I took a deep breath as I walked my way to the table where a man in his late-twenties sat. He has dark brown wavy hair, perfect brows, a bit of stubble and perfect jaw. He was seated like a business man in his suit and loosen tie, legs crossed while reading a book with his reading glasses. I was just guessing it was him I was looking for and as he took a sip of his coffee, I came in front of him and said, "Hi! Mister Manning?" when I got in front of him and gave him the most charming apologetic smile I could give.
"Hi. Miss Emmingfield?" he stood up and offered his palm to shake my hand.
"Yes, but please call me June," I said as I reached out to shake his hand. His hand was warm and I've felt nervous all of a sudden as his warmth crept to my veins.
"Sure, I'm Phil. Please have a seat," he went and dragged the chair for me to sit and gave me the menu, "get yourself whatever you like, please."
"Thank you," I said along with a sigh of nervousness.
He smiled at me and said, "don't be nervous, I'm not going to eat you," he paused before he continued, "at least not in public," and gave out an innocent smile.
I smiled but I didn't know what to say. The awkwardness became overwhelming when I caught myself thinking of another meaning to what he said. 'Oh, dear mind!' I thought.
I gave the waiter my order and he laid his back to the chair, crossed his legs once again and clasped his hands together, "alright," he said, "so June, tell me about yourself. Where you came from, what you're doing now, when you started writing, etcetera."
"I... Uh..." I didn't know where to start so I just blurted out stuff about me. "...I started writing just a few weeks ago, about a couple of months perhaps before I submitted you the story."
He nodded and took a sip of his coffee before saying, "and what inspired you to write that..." he was trying to find the right word, "...interesting- No. Amazing story, I should say?"
I didn't know what to say, I was completely speechless and torn between telling him that I experienced that and lying. "It's... my friend's experience." I lied, "she told me the story the night after that and I thought that was cool and I could just use her story as a plot to my story. So... yeah, that's it, basically."
There was silence after I answered his question. He looked down on his coffee on the table while nodding. The waiter came for my coffee and I gave thanks.
"So, was your friend happy when she was telling you that? Was she..." he paused again finding the words to say, "glad about her experience?"
I wondered what he was trying to say but I gave up thinking about the correct answer so I just answered as I am and how I felt that night for the masked man, "she was very happy. I-My friend kept wondering when she's going to meet him again and finally unmask his handsome face," I caught myself smiling like a love bug just stung me while answering him and realized the last three words I've just said. I didn't take it back to avoid any confusion it might cause him so I looked at his face to try find his reaction first before changing my mind.
He was staring at me not moving at all with a pair of smiling eyes. "Okay," he finally said, "if your friend is going to meet him again, what do you think her reaction would be?"
"I'm sure she'd be very happy," I said with no hesitation.
I've felt sadness run all over me right after what I said. I don't know if I'd actually meet him again. I don't think he recognizes me when he sees me at school and I don't think he'd like to meet me again. I don't know him so I don't know where it will go even if I fell in love with that masked man. And I wish I asked his name. At least.
"What if they meet again in one of your stories?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you wrote a good story and for sure our readers would love a part two," he said, "I would like you to write the second part of the story. I will publish this first book in my name for now but I will give you a contract to write the second book and I will publish that in your name. You will also get paid a reasonable amount of money as an author, not just a ghost writer."
I was shocked and I just had no words to say after the amazing offer. I was going to say 'yes' but I thought, what about my studies? "I'm studying so I can't be a-"
"Oh! That." he raised his finger, "you can write whenever you feel like it as long as you submit it in few months time since it will just be a short story like the first one. I will keep checking on you every two weeks to check your progress and to pay you too during those times. Also, I know a perfect place near your school where you can write without distraction. I will take you there if you say yes right this moment."
"A place?" I asked.
"Want to see it?"
"You see," he said with eyes still nailed on the road, "I like the fact that you wrote this story based on a true story. The things you wrote, as I was reading it, made me feel that it actually happened. I should say, you are very impressive. That your first story?"
Flattered, I said, "yes. Thank you."
"Impressive." nodding.
It took us a few seconds of silence before I got to tell him what I have been thinking since we started talking. "You know," I said, "you look very familiar."
The car came to a stop just a few blocks from the right side of the University. He got out of the car smiling and went to my side to open the door and let me out. "I should," he smiled and took his steps towards the entrance.
The place looked very decent and clean. There were flowers outside, a proper lobby inside. Brown desks and wooden furniture all around with white cushion.
I was admiring the look of the place having a classic elegant look when a maid at her 50's came out of the lift and greeted Phil in Spanish with a very warm recognizing smile. "Hola, Señorito! Como estas?"
"Hola, Pamela," he said smiling at her while walking past her without stopping, "muy bien, gracias, pero-"
"Si, Señorito. No problem," and she waved as we got into the elevator.
"Gracias. Have a great day, Pamela," he said turning around and we heard her say okay as the lift closed.
We got in front of the room number 0420 when he took his keys from his pocket and gave me one of those without saying anything. Duplicate obviously. "I hardly come home. I just basically come to shower, get some clothes and leave again," he said.
My jaw dropped as he opened the door. The cleanliness and organization of the place was amazing. Books, paintings, dark wood, cozy leather couch, cream colored carpet, "this is amazing!" I exclaimed, "but the curtains, I'm sure it will be brighter if you..." I turned around and saw that he looked uncomfortable, "...what's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's just, this is the first time I've let someone in here."
