Explosive

33 || Sketches

~Shout out unidoggo to for taking the time to read Explosive. Please be sure to check out this beautiful soul.

Today is a slow day at the café. The street is closed off due to construction work and people seem to assume that the shop is closed. Blake and I work quietly alongside each other to fill the few orders that do come in. After finally opening up to each other we have fallen into a comfortable sense of understanding.

The bell above the door rings and two familiar figures enter, laughing and shoving each other as they do. Both of them have gym bags slung over their shoulders. Cynthia gives me an excited wave as she approaches the counter. "So good to see you working here," she says, taking a seat. Todd avoids my eyes as he sits beside her. Neither one us have acknowledged that Todd broke his promise to not smoke. A naïve part of me was convinced that I was helping him quit. Guess I was wrong about that.

"What are you guys doing here?" Blake asks, slapping Todd's hand and giving Cynthia a nod.

"We were going to the gym and thought we would drop by," Cynthia replies, dropping her bag to the floor. Her face is bare of makeup and hair is up in a bun. Despite this, she still looks like she just walked off a runway. She is effortlessly gorgeous in every way.

"Do you guys want something?" I ask, pointing to the menu.

"Some coffee will be nice," Cynthia says while Todd shakes his head. Blake places his elbows on the counter and leans forward while I grab a mug.

"Coming right up," I say with a smile, happy to have something to do.

"Are you guys excited for November-fest?" Cynthia asks which makes the boys groan. Hearing their reaction, she rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "You guys are so lame."

"I'm not lame. Just don't do dances," Blake mumbles, throwing a rag over his shoulder. He bends down to pick up some change. Laurel was right about the view. My cheeks redden and I shake my head, ridding myself of the creepy thoughts.

"The dude doesn't have a date for the dance," Todd adds with a snicker. "No one wants to date his sorry ass. Not to mention the fact that he doesn't do relationships." He's joking of course but there is just a twinge of acidity in his voice.

"Don't be such an ass," Cynthia says, giving him a punch before turning back to us. "You don't need a date for the dance," she adds as I push the drink towards her. Immediately she wraps her hands around the cup and lets out a sigh. When her phone rings, she steps to the side to answer it, leaving me alone with Blake who is staring daggers at Todd. These two idiots never get along.

Cynthia is sipping her coffee while she stares out the window, chattering away on her phone. On her way back to the bar she trips, spilling her drink across the floor. "Are you alright?" I ask and she nods. Blake and I reach for the mop at the same time. In the end, he is the one to help Cynthia with the mess.

Todd rummages around his gym bag and slides something across the counter towards me. My stomach does a summersault when I realize that it's a signed poster of David Beckham. "Josh told me that you like soccer." At the mention of Josh, a gloominess settles over my heart. For the last few days, he's been holed up in his room, only coming out to grab something to eat. Things aren't good at home. I'm considering talking to my guidance counselor about it but I'm not sure if that would be a good idea.

"I do," I answer, picking up the poster.

"I'm really sorry for breaking my promise to you," he continues. His grey eyes stare at me expectantly and something clicks.

"Do you know someone who is a cop?" I ask. His features twisted into a look of confusion as he considers my words.

"My half-brother is a cop," he replies with a shake of his head. "How do you know that?"

Blinking rapidly, I try to find the words. At this point, my past is no longer a secret. Aditi and Todd most likely know about the robbery. "He got assigned to my case."

"Case?" Wrinkles spread across his forehead. "Oh." The confusion is replaced with realization.

"Yeah." Behind him, Blake is mopping the floor as Cynthia pushes the chairs aside.

"I haven't spoken to my half-brother in years. He's from my dad's first marriage," Todd says with a shrug as he pulls at the strings of his sweater. "But I heard he's good at what he does." Hearing this is comforting because I have some doubts about Detective Miller.

"I hope so." A strange wave of silence falls over us and I take that moment to study David Beckham. "Thanks for this. It's sweet. But I really think you should get some help for the smoking."

He doesn't get a chance to say anything because Cynthia taps his shoulder. "We have to get out of here, man. It's time to hit the gym." He gives her a solemn nod and picks up his bag. Before they head out, Todd says that if we were chickens, we would have been impeccable. Everyone moans at his lame attempt at a joke but he just snickers and waves goodbye to us.

"Moore, you okay?" Blake questions, holding up a scone. "If not, I know something that might help."

Later that night, Blake is counting the money in the cash register and I'm sitting at one of the tables. My sketchbook is propped open in front of me but my mind is elsewhere. "That looks really good," Blake says, jarring me from my daydreaming. The sketch is a rough one and is of the man that is usually outside the café. Blake spins a chair around and takes a seat, running his fingers through his thick hair. "Is it cool if I take a look?"

I don't want to show him the sketchbook, mostly because some of the recent sketches actually feature someone, he's quite familiar with. His dark eyes stare at me keenly, waiting for my permission. Letting out a sigh, I nod. He gently flips through the sketchbook, only stopping when he comes across what I was worried about him seeing.

It's him. My last two sketches are of him.

In one of them, he's standing behind the counter with a cookie in his hand and a wide grin on his face. The other one is of him playing the guitar. I feel embarrassed and want to melt into the floor.

His lips twitch and his eyebrows go up. "I look so happy," he mumbles, running his thumb across one of the sketches.

"Yeah." My neck is burning and I can't take it anymore. I excuse myself and duck into the washroom.

When I return, my sketchbook lays closed on the counter. Blake is silent as he tugs on his leather jacket and adjusts his beanie. "You ready to go?" he asks, giving me a crooked grin. A warm and blissful feeling spreads across my body at his smile.