Admissions resigned last month, my hard work was rewarded with a promotion. But now that I'm minutes away from leading my first staff meeting, I'm anxious. I know I can recruit, but can I lead a team of recruiters?

"Okay, okay," Charlie says, interrupting my thoughts, "I'm just running behind. I had a clinger situation this morning. Thank God she had an early class or I don't think she would have ever left."

I pinch the bridge of my nose again and try to stave off the inevitable Charlie-induced headache. "Charlie, I'm going to assume this young lady had a class somewhere other than Adair. I assume, as a long time employee of the University, you are aware that sleeping with students is strictly prohibited. And I assume, if you were to do something so stupid, you wouldn't admit it to your boss, who would then be forced to report it to the Dean."

Charlie chuckles, "Sure, man. Assume away," he replies nonchalantly. "I was just calling to see if you want to shoot some hoops after work. I need to reserve a court at the rec center if so."

"Sounds good. I'm pulling into Roasters now. I'd offer you a coffee, but I know you won't drink it."

"Nope. See you soon, man." Charlie hangs up without a goodbye.

I exit my car and look down at my emails while I enter the coffee shop and get in line. It's a slow morning so I pocket my phone and shut my eyes and just enjoy a few moments of stillness. Roasters has the best coffee in town, but the truth is I come here every morning for the familiar comfort. It's always warm and inviting and smells like fresh baked cookies. Like home. It also helps that it's directly across the street from my office.

I love my morning routine, even if most would describe it as boring. I stop at the same coffee spot for the same black coffee and see the same people every day. Martha is always bustling behind the counter. Dr. Sharp usually sits in the corner with a pretentious latte and reads his paper before heading to the University for his first lecture of the day. Brock starts his internship duties with a morning coffee run. Hope, usually dressed in leggings and running shoes, gets a green juice to go. Hope flirts with me, I flirt with Martha, and then I head into the office, hot coffee in hand. Dr. Sharp, Brock, Hope, Martha. Every day.

Except today. Today I see Dr. Sharp, Brock, beautiful stranger, Hope and me. I study the unfamiliar woman in line ahead of me.

The first thing I notice is her eyes. To be fair, the rest of her is hidden behind the tall counter and stacks of pastries, so that's all I can see; two striking, grayish-blue eyes that turn up at the end, almost like a cat. I grin a little, thinking of Jack lounging in the small sliver of sunlight on his window seat this morning.

Dark, thick eyelashes brush against her cheekbones as she looks down. Her eyes are accented by a dark rim, but not like the thick eyeliner Carrie used to painstakingly paint on her lids every morning. Carrie. Just thinking her name hurt, but I realize it's been almost a week since I thought about her last. Progress.

The beautiful stranger hasn't noticed me staring yet, thankfully, so I press my luck and look back to her eyes, and a sort of calm washes over me. When Carrie left, I spent a few weeks at the beach. Something about the sight and sound of the waves rolling in gave me a sense of calm and order. It was predictable and routine. Everything I wanted my life to be. And everything that it wasn't.

The stranger's eyes, though. Her eyes are the clouds before a storm, when the sky darkens from a bright blue to a deep gray. When the wind picks up and the pressure drops and you know things are going to get intense and soon. But despite the tumultuous environment, the waves crash to the shore, then are pulled back into the ocean's belly. Crash and pull. Repetitive. Predictable. Routine. I am oddly at peace now, looking at the stormy eyes of this beautiful stranger.

"Good morning. Ready for the race this weekend?" I recognize Hope's cheery voice before even turning. 

"Yeah." I try to focus on Hope and the 5K she's organizing to fund the local library, but my eyes keep drifting over her shoulder.

"I can drop your bib and t-shirt off at your place tonight, if you want?" She reaches over and brushes a piece of imaginary lint from my shoulder, as if I would leave the house without checking that first. Recently she's been looking for reasons to see me, to talk to me, to touch me. At one point I would have even called Hope a friend, but that ended when Carrie and I got serious. Carrie insisted that women and men could not be platonic friends and that Hope was interested in more. Now I'm not so sure Carrie was wrong. And the last thing I want to do is lead her on.

