I have a busy week ahead of me in my classes, so I spend most of Saturday doing schoolwork. I hate wishing days away, but I can’t help but be excited for Sunday. Charlie said that he would see me soon, and now that he knows I won’t be awkward towards him, surely he’ll be back to the Lighthouse.

When Sunday morning does arrive, I wake up extra early to get ready for work. Even though I’ll just be wearing something basic under my apron, and my hair will be in a ponytail, I want to spend a little extra time trying to look nice.

My long, light auburn hair has a natural wave, but I often opt to use a curling iron, refining the waves into large, loose curls. I do so today, only after pulling it into a higher, slightly perkier ponytail than usual. I spend extra time on my makeup, too, reminding myself repeatedly of the day and time. Sunday mornings and smokey eyes were likely never meant to coexist, save for Saturday night's leftover streaks.

I throw on a loose, gray t-shirt and dark jeans. After rolling the ends of the sleeves a bit, I decide lastly to wear three of my favorite rings.

I finish opening the café with enough time to eat some breakfast and have a cup of tea before customers start to arrive. Once I begin taking orders, the café becomes steadily busy. Mr. Miller is helping me behind the counter, but it is nearly eleven o’clock when I finally get a break.

I feel pathetically upset while I sit on my usual stool and allow it to sink in that he likely isn’t coming. I instinctively check my phone, and then I smile, mocking myself, because of course, he doesn’t have my number. And a phone number takes only one space on the countless list of things that I wish I knew about him.

I convince myself that next time I see him, I’ll learn a lot more. I learned so many things in the short, but stressful time that we were together on Friday. I decide to list them, mentally of course, to take my mind off the fact that I probably won’t see him today:

1. He lives in a nice little house that is too cute for a boy.

2. He has a dog, and otherwise lives alone.

3. His physical strength is truly astonishing. Seeing him lift another man by the shoulders was proved this.

4. However, he has the sweetest, gentlest disposition.

5. He has a good sense of humor, but he takes everything to heart.

6. He has soft hands.

7. His dark blue eyes calmed me when I should have been afraid for my life.

8. He saved me.

As I’m finishing the mental list, lingering on number eight, I hear the familiar bell sound coming from the front door and I look up to see Charlie walking towards me with a smile that pulls up slightly more to the right than the left. It’s playful and genuine.

He is wearing dark jeans and a long sleeve grey shirt; we basically match. I've never seen him in anything but athletic wear. He looks casual, but put together.

He holds his phone in one hand and keys and a brown leather wallet in the other and I notice that he, too, is wearing rings.

“Hello Stella, Mr. Miller,” he nods in Mr. Miller’s direction before turning his attention back to me.

“Hi, Charlie,” I love that I can call him by name now. “Would you like your usual?”

He pauses for a second and looks to the ground, running a now free hand through his wavy brown locks. He isn’t wearing his thin headband. His hair looks similar on the sides, but the top is more tousled looking, hanging more closely to his face and sweeping slightly to one side.

“Actually,” he says, “I though I’d stop by and see if you wanted to get lunch? I don’t know when your break is. If you don’t want to-“

“Oh Stella, why don’t you go ahead?” I had forgotten Mr. Miller’s presence before he spoke up, “I can handle things here. Just go to lunch early.”

“Okay—" I start to say.

“You don't have to feel obligated. Come only if you want,” Charlie says lightly, but nervously.

“Of course I want to. Let me just grab my bag. Thank you so much, Mr. Miller. Do you want anything while we’re out?” I ask my boss, catching a glimpse of him smiling extra widely at me.

“No Miss Stella, I’m alright. You two have fun,” he says, and then I see him wink at Charlie.

When we make it out onto the sidewalk and I’m no longer wearing my apron, I glance at his outfit again.

“Are you sure you aren’t too embarrassed that we’re kind of dressed the same?” I ask and we both laugh.

“I’m fine if you are,” He says.

I start to walk in the direction of my car, until I notice that he stops. “I’m parked this way actually," he notes. "Unless of course, you don’t trust my driving,” and he smiles and bites his bottom lip, almost laughing.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t think that you had a car. I only ever see you walking.”

I start towards him and he waits for me to pass a bit before following behind.

“We have a lot to learn about each other, Stella.” Yes we do.

“Where is your—"

“Right here,” he says, and he gestures towards an obviously classic, white vintage mustang.

“Wow. I wonder if my car will ever be considered a cool kind of old like this,” I say, and I smile in his direction. I am almost embarrassed to have had him in my car after seeing his, but I can tell that he isn’t the sort of person to mind those things.

It isn’t until I’m sitting in the passenger seat and Charlie is pulling away from the curb that I really think about the fact that he has asked me to lunch. I automatically smile.

He slides on a pair of sunglasses and smiles at me, “How long do I have you for?”

“An hour,” I say out loud, but in my head I am thinking that I would like it to be a lot longer. I find him so interesting.

“Do you have a place in mind?” I ask.

“Of course I do, Stella. I wouldn’t have picked you up without some sort of plan,” he defends, still smiling, but focused ahead on the road. “Unless there is something specific that you want.”

