Wattpad Original
There are 10 more free parts

1| I like my men how I like my coffee: hot and bitter

504K 9K 8.5K
                                    

A/N

Dear readers,

I'm excited to announce that The Coffee Pact has been selected by Wattpad to be a part of Wattpad Paid Stories. I know that you guys have always supported me through voting and through your lovely comments, and I hope that you can continue to support this program and reward the writers you love. ❤️

1

Legend has it that 9th-century goat herders were the first to notice the effects of caffeine. When a goat began to "dance" after eating the Coffea plant, a local monk made a drink from the fruit and found it kept him awake; thus was born the first caffeinated beverage and my only bad habit: coffee.

My poison of choice is an espresso, black. I take a sip and cradle my cup, sparking some life into my hands. It's early September, and the ground outside the coffee house is dusted with snow–my least favorite weather.

I stifle a yawn with my hand. The Coffee Pod is the only coffee house in Artwood to stay open past midnight, making it the perfect sanctuary for insomniacs like myself. Aside from me, there are three other customers here at this time. I can't help but wonder what brings them here so late, whether they're just desperate for coffee or if, like me, something is keeping them awake.

In the corner armchair is a tall, skinny man in his early twenties, half-hidden by his laptop. Two empty coffee cups sit neatly beside him, and a third is on the way. I lean forward in my armchair, watching him type. Maybe he's a secret agent working hard to decode programs for some top government mission, or maybe he just needs to use The Coffee Pod's free WiFi.

A woman is sprawled across the old leather couch, her nose stuck in a hardback as she clutches a cappuccino. From the way she is dressed, she looks like a businesswoman or maybe an accountant, someone who could probably afford their own upscale coffee machine.

That isn't what this place is about, though. No home coffee machine can satisfy these people because it's not about the coffee: it's the atmosphere, surrounded by people while still alone. See, that monk didn't just create a drink when he discovered coffee; he created a community.

I wish I could say that's what brings me here, but it's not. I don't come for the WiFi or to feel a little less alone; I'm here because I'm scared to sleep. The roaring fireplace and the countless shots of espresso help to stave off the darkness for a little bit longer.

Before I can examine the third customer, the door swings open. A blast of cold air follows the figure inside, and I rub at my arms to keep them warm. Only the back of his head is visible as he strides toward the counter, but from how he scrutinizes the chalkboard, he's a newbie.

He's tall – ridiculously so – and wearing an old, pale blue hoodie and faded blue jeans. I'm too far away to hear what he orders, but from how the waitress, Amelia, is staring, he must be good-looking.

I turn to study the final customer, an old man with glasses, thinning white hair, and red-rimmed eyes. He looks at least sixty, and he possesses the kind of withered blue eyes you see in old movies–the kind that has seen too much and done too little. Maybe a war veteran or one of those old guys who make bad choices and then spend the rest of their years regretting them.

He looks up, and for a second, I think he has noticed me. His eyes soften. He isn't looking at me at all; he's looking past me at the moon.

I focus on my coffee again. I wonder what people would think about me if they ever noticed me: Mia Hope, a seventeen-year-old girl with dark hair, darker eyes, and a sketchbook glued to her hand. No interesting story, no defining characteristics–just a girl who blends into the background.

The Coffee PactWhere stories live. Discover now