Jonah ON HOLD

7.seven

Hey. I was wondering if I could meet you tonight instead of you picking me up.

Good, at least she was being cautious, I thought as I read the text. I picked up my phone, and began to come up with a reply.

Yeah, that's completely fine. Where would you like to meet? I typed, not hesitating to hit the send button.

As I slipped the phone back into my pocket, I returned my attention to the box of books in front of me. I needed to focus and finish shelving these, but right when I started to reach for the books stacked on top in the box, my phone vibrated.

I pulled it out and read her reply.

Do you mind going casual?

I began typing. No, what do you have in mind?

I quickly sent the text and turned back to the books, pulling them out and glancing at the authors' last names. I had just started an F pile when my phone alerted me of Maya's reply.

I looked at the lit up device.

Mack's Burgers, the text said, It's a block down from the book store and the coffee shop.

Sounds good. I'll see you tonight, I sent, somewhat hoping that she wouldn't text back. Not that I didn't want to talk to her, but I needed to get this done, before Mr. Jones had a vicious conniption.

X

My hands fumbled at the collar of my dark green button up as I passed the coffee shop Maya worked at. Even though the establishment closed in ten minutes, the interior continued to bustle about as per usual. The door swung open, and the taupe colored scent of coffee wafted about, making me immediately crave the warm beverage.

I disregarded the craving and continued down the sidewalk, stopping at the crosswalk. As I began to look for cars, my eye caught sight of a small white flake seeming to float about in the winter air. A little Virginia dusting, rare but just in time for Christmas.

A small smile perched itself on my lips, and I started across the street. My eyes immediately turned upward to look for a sign that said "Mack's Burgers." I felt my feet pick up the pace as I walked. It was almost seven, and I didn't want to be late.

The neon red sign quickly came into view, and I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. White lettering lined the windows, promoting milkshakes, pie, burgers, and "famous" fries. I read the window-signs as I walked to the glass door and hissed when my warm fingers grasped the freezing, onyx handle. Heat effused into the December night when I pulled the door open, and I entered the restaurant.

Though a burger joint, the small establishment held an atmosphere similar to that of a diner. The edges of the white tables were lined with a bright red, and the checkered floor alternated between the two themed colors - white and red. A lit marquis-styled menu rested over the small bar in front of the open kitchen area, bearing down on the little restaurant. Booths lined the windows, each donned with print out menus. On the wall next to me was a red clock (whose hands were lagging behind as if the battery was dying), and under the time keeper was a black sign.