A Series of Events

I remember that day. It was a grey day. Chilly for late Spring. Pouring rain.

It started off so warm and sunny, perfect weather for that time of year, so when the dark, angry clouds moved in so suddenly, it took me by surprise. First yellow, then grey.

I stand inside the book store, pondering whether I should make a mad dash for my truck or remain where I am to wait out the rain. I've almost made up my mind to make a break for it when the door opens. I jump back a few steps to move out of the way. Droplets of water splash onto my arms when the boy shakes his long, bleach-blond hair. I find that annoying. Can't he see me standing here? Though I feel invisible, I know I'm not. I push up my thick-rimmed glasses with my middle finger, tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and clear my throat to try and get his attention. He still stands exactly where he came through the door. I'm still planning to swim across the parking lot to my truck, and he's in my way.
His head jerks up at the sound of my throat-clearing. Wet hair is plastered across half his face, hiding his right eye from view. I see that his other eye is green. A mesmerizing color. For a moment I forget that I am annoyed at him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I in your way?" he asks, sounding oblivious.
"Just a bit," I reply, not smiling at all. His dark eyebrows tug together, as if he's trying to understand me and not succeeding. I open my mouth to complain that he got me wet, shaking his head all over the place like a dog who'd just gotten a bath, but he appears so innocent-looking that I shut my mouth and smile slightly. With hair covering his eye, he probably hadn't noticed me standing there when he came in. I remind myself to try not to be so hard on people.
I move around him and am about to push the door open and venture out into the flood when he catches me by surprise, saying, "Don't you want to wait until it slacks off?" I turn to face him. "Well..." I don't really have anything else to say. It's not like I have somewhere to be. No one is really waiting on me.
He smiles, tilts his head in the direction of the built-in coffee shop and says, "Stay for a bit. Just until it stops raining. I'll buy you something to drink to make up for splashing water on you." Ah. So he'd noticed. I squint at him for a second, debating. He doesn't look like an axe murderer or a psychopath. He just looks like a wet boy trying to be nice.
Sighing, I nod my head in agreement. Besides, I am secretly armed with a taser in case of emergencies. So for the most part, I suppose I feel fairly safe.

I remember thinking that, apart from his eyes, this boy isn't very attractive. I could tell from his dark eyebrows that blond was not his natural hair color. It was much too long for my taste. He kept flipping his head to the side to get his hair out of his eyes, which annoyed me, but I tried not to focus on that.
I got a chance to study his profile a little while he ordered the drinks and I sat at one of the tables near the window. He wasn't tall. He wasn't short either. He wasn't skinny, but he wasn't overweight either.  I could tell that he didn't work out, but he also didn't look like the couch potato type. I'm bad at guessing people's ages, so I couldn't tell how old he was. I thought he looked a little younger than me. Maybe a year or two. I guessed he had probably already graduated from high school. Was he in college? Was he working a summer job? This is what I do. I try to figure people out. I try to understand them. I analyze them.

"I got you a scone. The barista said they were made fresh within the hour," the green-eyed boy says, sitting down across from me. I wince. "That was very nice of you, but I can't eat that." He looks confused. I explain further. "I'm gluten-intolerant."
"Oh geez, I'm sorry. I should have asked." He does look sorry. I shake my head and wave my hand in the air, waving the mistake away. "Thanks for the coffee," I say, offering a small smile in his direction. "Look at this; you bought me coffee and I don't even know your name." I don't offer him mine first.
"My name is Matt. Conally. Matt Conally." He smiles again. He seems to give it freely, no strings attached. It's like he has no reason to withhold it.
"Bailey," I say, and this time, I smile back.