“No, I want to go where you planned,” I say, still looking at him. Until recently, he had never let me see him smile. Now, he seems to smile constantly. I like it very much.

“I thought I’d take you to Huxley’s. Have you heard of it?”

“No, but I haven’t tried many different places in Clemson yet, so it will be good to try something new.”

"I hope you like it. I think you will," he reassures himself. "We can eat outside. They have a patio that overlooks a stream.”

“Can you hear the water?” I ask. I haven’t been near a stream since I left home. I used to love lying next to it in the grass and reading, or just thinking.

“Yes, you can,” and he smiles again, but keeps his lips closed.

Charlie props his elbow up on the center console and brings his hand towards his lips, running his index finger along the bottom one. I examine his rings. They are large, silver bands with simple designs. Simple and classic, but cool, like him.

The silence is comfortable between us, but there are so many things I want to know about him.

“So, how old are you?” I ask simply.

“I am twenty. My birthday is the first of June. How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen, and I’ll be nineteen on January twenty-seventh,” I say exactly, and he nods.

“Are you relieved?” I add, “It would have been awkward if we'd found out there was a ten year difference.”

He laughs, “That may have been uncomfortable, yes.”

Charlie asks me how I began working at the café and before I know it, we’re at the restaurant.

It is an excellent location. It isn’t near anything else, and the view from the balcony does remind me of home, especially the sound of the stream.

“What can I get you to drink?” The waitress asks. There aren’t many other people eating, and we are alone on the balcony.

Charlie looks to me to order first, “Could I have a cherry coke, please?” The waitress nods.

“Can I get a coke as well? Just plain, thank you.” Charlie adds. He smiles at me when the waitress leaves. “I like that you don’t drink diet.”

“That’s just what I was thinking,” I say, and he chuckles as I look towards the stream. “The sounds are making me nostalgic.”

I close my eyes for a second and take in a deep breath, appreciating the atmosphere. When I open them, Charlie is looking at me worriedly.

“We can eat inside if you’d rather, we can go somewhere else entirely…”

“No, no I love this. It just reminds me of home, but it’s very nice. There is a stream by my house that I used to spend a lot of time by and I miss it. I’m glad that you brought me here,” I smile, meaning so honestly the last words.

“Where are you from?” He asks.

I tell him the name of my tiny town, giving reference to larger places nearby and letting him know the distance from Clemson.

"My parents and I live on a bit of property," I say, "Our house is simple and the property isn’t immaculate by any standard, but I love it. Where are you from?”

“I lived with my aunt and uncle in Savannah before I moved here.” He breaks eye contact with me, and even though I want to ask where his parents were, I decide against it.

“Savannah, Georgia?” I ask to confirm.

“Yes” he says with a nod, still looking away. I decide to change the subject.

“So are you going to school?” I don’t have any motives asking the question, but I get the feeling that I haven't made him any more comfortable.

“I'm not,” he answers. “After high school, I was offered lots of opportunities to continue boxing, and I went with those instead. I could start saving money and I wouldn’t have to depend on my aunt and uncle anymore financially. It sounded like the better option.”

He speaks confidently, but I am still afraid that he will think I’m affected by his choice to skip college.

“That makes sense,” I say, and he finally looks at me again. “Unlike you, I am talentless, so I need a degree to prove that I am capable of doing a job.”

He laughs and I’m so glad. He doesn’t seem emotional to me, necessarily, but I can tell that he is sensitive. I love that about him, and I know that I can correct any misinterpretation that may lead him to feel insecure.

The waitress appears with our drinks and asks us what we would like to order. We both look at each other, because we haven’t really been studying the menu.

“Would you want to just split a pizza, by any chance?” I ask Charlie, because it suddenly sounds good, and it was the only thing that I saw when I glanced at the menu. He agrees and the waitress leaves.

“So what are you studying exactly?” He asks, taking a drink from his soda. I am glad that he feels comfortable now, talking to me about school.

“Psychology. I want to work mostly with teenagers who are having trouble at home, or at school, or in their relationships,” I say, and I look back towards the stream.

“That is interesting,” he says, “What made you decide that?”

“Well…” I pause, because I never talk about my own problems to anyone but my parents, really. Something about Charlie though, makes me want to be wholly honest with him.

I decide to tell a brief version of the truth, “I had some problems with someone when I was in high school and seeing a therapist helped me a lot.”

When I look at Charlie, he has a worried frown on his face, his brow tight. I suspect that he wants to know whom I am referring to and the nature of the “problems,” so before he can ask, I continue.

“I don’t open up that easily, and it’s hard for me to talk about, or even to understand my own emotions sometimes. I like learning about other people, though. She – my therapist – let me ask her about her profession, and about what it felt like to help people until I was comfortable enough to… work through things. It was a good experience. I want to give the same to someone else.”

He is quiet for a moment, when he speaks his voice comes raspy and quiet, “I think you’ll be very good at that, Stella.”

He smiles at me, but there is sadness in his dark blue eyes.