I met Kyle in a café I used to work at, Nuni’s. I was a waitress there, sporting a red apron with a smiley-faced toast logo on it, and he was a handsome businessman who visited every week, sitting at the same table to order the same meal: pulled rotisserie chicken sandwich, sliced bananas, a pickle, and a green smoothie. I always thought it was a strange meal and had even teased him a little about it during his visits. He told me not to judge it until I tried it. We joked about it so much that he finally asked me to join him after my shift to try the meal for myself. He said he had meetings, but was willing to postpone them and wait for me. I did, and I admit, it wasn’t bad, even if I wasn’t a fan of pickles.
We laughed, he flirted, and I blushed. We exchanged numbers that very night, and he sent me a text every single morning and visited the restaurant for lunch several times a week. From that moment on, Kyle and I became inseparable.
Now, it’s move-in day. Kyle had his own loft apartment in New York, where I had