"No need for you to make a special trip out there. I'll grab it from you tomorrow at Roasters. Or feel free to drop it at the office." She looks disappointed for only a moment.

"Perfect. I'm just glad to see you running again. I haven't seen you on a run since...um...well.." She stumbles over her words and starts to blush. "It's just been a while."

I don't miss the look of pity in her eyes. And she's right, with the exception of treadmill workouts at the gym, I haven't been on a run since Carrie left. It had been almost two years since my marriage collapsed, and a year since my divorce was finalized. We didn't tell anyone why it ended. Perhaps that only fueled the rumors. People assume the worst, although I'm not sure what could be much worse than the truth. Hope turns away and stares down at her cellphone, obviously attempting to avoid the awkward tension she caused.

I'm grateful when the small talk ends. I turn my attention back to the beautiful stranger in line. She bites down on her plump bottom lip as she contemplates her decision, then releases it. I am mesmerized by her mouth. She pulls her lip back in her mouth and sucks briefly before lightly biting down. I feel the pull of her teeth in my pants. 

I tear my eyes off that mouth and try to focus on less appetizing things. Jack's litter box. The who-knows-how-old leftovers I found in my car last night. The single long, black hair protruding from the mole on Martha's left hand

I stare at the mole as Martha hands Brock a tray of four vanilla lattes to take back to the ladies at the court clerk's office. Brock takes his tray from her with a smile and shuffles toward the door. I don't miss that he pockets the change rather than toss it in the tip jar. I'll tip for the both of us; it's the least I can do for Martha after all she's been through recently.

Martha looks at the beautiful stranger expectantly. "What can I get for you, dear?" Beautiful stranger continues to chew on her bottom lip as her eyes dart between the chocolate croissants and flax seed muffins.

"I'll have a coffee, leave room for cream, please. And one of those muffins?" She says it like a question. Her voice is sweet, melodic, deeper than I expect. She has a twang, but her accent is slightly different than what I'm used to hearing in southern Kentucky.

I briefly wonder if she's a student, but quickly dismiss that thought. Adair University is a private college nestled on the Kentucky - Tennessee border. It's a small campus, with less than three thousand students, so it's rare to see an unfamiliar face. And I'm sure I would have noticed those eyes before. I hope so, at least. For the first time in years I feel the desire to approach a woman. This woman. I want to hear her voice again. I silently pray she's not a student. The university has a strict no fraternization policy between students and faculty and staff, and all I want to do with this girl is fraternize.

Martha hands her a coffee cup and a small brown bag. Beautiful stranger's hands start shaking so hard I can hear the paper bag rattling. She clenches the bag in her fist and releases it. Clench. Release. Her eyes are wide and fearful. I notice, for the first time, a slight sheen of sweat covering her forehead. What the hell just happened? Martha notices as well. "Are you okay, dear?" she asks, genuine concern apparent on her face.

"I...um...I..." beautiful stranger stammers in reply. She pulls a crumpled bill out of her pocket and tosses it on the counter.

"Yeah...thanks." She turns quickly and practically sprints out of the shop.

I watch through the large front window as the beautiful stranger runs to a bench in front of the shop. She sits, puts her elbows on her knees, bends forward and places her head in her hands. Her shoulder blades rise and fall quickly. Her body starts shaking. Hope is still ahead of me in line, but screw the coffee, I need to get to her. I don't care about her voice or her name or her bottom lip right now. I just need to make sure this woman is okay. I just need her to breathe.

I push past Hope and rush to the door. Martha calls out to me, "Your usual, honey? Large black coffee to go?"

I turn quickly, my left hand on the handle and one foot already out the door. "Yes, please. I'll be right back." I smile and wink at Martha. She beams. Hope swoons. I roll my eyes.

I turn back to the door and see beautiful stranger sit up suddenly and clutch her chest. I run.