The Coffee Pact

3| Deal with the Devil

My theory is proven when I turn up at The Coffee Pod. I'd hoped last night had been a one-off, but the moment I stroll up, I can see him through the coffee shop window.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. He's sitting in the same patchwork armchair as yesterday, two coffee cups in front of him – one no doubt empty – and clutching the book he was reading at lunch. The fireplace behind him steadily cackles away, casting a faint yellow glow across his cheeks.

The warmth of the coffee house calls me. It's colder outside than it was this morning, and the thick, bitter air feels like ice against my cheeks. The lure of the fireplace and a hot cup of coffee is almost too tempting. But the thought of facing Jake again is enough to make me want to leave.

A gust of wind suddenly whips up my hair, sending flecks of ice into my eyes. I grit my teeth and open the door, welcomed by a wave of hot air. My body tingles as I scan the coffee house, praying Jake won't notice me, but it's too late for that.

As soon I make my way to the counter, he looks at me. I thought I was imagining it at first, him staring in my direction, but this is the second time. I ignore him and give my brightest smile to Amelia.

She must be happy because, for the first time in history, she smiles back. "What can I get you?"

I inspect the black chalkboard like I might order something different. They've added some new options with Halloween next month, like Spiced Caramel latte and Pumpkin Surprise. For a moment, I'm tempted to break away from routine.

"Just a black coffee," I say.

Amelia smirks. "I thought for a moment there that you were going to surprise me."

Ignoring her, I study the counter, praying that when I turn, Jake will be gone. When my coffee is ready, I grab a paper straw, put it in my cup, and take it over to my usual spot. Praying must not work, because Jake is still sitting there, watching me. I ignore him and settle into my usual routine: unzip bag, retrieve sketchbook, draw. I try to get comfortable, but it's hard when someone's watching you.

I sip at my coffee, focusing on sketching the nightmare from this morning. I'm so consumed that when I finally look up and see Jake sitting opposite, I jump. "Gah!"

He studies me intently from over his cup. His face is a lot more chiseled up close, all sharp edges and angles. His jawline is narrow, his chin pronounced, but his bright eyes seem to soften his features, leaving him looking youthful.

"You drink too much coffee," he says.

I blink at him, surprised. "Better than drinking whiskey."

He flashes his perfect Jake Carpenter grin. "I wasn't aware they were the only two options."

I get over my initial shock and carry on sketching, hoping he'll get the hint, but he doesn't move a muscle. Finally, I clear my throat. "Sorry, did you need something?"

"Nope, just enjoying my coffee. What are you sketching?" He leans in closer like he's trying to catch a peek, so I tilt my sketchbook toward me.

"Nothing," I say, "and you're breaking the coffee house rules."

He raises an eyebrow. "Rules?"

"Yes, rules." I'm not trying to be rude, but it's hard not to remember the countless times I've seen Jake Carpenter get his way. He's the school's star quarterback, which means he doesn't seem to have to follow the same rules as the rest of us. Hasn't done his homework? It doesn't matter. Late to school? Quarterbacks need their rest. Absent again? He just needs to recover, the game was particularly taxing last night.