boston {h.s.}

neuf.

BEFORE THE HIDEOUT was our place, it was my place. Asher only started joining me here once we got together. Or, I suppose, in that initial phase in which we were both too shy to admit that we liked the other—the period in which we were intent on seeing how things would go. Though, to be fair, I think I still consider it my place. Asher will only come here with me, but I will come here without Asher.

The Hideout is a little bungalow of a coffee shop. It's a hole in the wall down a side street in Downtown Crossing. It's within walking distance of both my apartment and the school that I teach at. Better yet, it's equally as close to Brattle Books—one of my favorite book stores in the city.

It's one of my favorite places to get work done that is not my own classroom. It is appropriately named for how isolated the store is. Though it's in the middle of the city—and there is a large, picture frame window looking right out to the streets of Boston—it feels equally secluded when you step through the doors. It's a small place; the kind of place where all the employees know your name and your order. Certainly they know mine. Every time I walk through the door, whoever is at the counter will give me a little smile as they begin to make my cup of tea: a floral brand with decorative flowers sprinkled on the top. Each teacup is equally delicate and individual. The place, on the whole, is a blend of rather eclectic tastes.

Today, Asher and I sit in the corner. He with his cup of coffee and I with my tea. He with his laptop open in front of him and a single headphone in his ear as he watches some historical documentary. Me with my several books spread out all around me: The Great Gatsby and Romeo & Juliet at the forefront. Asher likes to lightly tease me for this. My planning process is certainly not linear. It's chaotic and messy and somehow ends up working out in the end. Asher, on the other hand, is meticulous and neat and his plans have the same effect.

"Hey," I say, nudging him slightly with my foot to catch his attention. His eyebrows raise as he looks at me. My head is buried in The Great Gatsby presently. The other night when I had lent Harry my copy, I had wanted to reread the book. Due to any number of things—the game around me, Coley's company, and most of all: giving my copy of the book away—I hadn't been able to finish. Now as I sit here in the coffeeshop with Asher, my goal is much in the same. Only this time: it's with a book that is not my own.

Asher's brows dip when he looks at me. We've been here for about an hour, both of us sat in a mutual and comfortable silence as we engaged in our work.

I had to drag him here today. Since the events that transpired on Tuesday, I've had a hard time letting him out of my sight for too long. Let alone the fact that I'm deeply unnerved by Harry's questionable presence in my life, I'm equally as upset knowing that I have to spend another weekend without him. Whereas I am going camping with my brother and some of his friends, Asher is stuck at home. As the coach of the cross country team, he is expected to be there for the meets—even if they are inconveniently timed for me. "Yes?" He questions, pausing the video that he had been watching. Good-naturedly he even pulls out the headphone.

"How were your classes today?"

He looks at me hesitantly, trying to see whether or not to engage with me right now. "Good," the answer is hesitant. I can tell he isn't sure if I am genuinely curious of if I want him to turn the question right back around on me. "Do you really want to know?" He asks the question outright. I nod my head. "Alright," he closes his laptop to give me his full attention and likewise I do the same with my book. Though it had been beneficial taking some time for lesson planning, the proximity to Friday was already lowering my productivity rate and I realized that I would rather converse with my boyfriend. "I had a really productive discussion with one of my students today."