Chapter 3

Sapphire Watterson

I said goodbye to Boss Shawn, picked up my bag, and pulled Yolanda along with me. She squealed in pain, either because my grip was too tight or because she was acting. I didn’t pay her any attention until we were almost out of the building, and I stumbled into a hard figure wearing a soft button-up tee. I winced, and Yolanda took that as her cue to say goodbye. However, the person I bumped into didn’t even acknowledge me. I had to look up to see him quietly dusting his shirt like he had come dirt, then sidestepping me to walk into the shop.

I stood there confused, wondering what the heck was happening and why Mr. No Name had just walked in like he owned the building. My first instinct was to shout, “We’re closed, you bat.” Bats are blind, and he must be one, seeing that there’s a “Closed” sign just outside the shop. I didn’t shout this, though. I’d had enough for one day, and I didn’t want Boss Shawn to give me a second strike. Besides, I promised to get our reputation back to the top, and hissing this man out wouldn’t be of any help.

I cleared my throat, mustering a lot of patience to walk up to the man. For the first time, I realized that he was wearing a white button-up shirt and a blue suit, which matched his appearance. His hair was buzzed cut, and he was wearing a silver wristwatch that made him look like he came from wealth. I glanced at the black shoes he had on, and to say the least, I wasn’t surprised anymore. He probably came from wealthy parents, had the whole world at his feet because he was rich, and didn’t even regard anyone.

I couldn’t care less about him, though. My parents may not be rich, but at least I have manners and a slight amount of decency left to be the bigger person and tell him in a language he understands because…I gasped. ‘He probably is blind, and he hadn’t seen the notice,’ my subconscious reasoned. I wanted to push the thoughts aside, but then, he didn’t even look at me when we collided. ‘He did not see me, and that means one thing: he’s blind,’ my subconscious said again, and this time, I gasped in horror, grateful that I hadn’t said anything bad. I carefully walked up to him.

“Sir, we’re closed for today. I’m so sorry about your condition, but I can help you out and maybe call someone — anyone who might be of help to you to get you home…” I rambled, and he turned to me, one eyebrow up, and I immediately lost my breath.

Do you get panic attacks from just looking at a person? I felt my legs unable to move, my breath hitching. My whole body felt like it was suddenly frozen in time, and the only thing I could do at the moment was swallow hard. The air was quite stuck in my nostrils, and an imaginary lump kept forming in my throat. I forgot how to speak. It was the first time someone had ever made me this speechless to the point that I couldn’t fully get a grasp of whatever else was going on with me except staring at this man’s face.

I opened my mouth to say something, maybe a hello or “You’re brain-damaging handsome and painstakingly the most beautiful person I’ve seen today, although blind.” My subconscious added the last part, and I scowled at the thought.

“Did you say the condition?” Even his baritone was beautiful and husky, almost like it was the first time he was speaking. He zeroed his sea-blue eyes on me steadily, fixated on me in disbelief and confusion written all over his defined jaw and button nose, which complemented his perfectly shaped lips.

I swallow a lump again. “You know, there’s a notice outside the building which says we’re closed. I thought you’d be blind if you didn’t see it.” I was being honest. Mr. Blue Eyes and No Name didn’t look like he appreciated my honesty, though, which I don’t see why, considering his… you know?

“Black,” he said suddenly, and my face contorted into a deep worry. This must be sad to witness. I may be crass and quick to use my fists, but I know deep down I worry about a lot of people who have had a sad share of the fortune.

“Oh no. I know that’s what the world looks like. Black and empty and heartbreaking. It sucks,” I replied, sadness etched in my brows and heart to hear that he viewed the world as an empty black sphere.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Black. That’s the color of your jacket,” he clarified, and for a moment, I was stunned. I looked down at the monochrome trousers, white top, and the black leather jacket I wore with sneakers. My eyes widened in realization.

“What the—” This time, I brought my gaze to rest on his face, which had lost its confusion, but disdain was still smeared all over. I swallowed another heavy imaginary lump of nervousness.

“You thought I was blind?”

“Obviously. You walked in right after the notice said we’re closed.”

“That doesn’t change that you’re despicable and a more terrible person at showing sympathy.”

Okay. I’ve had enough. Remind me again, who walked into closed doors and sat down like he owned the building? And despicable? Dude, I’m the one who was bumped into without even saying an apology, and yet I’m terrible? ‘Maybe he got the guts to react this way if he is the owner of the building,’ my subconscious reasoned. That didn’t justify his annoying attitude, and yet that made me think twice before I said another word.

I tried again, “I’m sorry, I thought you were blind, and I honestly was trying to show my sympathy. My grandma went blind before she died. We didn’t even notice when it happened until she walked right into a pole, thinking she was hugging my father.” I chuckled wryly at the memory.

Blue Eyes gave me a disinterested look that made me think I was probably stupid. I bit the inside of my cheeks. “And that happened last week?” he finally asked. I was a bit taken aback by the fact that I was talking about my grandma with this stranger.

“It happened when I was ten. It’s been a long time, though, and I’m fine, so you don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

His face remained blank. “Then that’s even sadder because it shows how slow-witted you are,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was telling me that a cup was a cup. I could feel my nostrils flare up in anger.

“Excuse me, Mr. Rude Blue Eyes, but you’re the one who walked into a closed café. Are you that—”

“A cup of café mocha,” he said suddenly, opening up his wallet and dropping a dollar note.