the first time

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a/n voila! I'm alive! And still writing this book believe it or not!


50.

TWO WEEKS LATER


It's cold in New York again.

Cold enough for me to stop ordering iced coffee. I underestimated the weather when I ducked out of the house today. Now my oversized flannel is providing no warmth. I wrap it tighter around my body, crossing my arms and clutching the piece of paper in my fist.

Emma and Kate wrote their coffee orders on the sheet of paper. I found it in my back pocket, yellowed. The words Harry is your boyfriend written neatly in faded pencil.

I'm lucky there's a coffee shop three blocks from our house. In the old apartment, the closest place to get coffee besides our kitchen was the Pho place down the street.

My boots tap at the pavement. They're cherry red, with silver sequin designs detailing the sides. I got them at Cam's thrift store. Bold, bright cowboy boots. Emma and I kind of bought them as a gag. But they're actually really comfortable. And I think they're kind of fun.

Kate teased me about them when I shoved them on before heading out the door. I reminded her that I was going outside in the cold to buy us coffee, something she could make us in our kitchen. Something she gets paid to do, and does well. She decided to be grateful and not comment on my fashion choices after that.

I finally make it to the coffee shop, bracing myself from the wind that whips at my shoulders. I pull open the door, the bell chiming loudly to signal my entrance.

A few people glance up from their laptops, but mostly folks are sucked into their screens and don't notice my arrival. The heat blasting from the radiator seeps into my skin and instantly makes me feel better. I sigh and adjust the flannel, uncrumpling the note in my hand and making my way to the front counter.

"Morning," the barista smiles gently.

"Hi there," I reread my awful handwriting. I scribbled down their orders in a bit of a hurry. "Can I get a chamomile tea, a double shot of espresso, and a coconut mocha," I look up for the last drink, knowing my own by heart. "To go."

She nods, typing away at the register. I take the moment to look around the cafe again. I haven't had the opportunity to really be in here yet. But it's so close to the house, and so cute. I'm hoping to come by more often.

My eyes land on a familiar face and I internally groan.

"That'll be $7.40, name for the order?" the barista calls for my attention.

"Quinn." I stick my card into the reader, pulling a few dollars bills out of my pocket to leave in the tip jar. She nods graciously and smiles a bit brighter.

"Thank you so much."

"Have a wonderful day," I offer and remove the card, moving away from the counter and into the sea of tables and chairs. He doesn't see me coming, his eyes glued to his screen.

It isn't until I sit down across from him, shaking the table, that he jumps and looks up.

"Quinn," he blinks.

"Wes," I respond coldly. He drums his fingers against the table. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs awkwardly and reaches for his cup. "It's a coffee shop. I like writing in coffee shops."

"I mean, what are you doing three blocks from my new place?" I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head expectantly. He shakes his own, chuckling to himself.

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