Every String Attached | GirlxGirl

Chapter Twelve

Shawn was bracing herself for the worst. She was good at that—she'd had a lot of practice in it. Even though throughout high school and university she succeeded, both academically and socially, she always expected the worst possible outcome, even if it had a slim chance of happening.

But with this, there was a very high possibility that York would completely ignore her note and Shawn would spend the entire day sitting out here for no reason at all. She reminded herself that there was reason, though. Even if York exited the restaurant and walked right beside her, climbing into her car and driving away, that proved something, didn't it? She said she would wait, and she did. She was hopeful that York would see it that way, anyways.

As the day went on, and the sun travelled from East to West, Shawn grew restless. It was only 1PM by the time that she was considering leaving. York most likely had a full day shift, leading well into the evening. She would starve here.

Her stomach was grumbling, her fingers were cold, and her legs were numb. She began giving up hope then, after waiting for four hours with no response. Then again, Shawn was an impatient person in general. She waited another hour before standing up, leaving the bench that had been her resting spot for the slowest and most anticipation filled five hours.

Her feet slammed against the concrete. She wasn't as mad as she was let down. And it may not be York's fault, but she was too stubborn to admit that it wasn't. As she became farther away from the building, distancing herself and the restaurant, she became furious with York.

That was until there was a soft tap against her shoulder—so light, she barely felt it, and easily could've passed it off as a snowflake or a passerby on accident—and she turned around, facing the blonde.

Out of breath, her hands on her hips, shoulders hunched in slightly. Shawn immediately noticed the red lipstick that was messy on her lips, staining her teeth. She hadn't seen York this close up before.

She had never felt relief like that. There was nothing like turning away from something, only to have it chase after you and tap you on the shoulder. Literally.

"I'm sorry, I—" Shawn began. She held her hand to her face when she stopped, smacking her forehead with her palm as she was suddenly overcome with realization and stupidity.

York smiled, the kind of grin that would usually accompany a laugh. But of course, she remained silent.

And then, after a moment of awkward staring—Shawn seemingly having forgotten why York had run after her in the first place—York held up the note she'd received, extending it to Shawn and raising an eyebrow.

Pushing her sliding glasses up the bridge of her nose, Shawn nodded, remembering what this interaction meant and where it would end up. From the inside of her sleeve, she retrieved the crumpled, smothered letter, and handed it to York.

She read it right there, in front of Shawn. On one hand, that was good. Shawn was able to read her emotions and how she felt about it. On the other, she was extremely self-conscious about what she'd written, and just her writing in general. Maybe it was too cheesy, or too over the top. She was reciting it in her head now, and cringing as she did so.

York,
I don't know much about you, other than a few things.

1.      You work at Starbucks
2.     Most of your physical features (i.e. Blonde hair and bangs, tall)
3.      You're name, which I already covered
4.      You're deaf
5.      On November 18th, you thought that I was on a date with a girl at the Starbucks where you work

But #5 isn't true. I'm an editor, and she's a writer. I was meeting with her to discuss her novel. I know what it looked like, but I promise you, it was nothing like that.