Of Mochas and Macchiatos

Part 6

The spray of the Neptune Fountain attempts to compete with the relentless drizzle that has settled upon the town. The greyness of the day shrouds Astoria in gloom and my breath comes out in puffs of condensation. I have to keep wiping at the screen of my phone with my sleeve to try to clear the screen of fog, but eventually my fingertips start to lose tension with the screen, sliding over its blackness uselessly and I click my phone off and put it in the pocket of my cape jacket. A figure emerges through the mist. Rafe. He, too, wears a hood, but he sweeps it off his head when he sees me, letting the tiny moisture droplets from the heavy fog cling to his tousled hair. I'm not sure if I should take my hood off too. It would be rude to leave it on, right? And my hair will get wet. But he's taken his off, so now I should too. Ugh. We haven't even greeted each other yet and already he's irritating me.

"Hey Leger." He says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Hey." Oh I can be ever so articulate. "So..." I trail off, trying to remember what I had planned to say. "Do you want to go to check out some of the libraries on campus?" God. I feel so awkward. What do I say?

"Sure." Woah, okay. He actually agreed with me? Huh. "But..." Ah, I knew that was coming, and in spite of myself, a smile tugs at my lips. He's so predictable. Of course he'd put off study for a while. What will his excuse be?

"I want to get a coffee first. Is that okay with you, Angel?" I vaguely wonder what his response would be if I just said no. But I really do want a coffee. Ugh, I haven't had one all day.

"Evie. And, uh, yeah. Coffee sounds good." We walk together, through the gloom, hands in pockets, occasionally brushing our arms against one another and then jerking away with surprise and a muttered sorry! The toes of my boots are scuffed and I listlessly kick about a pebble as we stroll towards the bustling coffee shops that line Twinford Street. The silence that settles upon us is suffocating but Rafe seems at ease. I follow his gaze to watch the way that strangers weave in and out of the fog, mere shadows in the darkness. The old-fashioned streetlights are on, and they gently illuminate the streets. "Did you have a place in mind?" I query after we amble past the third coffee shop.

"No. Do you?"

"No." Although I do often crave to be away from crowds and people, this silence is too much. "How about here?" I say abruptly as I stop at the entrance to Latte Lagoons, a place I had never even noticed until now. Rafe shrugs and walks right in, holding the door open for me. What a gentleman. The place glows with a soft light and there are so many people. A couple push past us on their way out, laughing.

"Hey, Angel, why don't you find us a table and I'll get some coffees." He arches an eyebrow and smirks. "I owe you one, remember?" I blush as I remember the day I was practically run over and before I can attempt to justify my thoughtless sputtered declaration in the aftermath of a near death experience, Rafe walks off to join the long line that snakes away from the counter.

I want to argue. Protest that he gets a spot and I get the coffees, but his suggestion is reasonable. And he's paying anyway. Also, I've just realised that he's wrong. He doesn't owe me a coffee. He owes me two actually, considering I paid for our coffees on our last meet up. I don't know why I'm so pedantic about this.

Noah and I always lose track of who paid for what, and since he's been away I haven't gone out for breakfast or anything at all (with the clear exception of that study date thing with Rafe), so it's not like I'm totally broke and can't afford to pay for my mochas. To be honest, I've been doing quite well recently, saving lots and accumulating minute amounts of interest in my bank account. I think the only reason I am so fussed about Rafe owing me things is because I feel that I owe him. My life. As he so aptly put it. And I despise feeling indebted to other people.