"Oh, I didn't order this"
"It's from that guy over there"
☕☕☕
One blueberry milkshake, a stranger sitting next to her, a cheerful waitress. The play begins.
Wott, the coffee shop close to Avery's school, is the stage for the act she plays, again and...
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The chilly wind hit my face harshly, but this time I had a jacket.
Walking through the glass double doors, I was drowned in the smell of freshly baked sweets and pastries, and a smile found its way to my face.
"Good morning," I beam and lay James's jacket on his lap as soon as I walk in, taking my place by his side.
"Hey," he says absentmindedly. He's looking at some papers on the counter in deep concentration.
I was used to seeing him like that sometimes, too caught up in his things. I don't mind it because when he pays attention to me; it is as if no one else is around.
James is really cute when he is focused. It is an adorable sight, from the eyebrows scrunched up to the parted lips. Once, I pushed the arm his head was resting on out of annoyance and he almost hit his forehead on the counter. That was the first and only time he was vexed at me.
At the beginning of the school year, the first time we met, I just sat on one of these stools, drinking a blueberry milkshake. Sitting two stools away was him, drinking coffee and reading a book, one of those enormous books that seems boring no matter what. For all the time I've known him, he was always quiet, minding his own business.
We started with stolen glances that turned into greetings, small talk, and finally, heart to heart conversations. We got to know each other slowly, yet it felt like yesterday.
Besides whatever he's reading, laid a half-empty plate with golden, fluffy waffles with ice cream on top that looked delicious and I consider ordering some, but I end up wanting only my milkshake.
He must've noticed my stare, because he turns the fork in my direction when he is about to take a bite. I smirk and, without ever taking my eyes off James', I close my mouth around the tip of the fork, stealing the waffle and licking my lips full of ice cream.
He smiles and pushes the papers to the side, setting the fork by the plate once more.
Looking at me with those dark blue eyes, he jokes, "You always have a thing for my food."
My mind travelled to those two or three times I stole what he was eating.
"Two words, love: Petit gateau," I say, shutting him up, a smile on my face.
"Okay, but that was the only time! You order nothing besides those extra-sweet milkshakes," he argues.
What did my milkshakes ever do to him?
"Oh yeah, because that waffle doesn't have three times more sugar," I mock.
He takes another piece of waffle and uses the fork to point at me.
"You, miss..." but he doesn't get the chance to end the sentence because he is speechless when I once again eat his waffle. He glances at the fork as if waiting for the waffle to come back.
