Josie was only across the room. She stood there in black jeans and a yellow jumper Maisie had picked out a couple of months ago in a vintage store around the corner from Josie's house. There was no reason to go on that side of town anymore. George squeezed her hand. Maisie turned her head, but he was only looking at the menu. She tried to look at it too, tried to think of what coffee she even normally got, but Josie's presence filled up her head and squeezed everything else out. Her laugh flooded Maisie's ears and she really couldn't do anything but listen. She turned back to look, but Josie was facing the other way now, curly hair barely covering the back of her neck, where she'd gotten a tattoo of a flower and never told anyone what it meant.
"What are you looking at?" George said. His face tilted down to hers, a familiar frown on his face.
Her eyes wanted to slide back to watch Josie. She forced herself to hold his gaze. "Nothing. What are you ordering?"
George scoffed. Then, his face softened. Maisie felt a familiar knot in her stomach; she couldn't tell if she liked it or not, or whether she should. It didn't always stay there, but it came and went when his eyes found her. It wasn't quite like the butterflies, but it was close, and that was all she asked for. She wondered if he felt like it too. His voice was as level as it always was. "An espresso, probably. I guess you'll want one too?"
Maisie hummed at the chalkboards above the barista's head. "I might get a frappe or something."
"What for?" There was humour in his voice, but he didn't laugh.
Maisie shrugged. "Fun, I guess. An espresso is fine too, if you're paying." George always liked to pay, even though they both knew that he wasn't much more capable of that than she was. In fact, with her shifts at the bakery, she was probably the one who should have paid. But he'd always paid, and so he seemingly always would.
"No, no," he whipped out his wallet, "I'll get you a frappe."
"Are you sure?"
He stared down at her. "Why wouldn't I be sure?"
All she could do was shrug. He turned away, and Maisie took the chance to scan the cafe again. Josie had gone to a table with a few people who looked like they were on a lunch break, smart casual shirts loosely tucked in, sipping coffee and checking watches. A heavy weight in her stomach settled as she realised she didn't know who any of these people were, and yet Josie was laughing along, completely oblivious. Maisie was about to look away when Josie's head snapped up. Their eyes locked together. Josie levelled her gaze, expression unchanging.
George tugged on her arm, ripping Maisie's eyes away. Her skin felt icy, watched. He held out a plastic cup topped with whipped cream, face aglow.
"Thanks," she said, taking it, "you really didn't have to do that."
"Of course I did," he said, looking over her shoulder, "I love you."
"I love you too," she said at his smiling face.
He pointed to a free table and hurried over, ignoring a frustrated looking pair of women who had been leaning into a buggy, rattling toys and brushing off crumbs. Maisie winced and nodded apologetically to them, joining him at the table. The chair creaked as she sat down, wooden back digging into her spine. George reclined with his tiny coffee cup in his hand, stretching out his legs until they reached her lap. She shifted them across, the smooth surface of the worn down soles ruined with gritty dirt. She brushed off her palms and sipped her drink. He didn't speak, so she listened to the sounds of distant conversation, plastic cup cold on her palm, burning a little. She put it down.
"I figured we could go to mine after this, practise some stuff," George suggested, placing a hand on the sticky table.
"I have to be at work in two hours," she said, picking her cup back up. It left a ring of condensation on the wood. "But I could come after."
